The European cities seem to have a lot in common and this is not only due to the history, culture and cuisine the Old World possesses (or claims to posses) but, at least the way I see it, due to the simple fact of people living in an urban environment in a certain geographical area for several centuries. And even if that urban environment would have changed a lot, like in the case of Moscow (the city has completely renovated itself at least once in a century), certain things like the names of places, some buildings, customs, traditions and certain myths and tales about that environment seem to live on amongst the people that inhabit the city.
What I want to say is that just as Paris has its hunchback and Opera ghost, London its Messrs. Todd, Hyde, Grey and Ripper or ghosts of Marley and of Christmas Yet to Come - Moscow fits this bill just as fine. Even if Moscow's face has changed due few fires, revolutions and autocrats it has a certain atmosphere that is characteristic for all old cities with vibrant life and vivid culture. But enough of theory - let's move on to the point. Bare with me, please.. you won't regret it!
First I need to tell you a bit about person called Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov (once more: mind the links!). He was a writer and a political dissident in Stalin's Russia. His novels are renowned all around the world but there is one book of his that has become more than just a novel. It is a phenomenon called Master and Margarita. Let it suffice to say that the plot of this novel consists of three different stories. The first is about how the Devil comes to Moscow and organises a legendary ball on Walpurgisnacht, the second is a rather unorthodox story of love and the third is more or less apocryphal tale of the last days of Jesus. And two more remarks: 1) the Devil is accompanied by several characters of whom one is huge black cat called Begemoth, 2) many of the scenes in Bulgakov's book are widely considered to be situated in the area of Old Arbat Street (in the picture above!).
Now we move on to my own story. Yesterday I spent some time with few of my friends from Helsinki. They were visiting Moscow from Tver' where they are currently studying just the way I was two years ago. We met close to Red Square and spent some time walking in Gorky Park, Moscow riverbank and finally made our way to Old Arbat Street. It was already evening (around 11 pm to be more exact) and twilight had just turned into summer night's darkness when we got out of the hostel (where my friends were staying) situated on one of the murky side alleys of Old Arbat Street. We had just discussed about Bulgakov's novel Master and Margarita and I had started to whistle a song called Orlandina (the song tells a story of a young man who's willing to sell his soul to the Devil in order to bed a woman he lusts and in the end of that song there's a revelation in the style of Bulgakov when the woman turns out to be Satan himself - coming to collect what is his). Here, try both the new version and the original version (mind the links!) of that song.
So, there we where - walking slowly on the dim-lit alley towards the light of Old Arbat street. The alley was completely empty. Only coldish summer breeze blowing to our backs and me whistling with enthusiasm the melody of this Bulgakovian song. Then, suddenly, from the shadows appeared a big black cat that ran quickly across the alley directly in front of us and disappeared into the shadows of the yard we had just came from.
We all stopped. I whistled no more. No one seemed to know what to do. After an odd moment of silence my two friends continued to pace hastily towards the lights ahead of us. I saw them going and just could bring myself to do the same. All of this just couldn't be a mere coincidence or what I had just seen and felt couldn't be true. It must have been a trick or a bad joke.
After a breath or two I thought of the absurdity of my reaction. What kind of an Atheist am I if a sight of a cat can make me stop in the middle of a dark alley like some daft old maid? "No", I thought. "I won't fool myself into such nonsense". I took one more breath and made my way in a hurry towards the light.
When I finally got to the crowded Arbat I looked up to the sky assuming perhaps to see naked Margarita flying across the sky on her broom. Indeed this city seems to trick and tease me almost at every turn. Moscow even seems to evoke my more inconsistent Russian side and indeed - Moscow's got magic of its own.
Yours with superstition,
Stefan
What I want to say is that just as Paris has its hunchback and Opera ghost, London its Messrs. Todd, Hyde, Grey and Ripper or ghosts of Marley and of Christmas Yet to Come - Moscow fits this bill just as fine. Even if Moscow's face has changed due few fires, revolutions and autocrats it has a certain atmosphere that is characteristic for all old cities with vibrant life and vivid culture. But enough of theory - let's move on to the point. Bare with me, please.. you won't regret it!
Now we move on to my own story. Yesterday I spent some time with few of my friends from Helsinki. They were visiting Moscow from Tver' where they are currently studying just the way I was two years ago. We met close to Red Square and spent some time walking in Gorky Park, Moscow riverbank and finally made our way to Old Arbat Street. It was already evening (around 11 pm to be more exact) and twilight had just turned into summer night's darkness when we got out of the hostel (where my friends were staying) situated on one of the murky side alleys of Old Arbat Street. We had just discussed about Bulgakov's novel Master and Margarita and I had started to whistle a song called Orlandina (the song tells a story of a young man who's willing to sell his soul to the Devil in order to bed a woman he lusts and in the end of that song there's a revelation in the style of Bulgakov when the woman turns out to be Satan himself - coming to collect what is his). Here, try both the new version and the original version (mind the links!) of that song.
So, there we where - walking slowly on the dim-lit alley towards the light of Old Arbat street. The alley was completely empty. Only coldish summer breeze blowing to our backs and me whistling with enthusiasm the melody of this Bulgakovian song. Then, suddenly, from the shadows appeared a big black cat that ran quickly across the alley directly in front of us and disappeared into the shadows of the yard we had just came from.
We all stopped. I whistled no more. No one seemed to know what to do. After an odd moment of silence my two friends continued to pace hastily towards the lights ahead of us. I saw them going and just could bring myself to do the same. All of this just couldn't be a mere coincidence or what I had just seen and felt couldn't be true. It must have been a trick or a bad joke.
After a breath or two I thought of the absurdity of my reaction. What kind of an Atheist am I if a sight of a cat can make me stop in the middle of a dark alley like some daft old maid? "No", I thought. "I won't fool myself into such nonsense". I took one more breath and made my way in a hurry towards the light.
When I finally got to the crowded Arbat I looked up to the sky assuming perhaps to see naked Margarita flying across the sky on her broom. Indeed this city seems to trick and tease me almost at every turn. Moscow even seems to evoke my more inconsistent Russian side and indeed - Moscow's got magic of its own.
Yours with superstition,
Stefan
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