The Fatal Eggs

By Mikhail Bulgakov

The chickens come home to roost in this “brilliantly strange” blend of science fiction and political satire by the author of The Master and Margarita (The Guardian, UK).
 
As the new reality of post-Revolution Soviet life begins to settle in, a gifted but eccentric zoologist named Persikov invents a machine that revolutionizes the growth of living organisms by drastically increasing their size and reproductive rates.
 
Meanwhile, a mysterious plague has wiped out the entire poultry population of Russia, raising concerns about the government’s ability to feed its people. Hoping to use Persikov’s yet-untested invention to revive the decimated chicken population, the secret service confiscates Persikov’s machine—with disastrous results…
 
Inspired by H. G. Wells’s novel The Food of the Gods and How It Came to Earth, this science fiction novella delighted readers in 1925 Russia—and also disapproved of by certain critics who saw the tale as an anti-Soviet satire of the events of the Russian Revolution of 1917 and of post-war leadership.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Mar 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9780795348372

Mikhail Bulgakov

Mikhail Bulgakov was born in 1891 in Kiev, in present-day Ukraine. He first trained in medicine but gave up his profession as a doctor to pursue writing. He started working on The Master and Margarita in 1928 but due to censorship it was not published until 1966, more than twenty-five years after Bulgakov’s death.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Professor Persikov’s Curriculum Vitae

On the evening of 16th April 1928 Vladimir Ipatevich Persikov, Professor of Zoology at State University No. IV and director of the Moscow Zoological Institute, entered his office at the Institute on Herzen Street. He switched on the frosted overhead lamp and looked around the room.

It is this fateful evening that must be considered to mark the beginning of the horrifying catastrophe, just as Professor Persikov must be seen as its prime cause.

The professor was fifty-eight years old. He had a remarkable head, bald and elongated like a tortoise’s, with tufts of yellowish hair sticking out on each side. He was clean-shaven, with a protruding lower lip, which seemed to give his face a permanent wayward expression. He was tall, slightly stooped, with small bright eyes, and his red nose supported a pair of old-fashioned silver-framed spectacles. He spoke in a thin, rasping, croaky voice, and whenever he said anything in a weighty and self-assured manner he would, among other peculiarities, screw up his eyes and crook the index finger of his right hand. And since he always spoke in a self-assured manner, his erudition in his specialist field being absolutely phenomenal, this crooked finger would appear with great frequency before the eyes of Professor Persikov’s interlocutors. However, on anything other than his specialist area—that is, on anything other than zoology, embryology, anatomy, botany or geography—Professor Persikov said practically nothing at all.

Professor Persikov did not read newspapers or go to the theatre, and in 1913 his wife had run away with a tenor in the Zimin Opera,* leaving him the following note:

Your frogs instil in me feelings of unbearable revulsion. Because of them my life will always be a misery.

The professor did not marry again and he had no children. He was very quick-tempered, but never bore grudges, liked cloudberry tea, and lived on Prechistenka Street in an apartment of five rooms, one of which was occupied by his housekeeper Marya Stepanovna, a shrivelled old woman who looked after him like a nanny.

In 1919, three of the professor’s five rooms had been taken away from him. At the time he had said to Marya Stepanovna:

If they don’t stop this scandalous behaviour, Marya Stepanovna, I will leave the country.

There can be no doubt that, had the professor done as he had said, it would have been very easy for him to find a position in a zoology department in any university in the world, for he was an absolutely first-class scientist; in anything concerned with amphibians or the like he had no equal, with the exception of Professor William Weckle of Cambridge and Professor Giacomo Bartolomeo Beccari of Rome.* The professor knew four languages apart from Russian, and spoke French and German as well as he spoke Russian. In fact Persikov never did go abroad, and 1920 turned out even worse than 1919. One event followed another: Great Nikitskaya Street was renamed Herzen Street; then the clock set into the wall of the building on the corner of Herzen and Mokhovaya Streets stopped at 11.15; and then, in the terraria of the Zoological Institute, eight magnificent specimens of tree frogs, unable to survive all the disturbances of that notorious year, gasped their last. They were followed by fifteen common toads, and finally by the most exceptional example of a Surinam toad.

The death of the toads, annihilating the first order of amphibians—which strictly speaking should be termed the class of tailless amphibians—was immediately followed by the departure to a better world of the Institute’s ever-faithful old watchman Vlas, a non-member of the class of amphibians. His death, moreover, could be attributed to the same cause as that of the poor amphibians, immediately identified by Persikov as follows:

Malnutrition!

The professor was absolutely right: Vlas died for lack of flour, and the toads for lack of mealworms, the disappearance of the latter being linked to that of the former. Persikov set about trying to feed the remaining twenty specimens of tree frogs with cockroaches, but the cockroaches too vanished, thereby expressing their contempt for war communism. Thus it was that these creatures too had to be tossed into the pits that had been dug in the Institute’s courtyard.

The effect of these deaths on Persikov, in particular that of the Surinam toad, cannot be described. For some reason he blamed the deaths entirely on the then Commissar for Enlightenment.*

As Persikov, standing in his cap and galoshes in the Institute’s freezing corridor, said to his assistant Ivanov, an extremely elegant gentleman with a pointed white beard:

"People are shot for less, eh, Pyotr Stepanovich? What on earth do they think they’re doing? They’ll destroy the Institute! That’s what they’ll do! A unique, unparalleled specimen, a male pipa americana, thirteen centimetres long…"

Things went from bad to worse. After Vlas’s death the Institute’s windows froze over so completely that the insides of the windows were covered in flowery patterns of ice. All the animals died: the rabbits, the foxes, the wolves and the fish, together with all the grass snakes. Persikov fell silent for days on end, then became ill with pneumonia, but he did not die. When he recovered, he started going again to the Institute twice a week. In the circular auditorium, where for some reason, irrespective of the temperature outside, it was always minus five, wearing his galoshes, his cap with ear mufflers and scarf, he would give his course of lectures to his eight students on the topic Reptiles of the tropical regions. He would spend the rest of the time wrapped in a blanket on his sofa at home, in his room with books piled high to the ceiling, coughing and gazing into the maw of the stove, which Marya Stepanovna kept alight with gilt chairs, and thinking about his Surinam toad.

But everything on earth comes to an end. 1920 and 1921 went by, and in 1922 things started to go into reverse. Firstly, the deceased Vlas was replaced by Pankrat, a young but very promising watchman for the Institute, and the building itself began gradually to be heated. And then, that summer, Persikov, with the help of Pankrat, caught fourteen common toads in the River Klyazma. The terraria burst into life once again… By 1923 Persikov was giving a total of eight lectures a week, three in the Institute and five in the University; in 1924, he gave thirteen lectures a week, together with a course of lectures for workers; and in 1925 he became famous for failing seventy-six students—all on the topic of amphibians:

So you don’t know how amphibians differ from reptiles? Persikov would ask. That’s simply laughable, young man. Amphibians don’t have pelvic kidneys. They’re absent. That’s the difference. You should be ashamed of yourself. You are a Marxist, I suppose?

Yes, I am, the unfortunate student would answer, his spirits fading.

Right then, we’ll see you in the autumn, Persikov would say politely, and cheerfully shout out to Pankrat: Send in the next!

Just as amphibians revive with the arrival of the first abundant rainfall after a long drought, so Persikov came back to life in 1926, when a joint Russo-American company, starting in the centre of Moscow on the corner of Newspaper Alley and Tverskaya Street, constructed fifteen fifteen-storey houses, and three hundred houses for workers on the outskirts, each with eight apartments, once and for all putting an end to the terrible, absurd housing crisis that had so tormented Muscovites during the years 1919 to 1925.

All in all this was an extraordinary summer in Persikov’s life. At times he would rub his hands together, chuckling to himself with quiet satisfaction, as he recalled how he and Marya Stepanovna had huddled together in just two rooms. The professor had had all five rooms returned to him, and he had been able to expand: he owned two and a half thousand books, stuffed animals, diagrams and prepared specimens, and he now had a green lamp in his study.

The Institute too had become unrecognizable. It had been decorated throughout in cream-coloured paint, running water had been installed in the amphibians’ room, plate glass put into the windows, five new microscopes and glass preparation tables had been delivered, and the museum now had 2,000-volt lamps with reflective bulbs, reflectors and cupboards.

Persikov had come back to life, something that the whole world was unexpectedly to learn, with the appearance in December 1926 of his brochure ‘On the Question of the Reproduction of the Polyplacophora, or Chitons’, 126 pages, Proceedings of State University No. IV.

Then, in the autumn of 1927, a major work of 350 pages appeared, translated into six languages, including Japanese: The Embryology of the Pipidae, the Pelobatidae and Frogs. Price, 3 roubles. State Publishing House.

But then, in the summer of 1928, there took place that improbable and terrible event…

Chapter 2

The Coloured Spiral

And so the professor switched on the lamp and looked around his office. He turned on the reflector on the long experimental table, put on his white coat and tinkered for a bit with his instruments.

A large proportion of the thirty thousand mechanical carriages rushing around Moscow in 1928 sped

Reviews for The Fatal Eggs

[greeniezona · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Overjoyed to find this book at Eighth Day Books on my bookstore tour of Wichita when I was home for Christmas. I thought I'd put every Bulgakov book on my to-read list, but I'd never heard of this one. It felt very apt to have found it at Eight Day.

This book is perfection and I could not have not bought it. I mean, it's a novella, it's Bulgakov, it is a lovely edition with French flaps and a beautiful frog on the cover. And it's science fiction - that particular mad scientist type of science fiction like the terribly delightful A Dog's Heart.

This book, of course, can be read as a critique of the perils of Soviet communism, but I think it is all to easy to imagine the central tragedy unfolding under any government with a lack of respect for science. Of course, the tragedy seems inevitable under Soviet communism.

A scientist discovers a ray. Not a death ray this time, no! But a ray of life! A ray that speeds the replication and growth of life. When a sudden plague kills off every chicken in the Republic, do they ask the scientist (Persikov) to study how to use the ray to restore the chicken population? Of course not! Instead, a party bureaucrat (Faight) writes a proposal to seize the ray and save the country, and the party leadership green-lights it. Faight, of course, has no scientific or animal husbandry experiment, only party loyalty and a good reputation from the war. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything, of course. And it does so in spectacularly gory B-movie fashion. Even as horrifying as it is, somehow, it's still so fun. A wonderful discovery.

[varwenea · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

“I wonder if that great writer of realistic fiction would have used allegory and disguise at all, had it not been for the censorship?“ – These words were found in the Foreword to describe writers such as Mikhail Bulgakov whose creativity blossomed under political restrictions. We, the readers, are treated to clever gems, big and small, such as this short story.In “The Fatal Eggs”, the eccentric zoologist, Professor Vladimir Ipatyevich Persikov (name played off Lenin) discovers the red Ray of Life. Meanwhile, an unknown disease has decimated the chicken population in the entire country, the “Fowl Plague” (much more creative than the Avian Flu I might add). The little-tested Ray of Life is confiscated by the government to accelerate the re-population of the chicken industry. Due to a mix-up, catastrophe befalls the whole of Moscow and neighboring countryside. It’s pretty easy to dismiss “The Fatal Eggs”. It’s a straight forward mini-not-quite-horror that one might say ripped off “War of the Worlds” (Bulgakov is a fan of H.G. Wells). But it’s so funny(!), even when the horror starts. And like a good Bulgakov read, clues of the Stalin regime sneak into the pages – the Moscow housing shortage in the 1920’s, the fear of Western criticism, saving face tactics, the mockery of “comrade”, etc. With nuggets such as “Plenipotentiary Head of Trade Departments of Foreign Representative Bodies in the Soviet Republic”, it’s hard to not smile. Despite the humor, Bulgakov keeps it real, and the ending made me sad. After Bulgakov presented this story at a literary event in 1924, he wrote in this diary: “Is it a satire? Or a provocative gesture? ... I'm afraid that I might be hauled off ... for all these heroic feats.” I’m glad he wasn’t; his masterpiece is yet to come. One Quote:On the portrait of an intimidating genius: “Judging by his eyes, he was struck first of all by the cabinet with twelve shelves which extended to the ceiling and was jam-packed with books. Then, of course, by the chambers, in which as in Hell, there glimmered the crimson ray, swollen in the lenses. And in the semi-darkness, in the revolving chair, by the sharp needle of the ray that thrust out from the reflector, Persikov himself was odd and majestic enough.”

[gaskella_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Back in 2006, we read The Master and Margarita by Bulgakov in our book group and I loved it. This novel about the devil coming to a town of non-believers in 1930s Russia and spreading mischief paralleled against the a writer in mental hospital who has written a Pilate’s eye view of Jesus is a delicious satire on Stalinism and the repression of religion and art. It wasn’t an easy book to get into – I’d previously tried to read it and failed, but this time it did click with me and I loved it. The Master and Margarita, not published in his lifetime, is arguably Bulgakov’s masterpiece, but when I came across a new translation by Roger Cockrell of one of his earlier novellas written in the mid-1920s, I had to give that a go. The Fatal Eggs was originally published in the West in a collection of novellas called Diaboliad.Bulgakov was a fan of HG Wells, and this novella owes much to Wells’s The Island of Dr Moreau amongst others, which involved a mad scientist doing experiments on animals.Set in 1928 – just into the future at the time of writing, Bulgakov’s Professor Persikov is a classic mad scientist. The ageing academic is consumed by his passion for zoology, and amphibians in particular. He is a difficult man, and makes the lives of those around him hell, including his assistant Pankrat, and all the students he teaches in Moscow whom he persistently fails in their exams. One day he makes an accidental discovery after having left a microscope on; when he returns the combination of light and lenses has created a red ray which focused on the amoeba under the scope has accelerated their growth immensely. He builds a larger apparatus, and tries it out with similar success on his beloved frogs.At the same time as Persikov’s discovery, and unbeknown to him, a fatal disease is rampaging its way through Russia’s poutry stock, and all chickens have had to be destroyed. Persikov’s invention by this time has come to the attention of journalists and the secret police – who step in to confiscate his large machines, planning to use them to speedgrow new chickens – but there’s a mix-up with the eggs, and as you might guess, things are going to go badly wrong!Mad professors, bungling secret agents and mob rule make a heady mix for some broad comedy and swipes at all things red and Russian – nothing escapes his satiric pen, although I’m no expert in the October revolution and what came after it. The ending of this novella is somewhat weak, using a conveniently Wellsian construct that I won’t divulge to save spoiling the plot for anyone else that wants to read it – however, getting there is rather fun, and I’m keen to read more of his other works.The extra material was also very well worth reading (Oneworld edition 2011). In the introduction we meet Bulgakov, and find out about his influences and some of the references in this novella. After the story, we get the translators notes which include explanations of the puns in the text, and lastly a thirty page biography and survey of Bulgakov’s work. Bulgakov died young at 48 in 1940, and it was thanks to his third wife’s efforts after his death that we got to read his works in the West, although it took until the early 1970s for the first uncensored translations to appear.

[fpdc_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

In this science fiction tale with political overtones, Bulgakov tells the story of a scientist that, by chance, discovers a new form of light (a "red ray", the title of the originial russian edition of the book) that enormously acelerates growth. The use of it for the reconstruction of the country's poultry industry, decimated after a terrible epidemic, turns terribly wrong by a slight burocratic oversight. Interpreted by some as an alegory to the Soviet regime and to Lenin himself in the role of the inventor of the red ray, this book is still very enjoyable to read almost eighty years after its original publication in 1928.

[sharonlflynn_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I liked this book, which is a cross between a political satire and science fiction. On the surface it is the story of a Russian professor, Persikov, who discovers a mysterious ray of light that seems to accelerate the development of life. Meanwhile, a strange virus wipes out the entire chicken population of Russia and the country is left without chicken or eggs. A government representative decides to use Persikov's untested discovery on a collection of imported eggs, to give the chicken industry a quick re-start. But it all goes horribly wrong when two deliveries of eggs get mixed up!The story is a satirical comment on the growth of socialism, with Persikov as the misunderstood Lenin. It is a scathing attack on the establishment, the media and mob culture. At the end, the mob turns on the only man who may have some understanding of what has gone wrong. The country is only saved by an uncharacteristic cold snap in May, the freezing temperatures killing off the giant snakes that have taken over.

[shawnd_72 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I thought this was better than his Heart of a Dog and not quite as good - of course different - than Master and Margarita. The story is about a professor in Stalinist Russia that discovers a scientific invention/phenomenon, and how that invention changes him and the country and intersects with the current governmental model. Many put this as a veiled critique of the Stalinist regime - this book did not put Bulgakov in the gulag, but I've heard that's partly because the Supreme Leader liked Bulgakov when he met him.The writing is stark and urgent and parochial - the writing itself reminded me most of his book White Guard. However this was like a moving detective novel or modern thriller in the pace of it. I liked it.