Singing at the Affiliate

The Singing at the Affiliate is a grotesque and involuntary musical performance that erupts in the Moscow city spectacles affiliate after a visit from Koroviev, one of Woland's demonic retinue. Posing as a specialist in organizing choral-singing clubs, he establishes a singing circle that the staff cannot stop, leading to their mass transport to Professor Stravinsky's psychiatric clinic. The incident is one of the most absurd and contagious consequences of Woland's presence in Moscow, demonstrating how easily the demonic can disrupt and commandeer the most mundane of Soviet institutions.

Origins and the Choirmaster's Visit

The trouble begins during the lunch break at the affiliate, a peeling old mansion set back from the street, famous for its porphyry columns. The manager of the affiliate, a man with a mania for organizing clubs—he had already established clubs for Lermontov studies, chess, checkers, ping-pong, and horseback riding, and was threatening to add fresh-water canoeing and alpinism—arrives with a stranger on his arm. This stranger is Koroviev, in his characteristic wretched checkered trousers and cracked pince-nez, with a completely impossible mug. He is introduced as a prominent specialist in organizing choral-singing clubs. The faces of the future alpinists darken, but the manager calls on everyone to cheer up. The specialist jokes, laughs, and swears an oath that singing takes no time at all, but that there is a whole load of benefits to be derived from it. The first to pop up are Fanov and Kosarchuk, well-known affiliate toadies, who announce they will sign up. The rest of the staff, realizing there is no way around the singing, also sign up for the club, deciding to sing during the lunch break since the rest of the time is taken up by Lermontov and checkers. The manager, to set an example, declares he is a tenor.

The Involuntary Performance

Everything after that goes as in a bad dream. The checkered specialist-choirmaster bawls out "Do, mi, sol, do!" and drags the most bashful from behind the bookcases where they had tried to save themselves from singing. He tells Kosarchuk he has perfect pitch, begins whining, squealing, and begging them to be kind to an old singing-master, taps the tuning fork on his knuckle, and beseeches them to strike up "Glorious Sea, Sacred Baikal." They strike up, and gloriously. The checkered one really knows his business. They finish the first verse, and the director excuses himself, saying he will be back in a minute, and disappears. Ten minutes go by and he is not there. The staff is overjoyed—he has run away. Then, suddenly, somehow of themselves, they begin the second verse, led by Kosarchuk, who has a rather pleasant high tenor. They sing it through. No director. They move to their places, but have not managed to sit down when, against their will, they begin to sing. To stop is impossible. After three minutes of silence, they strike up again. Silence—strike up. They realize they are in trouble. The manager locks himself in his office from shame.

The Spread of the Song and the Aftermath

The singing spreads throughout the building. A messenger appears on the stairs, shakes his fist at someone, and begins singing along with the girl in a dull, weak-voiced baritone. The messenger's voice is joined by distant voices, and the choir begins to swell, finally resounding in all corners of the affiliate. In the neighbouring room, which houses the account comptroller's section, one powerful, slightly husky octave stands out particularly. The choristers, scattered in various places, sing quite harmoniously, as if the whole choir stood there with its eyes fixed on some invisible director. Passers-by in Vagankovsky Lane stop by the fence of the yard, wondering at the gaiety that reigns in the affiliate. A doctor is called, but his attempts to stop the singing are futile. The secretary of the affiliate, burning with shame and embarrassment, begins to explain about a case of some sort of mass hypnosis, but he cannot finish his sentence, begins to choke on his words, and suddenly sings out in a tenor. The girl at the front desk, after weeping for a while, suddenly gives a start and cries out hysterically, "Here it comes again!" and unexpectedly begins singing in a tremulous soprano. The doctor administers valerian to the girl, but it does not do much good. Three trucks drive up to the fence, and the entire staff of the affiliate, the manager at its head, is loaded on to them. As soon as the first truck drives out into the lane, the staff members, standing on the platform holding each other's shoulders, open their mouths, and the whole lane resounds with the popular song. The second truck picks it up, then the third. They drive on, passers-by casting only a fleeting glance, thinking it is a group excursion to the country. They are indeed going to the country, though not on an excursion, but to Professor Stravinsky's clinic.

Significance

The Singing at the Affiliate is a perfect example of the demonic disruption of Soviet bureaucracy. Koroviev's intervention turns a mundane administrative space into a theater of the absurd, where the staff is stripped of their will and forced into a public performance. The incident mirrors the larger themes of the novel, where the normal order of Moscow life is repeatedly broken by the intrusion of the supernatural. The song itself, "Glorious Sea, Sacred Baikal," a traditional Russian folk song about exile and freedom, becomes an ironic soundtrack for the staff's involuntary journey to a psychiatric hospital, highlighting the inversion of freedom and confinement that characterizes Woland's visit to Moscow.