Veriga interposed, saying to those near him:
“Gentlemen, calm yourselves. There’s been no cheating—you can take my word for it. The number of tickets has been carefully checked with the number of entries.”
The stewards, with the help of a few of the more sensible guests, somehow pacified the crowd. Besides, everyone was anxious to know who would get the fan.
Veriga announced:
“Ladies and gentlemen, the largest number of cards for the best lady’s costume has been received by the lady in the Geisha’s costume, who has therefore been awarded the prize—a fan. Geisha, please come this way. The fan is yours. Ladies and gentlemen, I humbly request you to make way for the Geisha.”
The band again gave a flourish. The frightened Geisha longed to run away. But she was jostled along and led forward. Veriga, with an amiable smile, handed her the fan. The colours of the variegated costumes glimmered before Sasha’s eyes, which were half dimmed by fear and confusion. He would have to return thanks, he thought. The habitual politeness of a well-bred boy showed itself. The Geisha made a curtsy, said something indistinctly, laughed slightly and lifted her fingers—and again in the room rose a furious uproar of whistling and abuse. Everyone made a rush for the Geisha. The savage and dishevelled Ear of Corn cried:
“Make a curtsy, you little beast!”
The Geisha threw herself towards the door, but her way was barred. From the crowd which seethed around the Geisha came malignant outcries:
“Make her unmask!”
“Mask off!”
“Catch her! Hold her!”
“Tear it off!”
“Take her fan away!”
The Ear of Corn shouted:
“Do you know who got the prize? Kashtanova, the actress! She stole someone else’s husband, and yet she gets the prize! They don’t give it to honest women, they give it to that creature!”
And she threw herself towards the Geisha, with piercing screams, clenching her bony fists. Others came after her, mostly her cavaliers. The Geisha fought them off desperately. A wild tussle began. The fan was broken, torn out of her hands, thrown on the floor and trodden upon. The crowd, with the Geisha in the middle, swayed furiously across the room, sweeping onlookers from their feet. Neither the Routilovs nor the Club stewards could reach the Geisha. The Geisha, strong and alert, screamed piercingly, scratched and bit her assailants. She held her mask on tightly now with one hand, now with the other.
“They ought all to be beaten,” screeched some spiteful little woman.
The tipsy Grushina, hiding behind the others, urged on Volodin and other acquaintances.
“Pinch her! Pinch the creature!” she shouted.
Machigin, holding his bleeding nose, jumped out from the crowd and complained:
“She hit me straight in the nose with her fist!”
A vicious young man caught the Geisha’s sleeve in his teeth and tore it in half. The Geisha cried out:
“Help! Save me!”
And others began to tear her costume. Here and there her body showed slightly. Darya and Liudmilla struggled desperately, trying to squeeze through to the Geisha, but in vain. Volodin plucked at the Geisha so zealously, screamed and cut such capers that he hindered other people less drunk than himself and more spiteful: he did not attack her from spite but from drunken joy, imagining that some very amusing farce was going on. He tore one sleeve clean off the Geisha’s dress and he tied it round his head.
“It’ll come in useful,” he shouted, laughing and grimacing.
Getting out of the thick of the crowd, he went on making a fool of himself in the open space, and danced over the pieces of the fan with wild squeals. There was no one to restrain him. Peredonov looked at him in dread and thought:
“He’s dancing. He’s glad for something. That’s how he’ll dance on my grave.”
At last the Geisha tore herself away—the crowd about her could not withstand her quick fists and sharp teeth. The Geisha dashed from the room. In the corridor the Ear of Corn rushed at the Geisha again and caught hold of her dress. The Geisha almost succeeded in tearing herself away, but she was again surrounded. The scuffle was renewed.
“They’re pulling her by the ears!” someone exclaimed.
A little woman caught the Geisha’s ear and pulled it with loud triumphant cries. The Geisha screamed and somehow tore herself away, after having hit the malicious little woman with her fist. At last, Bengalsky, who had managed in the meantime to put on his ordinary dress, fought his way towards the Geisha. He took the trembling Geisha in his arms, covered her with his huge body and arms as far as he could and quickly carried her away, thrusting the crowd aside with his elbows and feet. The crowd shouted:
“Rotter! Scoundrel!”
They tugged at Bengalsky and punched him in the back. He exclaimed:
“I won’t allow the mask to be torn from a woman. Do what you like, I won’t allow it.”
In this way he carried the Geisha the entire length of the corridor, which culminated in a narrow door opening into the Club dining-room. Here Veriga managed to hold back the crowd for a short time. With the resolution of a soldier he stood there and refused to allow anyone to pass. He said:
“Gentlemen, you can’t go any farther.”
Goudayevskaya, rustling with the remaining ears of corn of her costume, dashed at Veriga, clenching her fists and screamed piercingly:
“Go away! Let us pass!”
But the General’s imposingly cold face and his determined grey eyes kept her from doing anything more. She cried in helpless rage to her husband:
“You might have boxed her ears—you gaping blockhead!”
“It was hard to get at her,” the Indian justified himself, gesticulating wildly—“Pavloushka was in the way.”
“You ought to have hit Pavloushka in the teeth and her in the ear—why did you stand on ceremony!” screamed Goudayevskaya.
The crowd pressed against Veriga. They abused him fully. Veriga stood calmly before the door and tried to persuade those nearest him to preserve order. The kitchen-boy opened the door behind Veriga and whispered:
“They’ve gone, your Excellency.”
Veriga walked away.
The crowd broke into the dining-room, then into the kitchen—they looked for
