At the words, she wept yet more abundantly, and took to flight that they should not see her break down yet more. For a long time she went crouching about the hedges.
“What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?” she cried helplessly, in bitter pain.
Her goodman was coming … and would learn everything! Terror, like a destroying blast, swept over her at the thought. Her Yasyek was a good-natured fellow, but very impetuous, like all the Ploshkas. Never would he forgive the wrong done; he would kill him. “O Lord, have mercy!” she cried, but without one thought for herself. Full of tears and rent within her soul, she found her way after a time to Boryna’s cabin. Hanka was out; she had left long since; Yagna was working at her mother’s. Only Yagustynka and Yuzka were at home, spreading out linen to bleach in the orchard.
She told them about Gregory, wishing to get away at once. But the old woman took her aside, and said in a low and unusually kind tone:
“Teresa, control yourself; be reasonable. Evil mouths cannot be prevented from speaking. … Your Yasyek will return, and will know all in any case. Think of it: a lover is but for a month, a husband for life. ’Tis good advice give.”
“What do ye mean?” she stammered, feigning not to understand.
“Do not pretend: we all know all about you both. Send Matthew about his business while it is yet time. If ye do, Yasyek will not believe what they say. He has been yearning for you; easily will you make him believe anything! Matthew has had a liking for your bed, but is not bound to it: get rid of him while you can. … A love! it passes by in a moment, as yesterday has passed: were you to lay down your life for it, it would not stay. A love—’tis but a Sunday dainty: who feeds on it daily will care not for it at all.—Folk say: ‘Love of heart makes us smart: when we wed, then we’re dead!’—It may be; but death with a goodman and children is better than wild outlawed freedom.—Do not whimper, but save yourself while it still is time. What if your man should cease to love you, because of this your deed, and chase you from his home? Whither should you go? To your ruin: to be the laughingstock of everyone! Fool! Every man has breeches: Matthew and Kuba, both alike: everyone swears the same oaths, and is sweet as honey so long as his fondness endures.—Now think well, and take to heart what I say; for I, your aunt, wish you well.”
But Teresa would hear no more. She fled away into the fields, and sat down in the rye to give a free course to her grief.
But it was in vain that she attempted to think over Yagustynka’s advice. Her passion for Matthew was such that the very idea of giving him up made her writhe on the ground like a wounded beast.
Some time elapsed before the sounds of a quarrel close at hand made her start to her feet.
Just in front of the Voyt’s cottage a fierce brawl was in progress.
The Voyt’s wife and Kozlova were loading each other with the fiercest invectives.
Opposite to one another they stood, with the road and their respective enclosures between them, clad only in their smocks and petticoats, each panting with fury, reviling the other with all her might, and shaking her fists at her.
The Voyt was loading his cart, and now and then glancing at a peasant from Modlitsa, who, sitting in the porch, enjoyed the scene with keen relish, and set the women on.
The cries were heard afar; and soon many a head peeped from behind the neighbouring hedges and hut-corners.
And, Lord! how they both stormed! The Voyt’s wife, usually so quiet and mild-tempered, was terribly on the rampage today, and her rage waxed higher every minute; and Kozlova, as of set purpose, taunted and mocked her, omitting nothing to increase her fury.
“Talk, talk, talk, my lady Voyt!” she called out; “talk away! There’s no dog can outbark your ladyship!”
“Not a week goes by, but something is missing from my premises! Laying hens—chickens—even an old goose—have disappeared. Aye, in my garden, in my orchard, I have untold losses to put up with! Ah, may the wrong done to me poison you! May it choke you to death!”
“Very good!—Screech, old crow! Screech, my lady Voyt! ’Twill soothe you!”
“Why, this very day,” she said, addressing Teresa, who stood in the road, “I had taken five pieces of linen out into the orchard to bleach. … After breakfast, behold, I come out to sprinkle them—one is missing! … I seek it!—Swallowed by the earth, as it were!—And lo, I had weighted it with stones; and of wind there was none at all! … Good linen, fine linen! Ye could get none better at any shop … and behold, it is gone!”
“Your eyelids are so puffed out with fat, you could not see it!”
“I could not, for you, thief, have stolen it!” she vociferated.
“I, a thief!—Say, oh, say that once more!”
“You thief! you thief! Thereto, and before all men, will I bear witness! And that you’ll confess when I take you to jail in irons!”
“She—she has called me a thief!—People, have ye heard? As there’s a God, I’ll bring an action for that.—Ye all have heard her. What, have I robbed you, you blockhead? where are your witnesses?”
At that, the Voyt’s wife snatched up a stake, and dashed out into the road with the rush of an infuriated dog, shrieking: “I’ll witness it on you with my stick! I’ll prove it! I’ll. …”
“Come on, my lady Voyt! Yah! only touch me, you pig! Only touch me, you scarecrow of a bitch!” she cried, running forward likewise.
She pushed aside her goodman, who would have kept her back, and with legs wide apart and arms akimbo, called out jeering:
“Strike me, strike me,
