KATERINA (alone). Where am I going now? Home? No, home or the grave—it's the same. Yes, home or the grave! ... the grave! Better the grave.... A little grave under a tree ... how sweet.... The sunshine warms it, the sweet rain falls on it ... in the spring the grass grows on it, soft and sweet grass ... the birds will fly in the tree and sing, and bring up their little ones, and flowers will bloom; golden, red and blue ... all sorts of flowers, (dreamily) all sorts of flowers ... how still! how sweet! My heart's as it were lighter! But of life I don't want to think! Live again! No, no, no use ... life is not good! ... And people are hateful to me, and the house is hateful, and the walls are hateful! I will not go there! No, no, I will not go! If I go to them, they'll come and talk, and what do I want with that? Ah, it has grown dark! And there is singing again somewhere! What are they singing? I can't make out.... To die now.... What are they singing? It is just the same whether death comes, or of myself ... but live I cannot! A sin to die so! ... they won't pray for me! If anyone loves me he will pray ... they will fold my arms crossed in the grave! Oh yes.... I remember. But when they catch me, and take me home by force.... Ah, quickly, quickly! (Goes to the river bank. Aloud) My dear one! My sweet! Farewell! [Exit.

[Enter Mme. Kabanova, Kabanov, Kuligin and workmen with torches.