The Storm by Garnett, Constance, 1861-1946, Ostrovsky, Aleksandr Nicolaevich, 1823-1886

KABANOV. Talk away! What am I to do?

VARVARA. Mind your own business--hold your tongue, if you can't do anything better. Why do you stand there shilly-shallying? I can see by your face what's in your mind.

KABANOV. Why, what?

VARVARA. What?--Why, that you want to go in and have a drink with Saviol Prokofitch. Eh? isn't that it?

KABANOV. You've hit it, old girl.

KATERINA. Come back quickly, Tihon dear, or mamma will be scolding again.

VARVARA. Yes, indeed, you must look sharp, or you'll know what to expect.

KABANOV. I should think I do!

VARVARA. We've no great desire to get into a row for your sake either.

KABANOV. I'll fly. Wait for me!

SCENE VII

KATERINA and VARVARA.

KATERINA. So you are sorry for me, Varia?

VARVARA (_looking away_). Of course, I am.

KATERINA. Then you love me, don't you? (_Kisses her warmly._)

VARVARA. Love you? Of course.

KATERINA. Thank you! you are so sweet, I love you dearly. (_Silence_) Do you know what I'm thinking?

VARVARA. What?

KATERINA. What a pity people can't fly!

VARVARA. I don't know what you mean.

KATERINA. What a pity people can't fly like birds. Do you know I sometimes fancy I'm a bird. When one stands on a high hill, one feels a longing to fly. One would take a little run, throw up one's arms, and fly away! Couldn't we try it now? (_Makes as though she would run._)

VARVARA. What will you make up next?

KATERINA (_sighs_). How I used to love play and frolic! But in your house I'm growing old and spiritless.

VARVARA. Do you suppose I don't see it?

KATERINA. How different I used to be! I lived without a care in my heart, as free as a bird. Mother adored me, dressed me up like a doll, and never forced me to work; I could do just as I liked. Do you know how I passed my days as a girl? I'll tell you. I used to get up early; if it was summer I used to go to the spring, and bathe, and bring back water with me, and water all the flowers in the house, every one of them. Then mother and I used to go to church, and all the pilgrim women--our house was simply full of pilgrims and holy women. We used to come back from church, and sit down to some work, often embroidery in gold on velvet, while the pilgrim women would tell us where they had been, what they had seen, and the different ways of living in the world, or else they would sing songs. And so the time would pass till dinner. Then the older women lay down for a nap, while I would run about in the garden. Then evensong, and in the evening, stories and singing again. Ah, those were happy days!

VARVARA. But it's pretty much the same with us, if you come to that.