The Story of Act III

SCENE I

In the foreground we see the narrow, arched gallery of an old building which was burned down forty years ago and has been allowed to fall into ruin. It is surrounded by grass, shrubs and bushes. Beyond the arches, the Volga can be glimpsed flowing through its high banks. It is raining hard, heavy clouds have gathered, a thunderstorm is brewing. Kuligin and Kudrjáš are sheltering under the arches. Looking around the place they see that crude religious pictures of hell-fire have been painted on the walls of the derelict building. A number of people rush in to take shelter, among them the quarrelsome Dikoy to whom everyone pays deference. Kuligin seizes the opportunity to impress on the wealthy Dikoy the necessity for installing lightning conductors, long rods made of steel sunk into the ground which will direct this natural electrical phenomenon safely to the earth. Dikoy is abusive and indignant -to him storms are sent as a punishment, as a warning from God, a sign to repent for sin; this talk of electricity is sheer blasphemy-prison is the place for such heretics, he declares hotly. Against such religious superstition, Kuligin is powerless to argue.
The rain has eased off a little, so Dikoy and the others leave the shelter. A moment later Varvara enters quickly, looks around her and, spying Boris (who at that moment walks across the back of the stage), beckons him to her. Varvara is alarmed; Kátja's husband has returned and Kátja is beside herself-she shakes as if she had a fever, she wanders through the house utterly distraught, she sobs and moans and Varvara fears she may confess everything to her husband. What are they to do? Her mother is suspicious and watches Kátja like a snake. A loud clap of thunder is heard overhead and there is a further rush of people to take shelter-among them the other members of the Kabanov family. Kátja rushes up to Varvara, clings fast to her hand and sobs bitterly. Varvara warns her to be careful but Kátja is beyond all control. She is terrified at the thunderstorm which appears to her as if something living were moving in it, some relentless force which is driving her to judgement. She walks over to the wall and drops on her knees, then something seems to snap and she as suddenly jumps up: "I cannot endure any more!" she cries in despair, "Look on the sinner and pity me. Mother, Tikhon, I am guilty before God and before you! Did I not swear to you that I would not look on any man when you were gone? Know then of my sinfulness-what I did-when you left me that very night "Tikhon wishes to hear no more: Varvara says Kátja is out of her senses, but Mme Kabanová sternly tells her to speak out the whole truth. That night and every night, Kátja confesses, she spent with Boris Gregorovitch. There is a tremendous clap of thunder and Kátja falls senseless into her husband's arms.

SCENE 2

The final scene of the opera-like the opening scene is the public garden on the high banks of the Volga. It is growing dark, Tikhon enters with a lantern followed by Gláša; he tells her of the terrible, relentless anger of his mother who keeps saying that death is far too good a punishment for Kátja she should be buried alive. Yet, in spite of everything, he still loves her, They pass on, Varvara and Kudrjáš appear: her mother has discovered that Varvara acted as a go-between and keeps on nagging at her: what is she to do? The easy-going Kudrjáš has a simple solution: "Come with me to Moscow; we will start a new life together. "The voices of Tikhon and Gláša are heard in the distance, calling on Kátja who herself comes in a moment later and walks slowly about the stage. She speaks as if only half-conscious, drawling and repeating her words. She could have borne her sin in silence if she had not also made Boris suffer with her and brought shame and ruin on him. Clasping her head she tries to recall how he used to speak to her. It is the nights that are so terrible - the burden of her sin lies heavy on her conscience and she cannot sleep. She hears in the far distance voices singing, sounds which appear to her to be a funeral chant. A drunkard enters, recognizes her and spits at her scornfully. In former times, for a sin like hers, continues the distraught Kátja, they would have thrown her into the Volga but she must live on and atone for her sinning. Yet deep inside her she longs for her lover. If she could but once hear his voice, then she could die happy.
Boris has been searching for Kátja and when he sees her rushes up to her and locks her in a long embrace; Kátja weeps on his bosom. She begs forgiveness for bringing this disgrace on him. She was beside herself, she lost her self-control: never did she mean to harm him. Her husband is kind and forgiving to her but Mme Kabanová upbraids her and tortures her without ceasing. She is so sick with longing: now that she has found him again surely they can find happiness together. Boris tells her this is impossible as his uncle is sending him away immediately to Siberia. He has been searching for Kátja for some time to say farewell. He again embraces her and starts to go. Kátja begs him to grant her one last request: on his travels he must give something to every beggar he meets and tell them to pray for her sinful soul. Boris tears himself away from her: Kitja follows him with her eyes, meditating for a few moments. Birds will fly above her, they will sing, they will raise their little ones: flowers will bloom, yellow ones, red ones and blue; so peaceful, so lovely, she alone must die. Raising her arms she throws herself into the Volga.
Kuligin shouts excitedly from the opposite bank that a woman has fallen into the river. People hurry in, among them Dikoy, holding a lantern. Tikhon also rushes to the river bank but is held back by his mother. At last Dikoy brings in the dead Kátja . "Here's your Katarina for you", he says and lays the body on the grass. Tikhon throws himself on the body of Kátja, shouting that it is his mother who has killed her. Mme Kabanová bows low to the people; "Let me thank you, friends and neighbours, for your kindness."

Relation of the Play to the Opera: Act III

When Kuligin broached the comparatively harmless subject of lightning conductors with Dikoy, in the play he had already tried to sell him the idea of a clock run by perpetual motion; the only point the hard-headed and dim-witted merchant, Dikoy, can see is that Kuligin is trying to rob him of ten roubles so he abuses and insults him in the manner we have now learned to expect from the mean bully.
When the entire Kabanov family take shelter in the old vaulted hall, Tikhon has so little inkling of the truth about his wife (although she is obviously ill at ease) that he teases her about the matter. Maybe she did something when he was gone, he says laughingly: if so, she had better confess and have done with it. When she spots Boris among the crowd Kátja starts guiltily, clings to Varvara and sobs. Seeing the crowd huddled together in fear of the thunderstorm, old Kuligin comes to the centre and addresses them in an eloquent speech praising the wonders of nature. A thunderstorm is a blessing, every blade of grass, every flower is rejoicing at its life-giving rain: northern lights are a sight to admire and marvel at. A comet in the sky is an object of beauty not of fear.
The half-demented rich old lady with a turn for biblical prophecy who made a short but sinister appearance in Ostrovsky's Act I again enters, taunting Kátja with her beauty which she says will destroy her and lead many men into sin. As Kátja wilts under this cruel onslaught, the old lady further says that Kátja cannot hide from God: make no mistake about it she will burn in everlasting fire. The storm reaches its climax with a shattering peal of thunder at which Kátja breaks down and confesses.
In the opening of Ostrovsky's last act, it is the turn of Kuligin to sing a song. Tikhon enters and there is a revealing conversation between the men, when Tikhon confesses that on his ten-day trip he was drunk most of the time: drinking to forget the tormenting and humiliating condition of his home life, of this terribly severe and dominating mother of his. Everyone in the place now knows of the Kabanov scandal and on account of it the family has entirely broken up. Varvara has eloped with Kudrjáš, his enemy Boris is being sent away, Kátja behaves as though she were demented; things could not be worse than they are at home. Gláša comes in to inform her master that his wife is missing and that they have worn themselves out searching for her. Tikhon is alarmed and hastily retires to join in the search. Kátja's monologue is only slightly cut, as is the moving farewell scene between the star-crossed lovers. Later we learn the details of Kátja's suicide: she jumped from a precipice and must have killed herself falling on an anchor. Kuligin, peering by the light of his lantern into the pool by the bank, sees her gown and pulls her out.
There is just only one little drop of blood from the small wound on her temple. It is Kuligin, not Dikoy, who carries in the body saying "Here is your Katarina: do what you will with her-her body is here-take it, but her soul is no longer yours, it is now before a judge who is more merciful than you."

The Music of Act III

Scene I

Most of the thematic material for the first half of this scene is derived from the four notes we hear at the beginning
No 151

The steady quaver movement weaving round this figure suggests rain with a gust of wind at bar 9 where 151 appears in a flourish of shimmering triplets. At [I] No. 151 on flutes and violas suggests a light shower. Although the music of Kátja is full of fire, dramatic intensity and overwhelming emotion, Janáček's attempt at orchestrally painting a musical storm went no further than suggesting rain. A thundersheet is usually employed in productions of the opera with, of course, ample flashes of lightning, but these are at the discretion of the producers as nowhere in his score has Janáček intimated the requirements of such effects.
In a new dance-like variation of No. 151 (No. 152) is
No. 152

expressed the amusement of Kuligin and Kudrjáš as they examine the crude paintings on the walls of the derelict building. Dikoy's rude speech begins with the same four notes at [3] and, as he shouts and blusters at Kuligin, the music develops a variety of variations in a variety of moods around the same basic motif. When electricity is mentioned "sparks" are let off in the orchestra [5] (a quick, twining figure) and when Dikoy in his sergeant-major voice declares that storms are sent as a warning from God, harp and strings play No. 151 in a further solemn variation.
No 153

The coarse, wild, bullying declamations of Dikoy might well have been an unconscious study on Janáček's part for the violent Major Eight-Eyes in The House of the Dead. A further agitated variant of 152 accompanies Varvara's warning that all is not well with Kátja . This new, excitable figure is worked up sequentially
No 154

between stabbing chords as the distraught Kátja rushes in and throws herself into Varvara's arms. Another important theme is the rhythmically alive
No 155

and soon the timpani booms out No. 124 of Act I, the motif of Doom which, coupled with No. 155, reaches an agonizing climax as the heavens open out in a tremendous burst of thunder. Kitja, as well as Dikoy, believes in the supernatural significance of a thunderstorm: the hymn-like No. 153 is therefore repeated: The fatalistic timpani motif appears again as Kátja names Boris as her lover and the scene ends in a wild confusion of rhythms.

SCENE 2

The household of Kabanov, excepting, of course, the inexorable Mme Kabanová, are hunting for Kitja. The speech curve for calling her name is
No. 156

After a 5-bar introduction, the last scene opens with an instrumental adaptation of this speech curve as Tikhon tells Gláša of the turmoil reigning at home and again as Varvara tells her lover that it is impossible to live there any longer.
A sister motif to 140 of Act II appears and when Kudrjis says that they will elope to Moscow, Varvara's pleasant and simple folk-song tune is heard on viola and bassoon, to reappear almost immediately, transformed into an agitated figure at [19], built into a four-fold rhythmic combination-along with No. 156 (and a variation) and No. 140, as the voices of Tikhon and Gláša are heard in the distance calling Kátja .
Kátja is in a dazed condition when she arrives: oboe and viola d'amore play a tentative wailing phrase which gives rise to
No. 157

a passionate motif of Shame.
It has been said that Janáček so closely identified himself with Ostrovsky's drama, that text and music are like a single creation. Nowhere is this truer than in the tremendous last pages of the opera: Kátja's terror of the darkness [21], the invisible chorus representing the River Volga itself, eternally flowing, indifferent to the petty tragedies of the humans who live out their lives on the banks, yet promising a refuge and succour for the distressed at the last: the hysterical outburst of Kátja and the contemptuous, censorious look of the drunkard who knows of her sin, are painted in unrivalled, vivid musical colours. All the multiple confusion and changing emotions in Kátja's monologue are reflected in the troubled but inspired pages of Janáček's music: her despair, the pathos of her longing for a death [25] which is denied her: her yearning to see Boris, the only love of her life (No. 154) (transformed into a motif of longing): the blissful reunion of the lovers Kátja and Boris, singing in octaves "Now once again I see you ", and their last long heart-rending embrace.
No 158

Boris is too weak, too lacking in initiative and courage to solve his problem by running away with Kátja : he covers up by blustering.
No 159

He can do nothing to help her, he says, because his uncle is sending him away. With horns (writhing) and a variation of A, and A inverted, on strings, Kátja knows that she has only the taunts and lacerating tongue of her mother-in-law and the scorn of the townsfolk to look forward to.
Suddenly the music becomes ominously quiet: Kátja has decided on her fate. A choir of mysterious voices is heard in the distance like some far-sounding organ (153 in triple-time), a personification of the Volga itself, offering a refuge to a tired and broken spirit: harps play the hymn-like No. 153. Boris takes his leave. In one exquisite page of music, Janáček recaptures the freedom of spirit, the charm and freshness of the lovely girl, Kátja, before her unfortunate marriage, the Kátja who sings the nature aria in Scene 2.
No 160

In the agitated Coda which follows after she has thrown herself in the river, we hear No. 126, the troika theme on an agitated trumpet, the booming drum rhythm of No. 124 and the wordless chorus of the song of the Volga, where the Volga plays, as it were, the part of the chorus in a Greek tragedy. One notes in the Supraphon recording that chords are added on the off-beats to the prestissimo at [29] which certainly adds to the excitement.
The opera ends with a majestic and dignified presentation on choir and orchestra of 153 with the doom rhythm 124 booming out-Mme Kabanová, and all she stands for, triumphantly has won the day.
Kátja  Kabanová was premièred in Brno on 23 November 1921, the year in which he finished the opera. It has been called Janáček's "Con amore" opera, for the composer said that his Kátja grew in Kamila.
"It was in the sunshine of summer", he wrote to her, "the sun-warmed slope of the hill where the flowers wilted. That was where the first thought about poor Kátja  Kabanová and her great love came to my mind. She calls to the flowers, she calls to the birds-Rowers to bow down to her, birds to sing for her the last song of love. " The conductor at the première was again F. Neumann: Janáček was happy with the orchestra and singers but later complained that the décor was tasteless, coarse and ineffective which may partly account for the fact that it was only after several performances of the opera that the Brno audience warmed up to it. Within the next three years, performances followed in Prague, Bratislava, Cologne and Moravska Ostrava, but it was only after the Second World War that the opera reached Germany, Holland and England.
As Fibich had already an opera called The Storm (after Shakespeare's The Tempest), and Tchaikovsky had written an overture to Ostrovsky's play, Janáček was reluctant to give his opera the same title: on the other hand, to call it after the name of his heroine Kátja ... well, he always seemed to keep writing about women! "The best thing", he explained whimsically to Kamila, "would be to use three asterisks instead of a title."

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