The Opera

Round which she wears

A double string of pearls

Hélène and Dolokhov, arm in arm

Pierre the cuckold sits at home

Pierre the cuckold sits at home,

The poor man

No, I am enjoying myself

At home this evening

Oh, that neck

Oh, those pearls

So beautiful

What a charming young girl

So enchanting

I blush scarlet

Countess Bezukhova,

Pierre's wife

Have you been here long?

And where is dear Pierre?

He never used to forget us

Yes Pierre, that good man

A little sad, a little stout

He must come visit us

I will implore him to do so

There's a woman one should stay far away from

Now, Natasha,

The curtain rises

The curtain rises

Everyone in the boxes

And the stalls became silent

All the men, old and young,

In uniform and evening dress

All the women in the hall

With gems on their bare flesh

Turned their whole attention

With curiosity to the stage

Grotesque and amazing

I cannot follow the opera

Or even listen to the music

I see painted cardboard

Queerly dressed actors

Moving and singing so strangely in the lights

So false and unnatural

I'm ashamed and amused

And everyone else seems oblivious

Yes, everyone feigns delight

And feeling the flood of brilliant lights,

The warm perfumed air heated by the crowd,

Natasha, little by little,

Began to pass into a state of intoxication

Oh, I'd tickle you all if I could

Oh, I'd tickle you all if I could

Oooh

And then

A rush of cold air

An exceptionally handsome man walked in

With a confident yet courteous air

This was Hélène's brother

Anatole Kuragin

He moved with a swagger

Which would have been ridiculous

Had he not been so good-looking

And though it was the middle of the act

He walked right down the aisle

His sword and spurs jangling

His handsome perfumed head held high

And he looked right at Natasha...

Mais charmante!

And he took his place

In the front row,

Next to Dolokhov

How handsome he is

How intoxicating

In the second act, there were tombstones

The moon over the footlights

Horns and contrabass

Black cloaks and daggers in their hands

I turn around again and our eyes meet

He gazes straight into my eyes

He is talking about me

Candles burning

A crimson throne

The Tsar wails a mournful tune

They all wave their arms

And everybody cheers

"Bravo, bravo!"

Every time I look at him

He's looking at me

Every time I look at him

He's looking at me

Every time I look at him

A terrible noise, a clatter in the crowd

A storm of chromatic scales

And diminished sevenths

With rapturous faces,

Everyone was shouting,

Screaming and shouting,

"Bravo!"

Bravo, bravo

Bravo, bravo

Bravo, bravo

And then

A rush of cold air,

And Anatole entered the box