"The opera, the opera! Stop mooning and moaning, we'll miss the curtain."
"Ladies, welcome to the opera."
Bare arms and shoulders. Brilliant uniforms. Pearls and silk glittering before our eyes. Feminine envy. A whole crowd of memories, desires, and emotions. "Natasha, smooth your gown."
"Natasha, smooth your gown."
******
Looking in the glass, I see I am pretty. Not a girl anymore. I've never felt like this before. Hundreds of eyes looking at my bare arms. My bare arms and neck. My bare arms and shoulders.
******
The two remarkably pretty girls had not been seen in Moscow in many years. Everybody knew vaguely of Natasha's engagement. One of the finest matches in all of Russia.
"Look, there's Alexey, home from the war at last."
"He has changed. Dear me, Michael Kirilovich has grown still stouter!"
There's Boris and Julie engaged. And Anna Mikhaylovna, what a headdress she has on!
And is that Natasha?
And is that Natasha? And is that Natasha?
******
They are looking at me, they are talking about me! They all like me so much. The women envious; the men calming their jealousy.
"Announcing Fedya Dolokhov. He dominates Moscow's most brilliant young men. He stands in full view, well aware he's attracting attention, yet as much at ease as though he were in his own room."
"Dolokhov was in the Caucasus, and he killed the Shah's brother. Now all the Moscow ladies are mad about him. Dolokhov the assassin!
"Announcing Countess Hélène Bezukhova. The queen of society. Beautiful, barely clothed. Plump bare shoulders, and much-exposed neck 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."
All that neck. All 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 woman one should stay far away from. Now Natasha, the curtain rises."
The curtain rises. Everyone in the boxes and 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 turn 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.
******
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.
YOU ARE READING
The Great Chaos of 1812
Randomit's the (bway) lyrics to Great Comet of 1812 except it's in no logical order and in the style of a novel in the comments next to each line/paragraph will be both the character saying the line and annotations by Dave Malloy
