OFFENBACH

BLUEBEARD

Innocent love in the meadow on a spring morning:

We can sigh,

You and I,

More enamoured by the minute,

Lovers who

Bill and coo

To the warble of the linnet.

Happy and

Hand in hand,

Over clover we meander.

Starry-eyed,

Side by side,

Building castles ever grander.

C’est l’amour!

To be sure,

Full of tender fun and frolic.

Is it sin

Giving in

In a setting so bucolic? . . .

Though we keep

Little sheep

In a meadow green and fertile,

We prefer,

As it were,

Making love amid the myrtle . . .

Meet Bluebeard, the merry widower, whose many marriages have all ended in sudden disaster:

Not again, not again! Oh, so fair and so gentle!

What implacable destiny follows the days of my life?

Through some caprice of fate, bizarre and accidental,

I’ve lost my latest wife . . .

Never out of sorts or sickly,

My first wife died so quickly --

No one knows the reason why.

Oh, my second was a jewel,

But again the gods were cruel.

How I suffered!

Yes, I had a healthy cry.

Then the grave as quickly swallowed

Up the three or four that followed,

Barely time to say goodby.

Thus without a word of warning,

Once again I’m into mourning,

Ready for another try . . .

Bluebeard sums up his philosophy:

New loves galore

I live to explore,

Which leaves but one recourse;

For I take the fine

Conservative line

And frown upon divorce.

Count Oscar gives a few pointers on how the aspiring young courtier can get ahead:

Burning battlefields are safer

Than this polished palace hall.

Here one signal of disfavor

Sends Humpty Dumpty down the wall.

One rule applies

For those on the rise:

Bend and bow, defer and flatter

While you’re climbing up the ladder.

Tow the line if you would swap

Places with the man on top . . .

Boulotte, the country girl, Mrs. Bluebeard No. 6, meets Bluebeard’s former wives, who are not as dead as he thinks:

WIVES:

Wedded to one whose love soon wearies,

We have shared a similar fate.

Welcome the sixth round of the series;

Add one extra fork and plate.

BOULOTTE:

Yes, I was married, so to speak,

For it was over in a week.

WIFE ONE:

Oh, say no more, we know him well,

And we have each a tale to tell.

I led the way, a pioneer,

The first to say, “I do, I do.”

His love was deep and so sincere,

And lasted nearly half a year.

WIFE TWO:

My turn was next to pull the oar;

His second, call it marriage B.

WIFE THREE:

A most productive union, for

It sewed the seed for Number Three.

WIFE FOUR:

I know not who these others are!

His past was no concern of mine.

WIFE FIVE:

I started out to be the star,

And wind up on the chorus line . . .

Bluebeard rushes to the palace with the sad story of his latest loss:

Madame! Oh, Madame! I bring a tale of woe,

For I lost my wife but half an hour ago.

Seated at the saddle, poised and dignified,

She smiled, little knowing it would be her final ride.

How dark was the forest, though brilliant the night!

She said, “I am certain no storm is in sight.”

She waved to my window; when still within view

There came without warning a bolt from the blue.

Struck down amid thunder, she tumbled and cried:

“Oh, help! I am dying!” So doing, she died.

The blow you can imagine. I cried, “Oh, what a shame!

Yes, I fear that my marriage will never be the same.”

I’ll place her in the grave with flowers and laments;

But as wise men often tell us, we live in the present tense.

To wax philosophic, each mortal must die.

The crux of the matter, ’twas her and not I . . .

Boulotte shows up as a gypsy fortune teller:

Our talents have been often told --

No need again to say them.

We name the winning cards you hold,

With hints on how to play them.

From dregs of tea leaves in a cup

We spot the crises coming up.

The fruits of ancient science

We offer to our clients.

But one thing we have found

You cannot get around:

Whether April or December,

Here’s a motto to remember:

According to the crystal ball,

What goes up has to fall.

The way is full of ups and downs;

Fortune smiles, then it frowns . . .