OFFENBACH

THE GRAND DUCHESS OF GEROLSTEIN

Private Fritz says good by to his sweetheart , Wanda, before marching off to battle:

Even though I’m leaving

In a little while,

Love, instead of grieving,

Take it with a smile.

As I prove my mettle

In a crazy war,

You will tend the kettle,

You will mind the store.

As I rattle sabers

On the battle line,

Send me news of neighbors

Back in Gerolstein.

On the lighter side,

To laugh is no crime;

Even misty-eyed,

We can dance one more time . . .

And Wanda replies:

Leaving love behind you,

Off you go to fight.

Gently I remind you,

Don’t forget to write.

Even while pursuing

Ways to fame and praise,

Think of someone chewing

Nails and counting days,

Someone palpitating,

Sitting here back home,

Wondering and waiting

For the mail to come.

Putting that aside,

It’s on with romance!

Sad but starry-eyed,

We can have one more dance . . .

The Grand Duchess comes for troop inspection:

Oh, I’m mad for the military,

Mad for the military,

Mad for the military!

Every lad in uniform

Takes my helpless heart by storm.

I seem made for the military,

Made for the military,

Made for the military!

My brigade I find so very

Appealing on parade.

When I see them marching past,

To fife and drum in rousing rhythm,

Someone has to hold me fast

Or I’d be there marching with ’em . . .

Prince Paul, unsuccessful in his courtship of the Duchess, now has to endure the ridicule served in heaping quantaties by the daily press.

Each day another juicy item

Of tears and suicidal threats.

According to the guys that write ’em,

London bookies now are placing bets.

A picture in the late edition;

A headline on the sporting page.

I have a growing, grim suspicion

I’ll next appear upon the stage.

“Go back home,” they say, “and stop cavorting.”

This advice I get for free.

The way they take a fiendish glee

In making such an ass of me!

The brassiness

The daily press

Can pass off as reporting!

Home again from the war, Fritz (now General Fritz) describes the decisive battle:

It was a day for deeds of glory,

But not the kind you have in mind.

Prepare to hear a front-page story:

The art of war is redefined!

Marching along, we’re on the go

With lively step and rousing song,

Till by mistake we meet the foe,

A hundred twenty thousand strong.

Quick on the take, I call a halt.

I’ve got a plan you’d not expect.

New to the job, it’s not my fault

If I’m endowed with intellect.

From brandy down to muscatel,

We’ve got three hundred thousand jugs.

The plan is -- now listen well --

To have it stolen by those thugs.

And do their eyes light up or not?

Free drink today! Hip, hip hooray!

As law and order go to pot,

I watch and mastermind the plot . . .