Alan Jay Lerner

Each time I see a little girl / of five or six or seven / I can't resist a joyous urge / to smile and say... / Thank Heaven for little girls / For little girls get bigger every day / Thank Heaven for little girls / They grow up in the most delightful way. / Those little eyes, / so helpless and appealing / when they were flashing / send you crashing through the ceiling / Thank Heaven for little girls / Thank Heaven for them all / No matter where, no matter who / Without them, what would little boys do? / Thank Heaven, thank Heaven / Thank Heaven for little girls...

Well, they're a very peculiar family - with peculiar ideas. I negotiated with them myself once. With me, one casual bit of grazing in another pasture - and the gate was slammed behind me.

I'll tell you about that blue villa, Mamita. I was so much in love with you, I wanted to marry you. Yes, it's true. I was beginning to think of marriage. Imagine, marriage, ME! Oh, no! I was really desperate! I had to do something. And what I did was the soprano!

Don't you marvel at the power / of the mighty Eiffel Tower / knowing there it will remain evermore? / Climbing up to the sky / over ninety stories high!

This story is about a little girl. It could be about any one of those little girls playing there. But it isn't. It's about one in particular. Her name is Gigi.

Why not? That's the one thing you mustn't do. Do you want people to think you're despondent? Disturbed? If you leave, they will, you know. No, no. That would be snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. No, no, no. For the next few weeks, you should be out every night. Maxim's, Moulin Rouge, Pre Catalan.

Open it! You must be carefree. Devil-may-care. A different girl every night. Keep them guessing who's next. Play the game. Be gay, extravagant, outrageous!

Good afternoon! As you see, this lovely city all around us is Paris, and this lovely park is of course the Bois de Boulogne. Who am I? Well, allow me to introduce myself: I am Honore Lachaille. Born: Paris. When...

...not lately. This is 1900, so let's just say not in this century. Circumstances: comfortable. Profession: lover, and collector of beautiful things. Not antiques mind you, younger things.

Yes, definitely younger. Married: what for? Now please don't misunderstand. Like everywhere else, most people in Paris get married, but not all. There are some who will not marry, and some who do not marry. But in Paris, those who will not marry are usually men, and those who do not marry are usually women.

Now for example here we find / Exhibit A, the married kind. / These ladies stood their ground and won / and I salute them, every one. / Here are some others to behold / for whom the bells have never tolled. / Oh, what a poor defenseless pair / in those pathetic rags they wear...

She looks adorable. So fresh, so eager - so young. It's the sophisticated women who get boring so quickly. What can they give you? Everything but surprise. But with someone like Gigi - she can amuse you for months! Oh, I'm so happy for you. I can't wait to tell Manuel.

But think of a race / with your horse in seventh place / and he suddenly begins and he catches up and wins with a roar!

Just imagine her chagrin / when she sees you wander in/ And you find her with that slippery señor / What a moment supreme / when she totters with a scream...!

But think of the bliss / of the pleasure you would miss / When she topples in a heap / and you leave her there to weep on the floor...

Youth is the thing, Gaston. Youth. Stay close to the young and a little rubs off.

Poor boy! Poor boy! / Downhearted and depressed and in a spin! / Poor boy! Poor boy! / Oh, youth can really do a fellow in! How lovely to sit here in the shade / with none of the woes of man and maid / I'm glad I'm not young anymore... The rivals that don't exist at all / The feeling you're only two feet tall / I'm glad that I'm not young anymore... / No more confusion / No morning-after surprise / No self-delusion / That when you're telling those lies / she isn't wise / And even if love comes through the door / the chance that goes on forevermore / Forevermore is shorter than before / Oh, I'm so glad that I'm not young anymore... / The tiny remark that tortures you / The fear that your friends won't like her too / I'm glad I'm not young anymore... / The longing to end the stale affair / until you find out she doesn't care / I'm glad I'm not young anymore... / No more frustration / No star-crossed lover am I / No aggravation / Just one reluctant reply / "Lady, goodbye!" The Fountain of Youth is dull as paint / Methuselah is my patron saint / I've never been so comfortable before / Oh, I'm so glad that I'm not young anymore...

Do you know how long it will take you to forget her? Tomorrow noon at the latest. So now why don't you consult your little book and meet me at Maxim's tonight?

Gaston and Liane are joining me here at Maxim's tonight. I'm giving a small party in honor of a *heavenly* creature I met this afternoon. She's -

pardon me - she's the sister of the heavenly creature I gave a party for last night. Hahahaha, oh what a marvelous place Maxim's is - not only gay and beautiful, but one thing: unique! In Maxim's, everybody minds his own business; *no one* is the slightest bit interested in who one is with.

I don't know what you want. You told Grandmamma...

Do you mean that?

You told Grandmamma that you wanted to take care of me.

Beautifully. That is, if I like it. They've pounded into my head I'm backward for my age... but I know what all this means. To "take care of me beautifully" means I shall go away with you... and that I shall sleep in your bed.

You weren't embarrassed to talk to Grandmamma about it. And Grandmamma wasn't embarrassed to talk to me about it. But I know more than she told me. To "take care of me" means that I shall have my photograph in the papers. That I shall go to the Riviera, to the races at Deauville. And when we fight, it will be in all the columns the next day. And then you'd give me up, as you did with Inèz des Cèvennes.

Why shouldn't I know? You're world famous. I know about the woman who stole from you, the Contessa who wanted to shoot you, the American who wanted to marry you. I know what everybody knows.

Yes, Gaston. Until it begins again.

Why did he fly off the handle? He knew I'd answer him back.

Gaston, I have been thinking. I'd rather be miserable with you than without you.

What time tomorrow will we get there? / Can I watch you play roulette? / May I stay up late for supper? / Is it awfully awfully upper?

Is everybody celebrated, / full of sin and dissipated? / Is it hot enough to blister? / Will I be your little sister?

The night they invented champagne, / it's plain as it can be / they thought of you and me. / The night they invented champagne, / they absolutely knew / that all we'd want to do / is fly to the sky on champagne / And shout to everyone in sight / that since the world began / no woman or a man / has ever been as happy as we are tonight!

...It's plain as it can be / they thought of you and me. / The night they invented champagne / they absolutely knew / that all we'd want to do / Is fly to the sky on champagne / and shout to everyone in sight

That since the world began / no woman or a man / has ever been as happy as we are tonight!

A necklace is love! A ring is love! / A rock from some obnoxious little king is love! / A sapphire with a star is love! / An ugly black cigar is love! / Everything you are is love! You would think it would embarrass / All the people here in Paris / To be thinking every minute of love!

I don't understand the Parisians / Making love every time they get the chance / I don't understand the Parisians / Wasting every lovely night on romance! Any time and under every tree in town / They're in session two by two / What a crime with all there is to see in town / They can't find something else to do! I don't understand how Parisians / Never tire of walking hand in hand / They seem to love it, and speak highly of it. / I don't understand the Parisians! When it's warm, they take a carriage ride at night / Close their eyes and hug and kiss / When it's cold, they simply move inside at night / There must be more to life than this! I don't understand the Parisians / Thinking love so miraculous and grand / But they rave about it, and won't live without it / I don't understand the Parisians!

With all the talk there is about you, Gaston, I've never heard it said you had any taste in clothes!

Say a prayer for me tonight / I'll need every prayer that you can spare / To get me by... Say a prayer / And while you're praying, keep on saying / "She's much too young to die..." "On to your Waterloo," whispers my heart / Pray I'll be Wellington, not Bonaparte... Oh, say a prayer for me this evening / Bow your head, and please stay on your knees / Tonight...

I don't remember it all by heart. One mustn't read novels; they depress you. Don't wear powder; it ruins the complexion. Don't wear corsets; they spoil the figure.

Your sugar isn't that good. I'd rather play you for candy.

What I would really like - is a Nile green corset with rococo roses embroidered on the garters.

Grandmama, you must admit, one doesn't have to turn oneself inside out for an old friend like Gaston. It's silly. It's absolutely silly.

When it's over and done with, Gaston Lachaille goes off with another lady. And I have only to go into another gentleman's bed. That won't do for me. I'm not changeable. That won't do for me.