April 25, 2009: Prologue to Tragedy

LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 25, 2009:

Yesterday, found paper scrap. Old. Brittle. Supposedly stolen from Oxford.

First page of lost English play. Written around 1600. Anonymous. Possibly Shakespeare? Must remember to investigate.

Italian ancestor ROLSHACCHIO is major character. Lived in Siena.

This rank and reeking city, this Siena!

How it doth scream, like Bedlam in a very butcher's-shop

A-teem with idiot changelings.

(Photo credit:jurvetson)

At library, read article. Professor thinks play is based on fact. Also thinks play is highly fictionalized. Hurm. Familiar situation.

First page lists major characters:

Don David Dreyburg -- Wealthy gentleman bachelor.

ROLSHACCHIO -- Bastard. [Hurm. -l.0.l] Companion of Dreyburg.

Edwin Blackstaff -- English mercenary. Also called "the Fool".

Lavinia -- Blackstaff's maiden daughter.

Duke Mantua -- Alchemist. Transformed into demigod while trying to create gold.

Title character is called "Oswaldo Magus."

History must be preserved. LOLSCHACH ancestor must not be forgotten. Lost pages of play must be found. May require time, broken bones.

For now, should copy into journal what I have. First fourteen lines of play. All spoken by ROLSHACCHIO.

* * *

The Tragicall Hiftorie of OSVVALDO, Wizard of Siena

Enter ROLSHACCHIO, as PROLOGUE.

PROLOGUE
Once-fair Siena, stirred now by the sword
Of Florence, flaileth lately like a dog
Ill-used, that, frantic, straineth ‘gainst his cord
And collar – choked to death, e’en ere he’s flogged.
Now beats in every breast the drum of war,
Echoes in every ear Bellona’s voice.
Mark them that march the streets to steal and whore,
And slay their neighbours – ’Struth, by their own choice!
Assassinations underneath the rose
Betwixt the cities’ spies doth multiply;
The flood-wall wavers, as the blood-tide flows,
And when ‘tis overtopped, then must men die.
The squires and strumpets, drowning down below,
Will clamor, "Save us!" And I’ll whisper, “No.”

"God's bodykins! 'Tis quite a drop!"

(Photo credit: robin.elaine)

April 24, 2009: Vicious Cabaret

LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 24, 2009:

Took rare trip to Broadway this afternoon. Seldom go anymore. Nothing to do, since Mayor McCheese cleaned up what was left of McDonald Land. See British tourists and Japanese tourists, but no smut peddlers. Smut … like Coke in glass bottles: easy to find on Internet.

Of course, Broadway still corrupt. Evil, like cockroaches, never destroyed: Flees light, only to nest deeper within walls.

Suspect that Veidt was using shell corporation to co-produce musical play Wicked. Title is plainly immoral. Possibly part of larger criminal enterprise, like Springtime for You-Know-Who. At very least, could provide insights into Veidt’s psyche. Weaknesses to exploit in future, schemes to thwart.

Whores.

At theatre, explained I was associate of Veidt, deserved free ticket for afternoon matinee. Ignored. Hurled stanchion through box-office window. Then forced to use security guards’ tasers against them. Eventually rewarded for persistence. Took seat before house lights went down.

Play was debased retelling of Wizard of Oz. Presented wicked witch as tragic heroine, mistreated for green skin.

Red herring. Her true color is color of the play’s confused morality: Grey.

At intermission, went to concession stand. Filled coat pockets with Veidt MmmushroomClouds candies while keeping eye out for thieves. Instead, caught whiff of absinthe. Childhood memory of odors from Mother’s contraband cabinet.

Whore with absinthe. Reminds me of mom.

Absinthe was illegal.

Followed advice of Toucan Sam. Led me across lobby to theatre’s bar. Pulled unsuspecting absinthe-fiend off his barstool. Flung him against shelves behind bar, showering lobby with alcohol and shattered glass. Bartender escaped, but managed to wing him with barstool from across lobby. For first time, began to understand concept of “happy hour.” Leapt over bar before absinthe-fiend could slither away. Dragged him under by sharp lapel of his checkered coat. Recognized me. Pink face turned bone white.

“Luh-luh-LOLSCHACH is ruh-real?!” he squealed. Grunted in affirmative. “I cuh-cuh-confess! I suh-suh-stole it from the Buh-Bodleian! Puh-please luh-let me go!”

Had no idea what he was confessing. Had never seen him before. Decided to keep punishing him until he dropped a clue. Pressed harder. Stopped as cartilage began to crunch.

“I huh-have it right here! In my cuh-coat!” he said. “Just luh-let me guh-go, and it’s yours!”

Absinthe fiend in no position to bargain. Punched him in neck until unconscious. Went through his coat pockets. In envelope, found piece of yellowed paper.

Stuffed it into my sugar-cube pocket. No time to investigate.

Police sirens. Must have been called to arrest absinthe-fiend. Leave him to them.

On way out fire escape, ran into a surprised Veidt. Asked him why he was trying to enter theatre by back door. Told me he was going to meet friend, not to see show. He asked me what happened. Told him bar was selling absinthe. “Oh, quelle surprise,” he replied. “Gawker says nobody touches that stuff anymore, since it became legal.”

Hurm.

Spent rest of afternoon investigating paper scrap from Bodleian. Only documented fragment of lost historical play from Shakespeare’s time. Anonymous. Distant LOLSCHACH ancestor Rolshacchio is major character.

Will write more when possible. Must go now. Nighttime performance of Wicked should have reached intermission. May still be able to catch second half.