ITTHOBAAL’S INVENTIONS 8 - FIREWORKS

(MUSIC)

(A QUILL WRITING)

(IN A SULLEN MOOD)

ITTHOBAAL

Dear manual of mechanics and magic, dear pamphlet of fire! It is the year 1284 and today is a disappointing Wednesday. A few years ago, I spent some time in the Far East. It must have been 8, maybe 9... no! It was 10 decades ago! A whole century has passed. How time flies!

(JOYFUL)

One of the lands I visited was the Southern Song Empire. I remember arriving just as they were celebrating a festive occasion. It was a little town, but it was brimming with life! People everywhere, carts of food, music! At this festival, I observed children having fun with a delightful tradition which I later learned was called baozhu.

The children would throw bamboo stems onto a fire, which produces an explosion. It has a surprisingly loud bang! The children of Southern Song loved doing their baozhu behind the back of an unsuspecting aunty, sending her jumping and shrieking. It was so much fun watching the little ones wreak havoc on the town!

I should teach this to the Hamelin children! Wait. Never mind – bamboo does not grow in Transylvania.

(FOCUSES) Anyhow. Later, I learned of another version of the baozhu using gunpowder packed into small containers. And this gave me an idea... I loved seeing the joy in the children's eyes as they ran away from their bamboo pranks. But I thought: What if one could create an explosive treat that also adults would appreciate? A baozhu that not only produced a festive bang, but where sparks of fire would light up the night sky!

(PROUDLY) And so I made what I call: Fireworks! Ha! If you pack gunpowder tightly into a tube, angle it right and set it alight, the explosion will make the tube fly into the sky. There, it can explode into a rain of bright sparks, to the delight of everyone watching! The people of the Southern Song Empire really took to my invention. Not long after I started selling it at festivals all over the land. I went on to improve on my initial idea, adding elements to the gunpowder that made the sparks shine in different colours! The locals called me Hua-huo-xian, the Firework Spirit. And they looked forward to whenever I would visit!

When Arthur and I had to leave for the West, I taught some friends how to make the fireworks. I felt like I had left behind a wondrous gift that would create joy and surprise over and over again.

(BACK TO THE SULLEN MOOD)

But not long ago, I received a very saddening message. Every so often, news reaches me from the East. Sometimes the news has even been about fireworks:

(AVOIDING) In 1264, a rocket-propelled firework called a dilaoshu, the "earth rat", went off near the Empress Dowager Gong Sheng during a feast held in her honour –

(LAUGHS SO HONESTLY)

- and startled her so much she fell into a table full of desserts! I wish I could have been there to see that, the Empress Dowager with rice pudding dripping off her head!

(A SHORT DIP INTO THE MELANCHOLY, BEFORE HE AVOIDS IT WITH ANOTHER DIVERSION)

This time, the news was not as entertaining.

A few days ago, we received a traveling man here at the castle. He needed a place to stay for the night, to ride out a rainstorm, and the Count, having such a big heart, would of course never turn anyone away.

Hasan al-Rammah was his name. He told the children stories in front of the fire, and they all gathered to hear his tales. He had just come from the far East, and he told stories about rockets and fireworks that made the children listen with wide eyes, thinking he spoke of some sort of magic!

The fireworks he described were of so many different types. Clearly, the Southern Songs had been busy expanding on my idea! Hasan called fireworks "Chinese flowers". Hasan himself is from Syria. Little did he know these particular flowers were first grown by a man who grew up only a few weeks camel ride from his own home! I did not tell Hasan that it was in fact I who invented fireworks. He would not have believed me, and I am happy for the people of Southern Song to get the credit. It was my gift to them after all!

(HE CAN'T AVOID THE SAD NEWS ANYMORE) But the next story Hasan told us made me reconsider giving the people of Southern Song this gift in the first place. He told a story about an army attacking a fortress, burning it down with a fire that spread from the inside, even though they themselves had never set foot inside the walls. They were waging war from a distance. Covered by the nearby woods, their fire-weapons flew through the air, exploding with burning rain...

(GUILTY) We know of burning arrows, of catapults with burning stones – I know it is nothing new. And yet! And yet, I feel ashamed. Yet another machine of war now stocks the armoury. Fireworks were supposed to bring delight and joy! To brighten the night sky! To awaken the soul with a drumbeat and a flash! But my invention was appropriated...

(SCOFFS SADLY) Why am I surprised? Stuffing gunpowder into a tube. Sending it flying maybe a furlong. Of course it would be used for warfare! Of course it would be used to set houses alight, to reach over walls, past bulwarks. Of course it would be used to kill people.

So today, I am filled with regret. The world would have been better off if children still threw bamboo sticks on the fire!

(FIGHTING HIMSELF) On the other hand, how could I know? I could have invented the hammer, and someone could have watched me beat a nail, then run off with it to beat someone's head! If I invent the rope to tie my boat to the shore, am I responsible for someone using it for a hanging?

No. No-one can foresee every consequence of their actions, for the actions of other men.

(LIGHTER NOW) The Hua-huo-xian is not the spirit of the lethal rocket, it is the spirit of the fireworks!

(TAKES A DEEP BREATH) Thank you again, dear diary, for setting my mind straight.

(MATTER OF FACT) I will now go back to the banqueting hall to tidy up after supper. The room does get a little messy after 632 children have eaten. There were a few more children in Hamelin than we anticipated. But the Count has been very accommodating! And the castle is large. The oldest children are slowly learning the ropes, and soon they should be able to cook and clean for themselves. At that point, Arthur and I will move on from Transylvania, and go to... well, where should we go next? Back to England, perhaps?

(GENUINE) We both miss the drizzle. Until next time, dear diary, until next time.

END.