write a diary entry in the perspective of Shylock after he finds out his daughter, Jessica, has run away with Lorenzo, a Christian, from the Merchant of Venice.
May 1, 1596
Cursed be this wretched day, as if the Heavens themselves have aligned to tear the very sinews of my heart to shreds. It pains me so, to call to mind the happenings of this treacherous day; yet, chronicle it I must, so that the record of my suffering be forever etched in ink – the faithlessness of my own flesh and blood. Jessica, oh Jessica, my only daughter, my soul's many prayers, has fled from the safety of my dwelling and lies now in the arms of a Christian.
Oh, the knowledge of this cruel act is like a thousand daggers thrust into my chest over and over, and the name 'Lorenzo' seizes my soul with ferocity. How could she? Oh! I question the Heavens above, was it not enough that I be tormented at every street corner, reviled for my usury and my faith? As above, so below, the mockery now resides in my very own household. To know that my Jessica, my jewel, my precious stone, has been spirited away by one of mine enemies, a vile Christian, who hath stolen away her soul, and her furtherance of our bloodline… it is too much to bear.
Would that there had been some inkling, some sign of her impending desertion, that I might have locked her away from the world, shielded her from the devilish charm of Lorenzo. Yet no such signs were given, and the world continues to turn, cold and uncaring in the face of my anguish. To lose her in such an ignoble way, it feels as though the essence of the bond between parent and child hath been ridiculed.
The callous mockery of my fellow merchants echo through my memory, their laughter a chilling reminder of the disdain they hold for me. This union between mine honeysuckle and that beast only serves to fuel their amusement, and further adds to mine indignity. Will Antonio not stop until every part of me has been consumed and ground to dust? What further pain must I endure in this accursed land of Venice? My trials and tribulations know no end.
And there are whispers, whispers that mine own jewels have been purloined, my gold traded without thought or care for my suffering. To see my hard-earned ducats, the manifestation of my life's toil, squandered through her treachery? Woe is me! I am a man undone.
How can I look upon my brethren when they inquire after my daughter's whereabouts? How shall I respond, save for choking on my bitter words? My pride, my standing amongst them – a laughingstock, all shattered in an instant. Alas, lonely shall I walk the earth that I have tread these three score years, and lost am I.
Oh, that I might find solace in these dark hours; is there no limit to the blows of the Fates? How can I continue? A father scorned by his own seed, a life shredded to meager scraps. Let this day be marked in history – the day of my ultimate despair. The Heavens themselves hath forsaken me and my heart bleeds for the child I thought I knew. Jessica, Jessica, you have betrayed me, but the torments that rend my soul do not compare to the torment of knowing that you have left me to break.
Your wretched father,
Shylock