JEZ PUNTER is based in London. His poetry has appeared in First Time, Popshot, Bunbury, Eunoia, Snakeskin, Riggwelter, Dream Catcher, theCRANK and on the Society of Classical Poets website. He is currently writing a commentary on Shakespeare’s Sonnets. This is Part II of his long poem, ‘Violenta’s Revenge’; Part I may be found here
After wooing her, Lord Didaco jilts his lowborn wife Violenta in favour of someone else.
Violenta exacts her revenge. Based on a story from Matteo Bandello’s Novelle (1554)
My faithful maid leaned close to hear my plan.
‘I keep five hundred coins with certain jewels,’
I said to her, ‘by which that beast began
his odious seducing, fash’ning fools
from this impov’rished house while buckling rules.
Now this same money shall be all your fruit
if what I plan you help me execute.
‘Yet come of it what will, this hate I harbour
soon shall manifest itself in deed,
if not by accident then by a murder;
for vengeance will not stop until its feed,
until it gains what nature has decreed.’
My maid, aware of my determined nature,
promised then to aid me in my venture.
‘First of all,’ she did instruct, ‘you must
dissemble totally your burning grief,
contrive to show not one bit of mistrust
of him, our knight, his new nuptials. In brief,
you must applaud them well, show your belief
that he and his new wife are meet and right;
that rather than offence you cheer the sight.
‘And then to him a letter you must pen,
well-scripted by your own person, thereby
to let him understand just how and when
great pain you suffer, how you should surely die
if not another visit he might try
to you; for you, you’ll write, “still love him so”,
and are “with horror filled to let him go”.
‘Our rich deceiver shall be quite beguiled
by thinking to have you at his command.
He’ll come to lie with you; he’ll see his child;
he’ll act as he did previously, demand
you do his want and will. But you’ll be damned
if this restarts a circumstance of strife.
For unbeknownst to him, he’ll lose his life.’
So to begin the enterprise: I prayed
Janique to for a time withdraw herself
because, although indebted to her aid,
to write I needed to be by myself.
I hence did lift some parchment from my shelf
and with renewed and fresh audacity
inscribed as follows with capacity:
Señor Didaco, I’m persuaded now
that if you will vouchsafe to read, peruse
these characters within, you might allow
by your compassion ease of my agues
and griefs that so assault and so confuse.
Dear Sir, these pages penned are of a soul
by heat lost now transformed to cindered coal.
Behold now here the image of my life:
A wench with child forsaken and forlorn,
quite stupefied by gloom which, like a knife,
dissevers, tears apart what was reborn
when you appeared as like some wished-for dawn.
Our coalition was secure, I thought.
But how your breach of pledge left me distraught!
Only my maid (God bless her charity)
has had the wherewithal to save this soul
so brutally condemned eternally.
Evicting me from an engulfing hole
she set my thinking mind then on a goal.
No longer did I feel Death did conspire
but hoped that you – whom did my offspring sire –
might read these words and know of my appeal.
Alas, how many hundred-thousand times
of late have I longed to, in helpless zeal,
descry the sound of Death’s foreboding chimes
and wish he would enclose me for my crimes.
I have not recognised, for all my sins,
where blissful sleep has ends and doom begins.
And yet the journey of my thoughts within
is further torment – swollen vexing visions,
mutilating worlds of voices, sin,
unhappiness, regret for my decisions,
where neighbours’ accusations are incisions!
My self is stolen from me, set adrift
by subtleties of claw so sharp, so swift.
Come hither to me, cruellest man, I say.
See in what lean and ugly state I’m left.
Perhaps rejoice in how I’ve split away –
a mind that married, now a mind bereft;
a mind and soul inside their body cleft.
Behold an aging, broken, piteous dam,
fragile of frame yet once a noble lamb.
Thus as my tears did make my words dry up
I suffered not my pen to issue more.
I wet my tongue with water from my cup
and called out for my maid to do this chore:
‘Gentle Janique, go forward from my door
and carry unto him these letters written.
With hope upon receipt we shan’t be bitten.
The residence was of his pa-in-law.
When welcomed in she asked if she might speak
to Lord Didaco. The servant went before
her, querying after he whom she did seek
while she then waited for what seemed a week.
At last a face – broad and framed with beard.
’Twas he, she knew. And though she was afeared
she feigned a smile and duly spoke her duty:
‘Renowned Señor, I stand before you here
as one who neither reads nor knows the beauty
of good literature, but yet I dare
to say all’s true in these here leaves. I swear.
Madame Violenta sends them unto you
and begs you give them all attention due.’
Janique then handed forth my written letter,
which he read reclining in his chair.
She watched his facial muscles get the better
of him, scanning it hard, revealing bare
the thoughts my words incited in his care.
It was as if he’d been withholding breath
when he exhaled; it shocked her half to death!
‘Janique, dear friend!’ (he started as he spoke),
‘the tenor of these words that bite my eyes
does such a sudden passion now provoke
within, I catch myself hence by surprise.
It is as if a cloud in me does rise
but yet contains many a contrary gust –
much pity, hatred, love, disdain . . . and lust!
‘My heart is vexed, yet yearns to now do battle;
the window of my soul is freed from blinds.
Janique, dear friend, assist these thoughts to settle.
Tell Violenta still a feeling binds.
So yes I’ll visit her – if this she finds
appropriate. And say unto your mistress
too: I’ll duly make amends, redress
‘for my neglect and every ounce of sorrow
caused. But mark: my call must be at nine
o’clock P.M. No more then shall she furrow
her brow in aimless anguish and consign
my name to mud. I’ll love her ’cause she’s mine.
I’ll come tomorrow early ’mongst the gloom
so may a reconciliation bloom.’
On hearing what the man had thus imparted
I replied, ‘Janique, God bless you for
your service. I’ve not slept here since you started
out for worry, but now you’ve prised the door
to our proceedings I can act the more.
I have devised that we’ll provide a rope
secured unto my bed. Its end will droop
‘over the edge. Didaco will soon nap,
and when he does I’ll cast the end to you
so you may thenceforth take it up and wrap
it round your arms most tight and pull it true
across the bed trapping the sleeper who,
before knows what’s occurring, will then float
in dreams of death – for I’ll have cut his throat!
‘Therefore a knife must you prepare – nay, two
in fact; of but the finest steel, no matter
the cost. Didaco’s soul shall thereby rue
the day he sent to me his first love letter,
and I shall laugh to see his lifeblood spatter!
But pray, Janique, allow me this one thing:
leave me alone when those knives start to swing.’
At home inside his pa-in-law’s that night
Didaco at an early hour did break
away from dinner saying he must make flight
to go and map his land – of hill and lake,
a survey was he ‘now required to make’.
His wife asked why he’d not done this before.
He had ‘forgot’, he said. But it was ‘law’.
‘And love,’ he added as he stood and dressed,
‘I won’t be back until next day is dawning,
since I’ve some chief affairs to be assessed.
His wife acknowledged him with sleepy yawning,
muttering, ‘Farewell. Till next day’s morning.’
Didaco’s groom then brought forward a steed
and off he cantered to perform his deed.
The clock was nine o’the evening when I let
my door swing fro and was confronted by
the fiend. He kissed my hand. I was well met.
Directly then a shrewd, facinorous lie:
My scripted words, he claimed, had made him cry!
I listened patiently to this announcer,
saw him sat, and then began my answer:
‘Señor Didaco, you bid me good morrow,
yet you in deed have quite annihilated
she whom you abandoned. So much sorrow
I’ve borne, so many imaginings vacated,
hopes and aspirations amputated
from a mind receded into air.
Now here observe my state, my dire welfare!’
Didaco hence, observing my affliction,
fearing from my mouth some more alarms,
was moved to sympathy, was moved to action:
he collected me up in his arms!
He complimented me upon my charms
before vouchsafing his new marriage ill!
In to it he’d been ‘handled’ ’gainst his will
so on, so forth. A second then I thought
he might be speaking true. Howbeit
I then recalled the reason I had brought
him here so did regain myself and hit
him with a contrived smile; and then with grit
embarked upon my speech: ‘Señor Didaco,
although you left me in a state of woe,
‘and though I’ve no foundation to believe
your present words, the love I hold for you
is rooted deep within. I can’t conceive
your fault to be so great that I’d imbue
myself with warring hate till turning blue.
And so my offer’s this: You and I
shall twice a week within my bed here lie.
‘For I suspect that if I might at times
enjoy your company I could remain
within your grace and favour, and the climbs
of love again grow strong, then the domain
of mutual warmth once more become germane.
By God in Heaven’s will we shall grow old –
together in love, content in all the world.’
Attending well to this the man agreed
to all that I proposed. (Of course he did,
his blood was up, he prepared to breed.)
But first of all at supper was he bid
to sit. Janique had made a meal, varied
in meats and bread – and pudding rather stodgy.
Then wine, and thus our guest became sleepy.
Suggesting we both rest a couple of hours,
I said, ‘As you’re aware, a restful sleep
is something I’ve not known in months. It sours
the appetite for love. But you shall keep,
my love, I know. You don’t wish me to weep.
And fear you not, when I no longer tire
accommodate I shall your great desire.’
This rankled with the man but yet before
too long my foe – former husband – yielded,
laid beside me still, beginning to snore.
And then I spied (although the curtain shielded)
Jan, my maid, and recognised she wielded
in her hand the aforementioned rope.
Then she moved and I was filled with hope.
Conveying the cord across his sluggish body
Janique then passed the end of it to me
and I to her beneath the bed, thus ready
to fast ensnare our hated enemy
as we’d devised. I was now fully free
to act the thing that we had so arranged.
Now was the moment I would be avenged.
I quickly snatched the first great knife from off
my stool and sought the perfect point of skin
for entrance in. He gave a kind of cough
as I advanced upon his throat. His sin
of treating me like naught would mean no win
was he to ever see. Thus in a flash
I plunged that blade into his cheating flesh.
The body jerked beneath me where it lay
as I, becoming now enchanted, rose
up on my knees and, as though at play,
began to hack with blinded fury those
few features that were eyes and mouth and nose.
I was Medea filled with fuel and fury,
no more the victim suffering injury.
I angled neat my weapon’s dripping point
and then like oysters shucked his eyeballs clear,
the salty fluid bubbling to anoint
my raging hands, impelling me to sneer,
‘Farewell! No longer can you interfere
with my emotions, wretched plunderers!
Now it is known you were but harbingers
‘of doom!’ And then his lying tongue I took.
I seized and fast removed it at the root.
‘Abominable perjured thing! Villain and crook
of truth, deforming words just to recruit
a foolish girl! Say, am I still as cute?’
I flung that member on the floor to lie;
no longer would it make a maiden cry!
And then into his useless gut I tore,
creating holes without insight or taste.
My blades, now whirling windmill branches, bore
like mining tools, mashed organs down to paste,
all juice and red stuff happily displaced.
The warm wet pleasure galvanised my heart
and made me howl with laughter at my art.
‘You’ve breathed your last, your very, very last!’
I sang. Then, out of breath, I sought my maid.
She was still there, wrapped in the rope we’d cast
with all the strength of thousands. She had stayed
until the end. But now as she surveyed
the aftermath of all my frenzied work
she was struck mute. The sight did try and irk
her eyes. ‘Janique,’ I said, ‘fear not, the end
of all our woeful darkness has arrived.
Each prick of pain that once did fast distend
has been dispelled, and we are left, survived.
A better outcome could not be contrived.
I now do feel myself so eased of pain
when Death appears for me. I know I’ll gain
‘an even greater rest – eternal peace.’
Janique, although wide-eyed at all she’d seen,
regained herself enough to help release
the rope and then assess the poor has-been.
‘These sheets,’ she quipped, ‘will be hell-fire to clean.’
‘Hush, hush,’ I said. ‘Just help me move this louse,
expel these wrecked leftovers from our house.’
We listened once we’d thrown and heard a thump.
We looked and spied it half upon the pavement.
Next, on top of it, I dropped the pump
that was his lying, cankered heart. It’s movement
spoilt for all eternity; enslavement
of girls a thing no longer to take place.
The trial was over, mine the winning case.
But I yet had instructions for my maid:
‘Janique, this casket here is full of money,
that which I promised you. So be well paid
for all your service, easing the agony
I did inherit. You have been my nanny,
nurse and maid, plus more than you can know.
I’m full of gratitude. But now, do go.
‘Go to the nearest port and find a ship.
Thence sail at once to Africa and there
be safe. Use well your earnings and equip
yourself with anonymity. Prepare
yourself a brand new life. You’ve been so fair
to me, now please, accept this extra pay
and make some haste. God bless you on your way.’
And so with mutual tears we said farewell.
My serving maid of ages went away
while I in out-and-out exhaustion fell
onto the floor and slept. For many a day
I’d not so much as dozed without the play
and pull of fretting thought, but now . . . peace.
I slept, emphatically. I found . . . release.
It was the noise that woke me up – the shouts
and cries of outrage from the street below.
And under this a general murmur, bouts
of talk as crowds were drawn to see the show.
I watched them in the morning’s early glow
and heard that none of them could recognise
the victim in his disfigured disguise.
And so I shouted from on high: ‘Good sirs
and ladies of the streets, you all contend
upon this issue like a pack of curs
but shan’t know how this quarry met its end
unless to my account your ears you lend!’
The crowd, intrigued, did lift upwards their heads
and asked, ‘You know why he was torn to shreds?’
‘I do,’ I cried. ‘So hear my testimony!
Know this: the form that once did stride as Lord
Didaco here without great difficulty
lost his life. He was by my hands gored
and hacked to death – because he was deplored
by me in every way. Then down he plunged,
and thereby I was mercifully avenged!’
Perhaps it was my hellish look of eye
that meant the throng accepted what I said;
or that my forearms glistened with red dye
and many curdled splats adorned my head.
I laughed at them. I knew that I was dead.
They whispered it was ‘known a well-dressed knight
did keep the girl; ’twas sure he was her blight.’
However, the deed was done; I was a brute.
The sergeants, officers of law were called,
and, with my brethren and my mother mute
on learning what had chanced, all too appalled
to speak, henceforth to prison was I hauled.
I wondered at what speed I’d meet my fate.
They told me that was for the magistrate.
The sun had barely nudged the mist next morn
when I was mauled and wrenched into the air.
The brows of all the officers wore scorn
or else gestured they’d reason none to care.
Thus to the palace was I taken, there
to meet, as well as the judiciary
determining my fate, near everybody
of the town within which I had grown.
Didaco’s pa-in-law, his widowed wife
and all their kin did seek to view the ‘crone’
who stole from their loved one his ‘blameless life’.
My brothers twain were there, addled with strife;
but mother? No. Too mentally harassed.
I wept. And then the magistrates amassed.
Before them all, the greatest of the town,
I was instructed to relate my tale.
They wished to know how I had been brought down
so low by this well-dressed, well-valued male.
Thus I embarked upon a new travail:
I told them how the demon had pursued me,
had said for months on end I was his, ‘truly’,
how he had had us married in the night,
the nuptials solemnised by priest unknown;
of how we’d lived together out of sight
for near a year until one day alone
I found myself. ‘He’d chosen to disown
me,’ I relayed, ‘like some old ragged doll,
condemning me to stare and blankly loll.
I then divulged how all had thus emerged
the previous night, how he whom was a wolf
was by my maid Janique held fast and purged
of all his worldly essence by myself,
but then how all the horror did engulf
Janique and, fearing similar mania,
she’d jumped into the Rio Turia.
From wall to wall inside the palace court
light lukewarm tears did fall from doleful eyes.
Many lamented the misfortune brought
upon my pitiful soul, the hardship, lies
of one who eagerly did optimise
his carnal pleasure playing with his power,
whom now had fixed it so my life was over.
The chief justice began: ‘A woeful crime
is this that’s been your harsh and ruthless deed.
Therefore it is decided that your time
upon this earth is ended. You did bleed
yourself through sorrow and through anguished need,
but this excuses not defying the law
for your own means. Your actions we deplore,
‘and so do sentence you to be beheaded
by the axe within our public square.
Not only was your plan well executed,
so excessive was your want to tear
your prey to pieces little can compare.
Your mother and your brethren can go free.
May God have mercy on them, and on thee.’
Now here I am, dear reader, in my cell,
awaiting patiently my devilish fate.
The day on which I am to enter hell
has been postponed until a later date
whereon a certain duke can celebrate
my end amongst all of Valencia.
He comes from Italy, Calabria,
and undertakes a fair old trek. No matter,
I’ve had additional time in which to write
my tale, recalling how, one day, a letter
did arrive for me from one young wight,
a boy who laughed and danced and made a sight
beneath my rickety agèd chamber window.
‘Real love’ was his, he claimed. His name? ‘Didaco’.
Was it just merely youth that killed us both,
condemning two to death by cutting blade?
We each had barely but begun our growth,
and now a poem’s tragic end is made;
herein are my last thoughts before I fade.
The ink is smudging underneath my tears,
and yet I’m smiling now – I’ve no more fears.
FINIS
JEZ PUNTER is based in London. His poetry has appeared in First Time, Popshot, Bunbury, Eunoia, Snakeskin, Riggwelter, Dream Catcher, theCRANK and on the Society of Classical Poets website. He is currently writing a commentary on Shakespeare’s Sonnets.