Acqua Tofana, the Poison

I simply couldn't get into Cathryn Kemp's 'A Poisoner's Tale' (2024). It sounds like the genre I like, but somehow I couldn't finish it in one sitting; I split it over two. It was compelling though. Rebellion against patriarchy, revenge of battered wives and abused daughters.

Based on an actual 17th century Italian woman, Giulia Tofana who freely gave poison to women who wished their husbands dead, this story doesn't change its protagonist either. This book opens with Giulia being found out for her nefarious activities and accused, tried as a witch and is due for execution. 

In 17th century Rome, in the middle of the Spanish Inquisition, Giulia Tofana runs a cosmetics business — all powders, lotions and such. She also handed out a colorless, untraceable and lethal poison called 'acqua' to women who are suffering at the hands of their husband, killing thousands by proxy. We see Giuliu from childhood to becoming an adult, then having a daughter of her own, Girolama. We have moral greyness, and an odd justice meted out, then a systemic horrid execution by the authorities of the day. 

We have a zealous Pope Alessandro VII realizing that it wasn't just the Plague killing Rome; that there was another poison at work, and he went all out to catch the perpetrator(s). Giulia wasn't alone. She learnt that skill of making poison from her mother, and now her daughter joins her in doing this, along with a small group of women. 

Of course not all 'crimes' go unnoticed and everyone goes scot-free. Life's ain't that. When one is rebelling against the incumbent regulations, chances are, somebody would slip up and get caught. Why on earth would you keep a physical ledger? Why do you care how many and who died? Keep these sort of evidence in your head! Halfway through the story, I was like 'AIYAHHHH why y'all take such risks! Don't do it! Don't be careless'. 

So in the end, five women were tried as witches for murder and heresy. Giulia and her daughter Girolama both, and Giulia's old friends Maria, Graziosa and Giovanna. They were sentenced to be hung, to be executed in order to restore Rome to God's holy order. How boringly predictable in an age of chauvinism and religious fervor. I shudder to think we might easily return to this era.

They take us each aside to write down our confession. We none of us is shy any more. There is no point in holding back the heinous nature of our activities performed in the broiling stews of Rome. In fact, we take great care in detailing our many crimes; our poisonings, abortions, scrying, fortune-telling, our curses and spells. No names are given. They will have to take the trouble to seek those out themselves. This, at least, may be a protection for some. 

History may remember us as a troupe of evil-hearted witches, but we are women who live and breathe and love. This is not recorded on the parchment by the noblemen wearing monks' clothing who smell of horse sweat, musk and fine leather. Our thoughts, dreams, hopes, visions are no there on that paper, either. We exist now only as evidence, as a set of gruesome details, each more nefarious than the next. They do not speak of the women we saved, the beatings we stopped, the babies we breathed life into. They do not speak of the peace our remedies gave, the relief and gratitude from those we served. No, our actions are judged by men in hoods who represent a church that does not recognize us except as sinners and she-devils. But we know. We know our gods whisper in our ears that all is seen, all is well, and death is a small thing, a gentle step into another realm, and we are comforted.