By Audrey Harris, TIWP Student

I’m not sure you would know my name. I wish you would. I wish everyone would know my story, would hear whispers of my deeds in the wind, and would acknowledge what I stood for. But I know that that is just wishful thinking. I cannot change the actions of others no matter how much I have tried. And believe me, I have tried. I have repeatedly suffered from my own mistakes. Mistakes of trusting too easily. Mistakes of being too kind. Being too welcoming. But, I have always found that a smile is the easiest way to hide intentions that may not be seen as pure. 

My name is Giulia Tofana and I am indeed Italian. I am also indeed a woman. And in the time of the 1700s, whatever was a woman such as myself to do with the situation that fate had handed me? And contrary to the common belief that I wished to do as my mother did, to repeat her actions, I was never one to copy another. Especially my mother, a woman who poisoned her own husband. And even if my own husband lay six feet below, that does not confirm that I am such a wrench to have taken his life, it was just an unfortunate accident. Yes, a terrible accident of suffocation as he lay sleeping. I would also like to say in advance that I have never taken a life myself. No, I simply assisted others. I saw issues in my city and I provided an answer. 

It all began when I was young. Prior to the age of twenty I had spent numerous hours working in apothecaries. That is where I brewed the poison, Aqua Tofana. It was perfect. I could hear the cries of young women. Women just like me in unfortunate situations. The most common of these situations was abuse. What was a woman to do in the 1700s? Fight her husband. That was absurd. I stand for equality, but acknowledge the fact that a man could easily overpower a woman. And where was a woman to get help? No one would think to interfere, for it was a common practice to mistreat women within marriage. And so I provided the help. 

It was a clever business I ran. You see, these women would come to me, begging for a solution, for hope, for security. And I gave it to them: Aqua Tofana. I bottled it in a container that was eerily similar to any other beauty concoction that a young lady or mistress would keep on their vanity. And the symptoms were easily covered. These customers would slip this colorless, scentless, tasteless poison into any sort of beverage or meal for their husbands. And it would be slow at first. It appeared to be a simple cold. Until it killed them. The ingredients were similar to those that wives would commonly place on their faces, I guess my products could qualify for the idea that beauty is pain. And no one ever knew the recipe, for I was far too intelligent to record it on parchment. 

This all went smoothly until one young lady; what I have heard is that she was a coward. At the last moment she shouted at her husband desperately to not eat the soup that she had carefully prepared for him. She then claimed that it was poisoned and turned me in. I ran, ran as fast as I could. I found sanctuary in a church hoping to live out my life there until it was stormed by guards and I was taken in for questioning. I have always been a strong woman, strong-willed and a cunning mind. It took everything in me to keep my secret. But there are moments when even the strongest break. 

I will still say that I am indeed proud of what I have done and will always hold my head high. I don’t recall how many I killed. Perhaps it was over 600. Yes, I believe that is correct. But I am not insane, no. I knew exactly what I was doing. I was fighting. Against all of the odds that were clearly opposing me since my birth, I fought as hard as I could. And in the end, as I look back at the damage that I caused, I consider what I did. Wow, I did a gosh darn good job. Now, consider, am I really the villain in this story, or am I the heroine? For what was a woman to do in the 1700s?