Artemisia, Part 9 of 12

Artemide Cacciatrice (2) The carriage trip – who’d like the factual version? That whole idea was Tuzia’s, never mine. “Let’s take a carriage for a day excursion, and have a picnic on the Aventine – we’ll see the Seven Churches!” But perversion lay in wait. What Tuzia had in mind was getting me away from hearth and home, so I’d be vulnerable in southern Rome. The Farnesina was our only halt, to see the Raphael. Picture, then, my shock when, as we boarded, who should come and vault into our carriage, strutting like a cock, but him, and Cosimo? She’s worth her salt, is Tuzia the Pandar. That blue frock she wore the following Sunday must have cost a fortune, notwithstanding what she lost. Why do I paint castrations? This is new to me. I get a subject in my brain: it buzzes there, until I have to do a canvas, to release it. Can’t explain. I never knowingly suffuse, imbue my work with undercurrents. I disdain all show of private feelings, but suppose the artist offers much more than she knows! One thing this maggot said that I must squash is, we were having sex around the clock. You’ll know by now that he is talking tosh, and anyway, it’s not me in the dock, but him. But yes, I let that cesspool wash around and over me. I was in hock. My only way to stave off social death was, hope for marriage, bear his stinking breath. You broke into my carriage, and my house, exploited me for sex, though you were married. I lost my honour, yes – but you’re a spouse I wouldn’t wish on Tuzia. You have harried and bullied me, and lied to me, you louse. Now, finally, your schemes have all miscarried. I’m confident this judge will grasp the facts. Let’s hope someone is sharpening an axe.