VILLA 
There are no traces of Donna Olimpia’s reign 
in the superb Pamphilj palace in Piazza Navona, 
where she spent more than half her life, but in 
the villa which she planned and which her son 
built, are inscriptions and busts of her. In the 
past there were many more, but the best were 
moved for greater security to the Doria palace. 
In that gallery we find Innocent X. in marble and 
in bronze by Bernini, Pamfilio Pamphilj, Olimpia’s 
husband, a fine-looking man in his Spanish ruff 
and seventeenth-century dress, and there, too, is 
Olimpia herself, no longer young, but still hand- 
some, with piercing eyes, marked eyebrows, close- 
shut mouth, a strong, resolute, imperious face. 
There is a story that a fiery horse galloped 
through these gardens on April rrth, 1655, 
herelding the death of Innocent X. In 1760 the 
last heir male of the house of Pamphilj died, and 
the property passed to that of the Borghese, into 
which he had married, and was carried by them 
to the Dorias. 
In the last century, Silvagni, in his ‘Corte 
Romana,” recounts a love-tragedy, in which a son 
of the House of Pamphilj Doria was one of the 
principal actors. The delightful gossip and historian 
describes a funeral he witnessed when a child, when 
the body of a beautiful young girl, dressed in white, 
her long hair streaming round her, her head 
crowned with roses, was borne on an open bier 
through Rome. The flaming torches in the 
evening twilight, the suppressed emotion of the 
crowds, the waxen pallor of the face upon the bier, 
made an impression the child never forgot. The 
cortege stopped under the walls of the Doria palace, 
the murmur of the crowd grew loud and deep, 
and threats and imprecations were uttered. The 
lovely maiden was Vittoria Savorelli, who had died 
for love of Don Domenico, second son of Prince 
Pamphil} Doria, and all Rome was alight with 
indignation. 
The story was a sad and simple one. Vittoria 
was a lovely and accomplished girl, of a romantic, 
excitable temperament, full of strong religious 
enthusiasm, and would have a large fortune. 
Suitors were not lacking, but she showed no 
inclination towards any of them until, at the age 
of nineteen, in the winter of 1836, she met at a ball 
Don Domenico Doria, who was just twenty-one. 
He was a good-looking young fellow, a fine shot 
and rider, a beautiful dancer, but already dissipated 
and frivolous. He was much attracted by Donna 
Vittoria, sought her out, and distinguished her in 
every way, and her letters show very innocently, how 
irresistible she found him, and how she gradually 
gave him her whole heart. The son of the 
Pamphilj Doria was an excellent match, and no 
obstacles were thrown in the way of his suit. 
Vittoria tells how she celebrated a Triduo to the 
Virgin, and on returning home was rewarded by 
finding that the young man had sent his 
ambassador to her mother. ‘I had no doubt they 
were speaking about me,” she writes. ‘“ Never did 
( 28 
PAMPHILJ DORIA. 
I find the society of my young cousins so weari- 
some, but I was forced to endure it, and when they 
departed, mamma immediately called me, and said 
that the Marchese had come, in the name of 
Cuccio ” (diminutive for Domenico or Domenicuccio) 
“to make a formal request for my hand.” Shortly 
after the engagement was announced, a fearful 
visitation of cholera in Rome separated the lovers, 
the Savorelli going to Castel Gandolfo, and the 
Doria taking refuge in their villa. This gave 
occasion for an ardent correspondence, and when 
the lovers met again they grew every day more 
attached. In his letters, Domenico calls his 
betrothed by the pet name of Tolla, and is profuse 
in his expressions of passionate fidelity. Heer letters 
tell her warm and loving nature responds to his 
appeals, she looks forward to the future in confidence 
of perfect bliss. Like an eager, jealous child, she 
asks about every movement, gives him directions 
about curling his hair, tells him what clothes to 
wear, and how to occupy his time. 
All seemed to promise well, but a_ sinister 
influence was at work. A Cardinal uncle of 
Domenico, who had never approved of the match, 
persuaded his nephew to go on a journey to 
England, whither his elder brother was bound, to 
marry Lady Mary Talbot. Queen Victoria’s corona- 
tion was also to take place, and the Doria princes 
started, though Vittoria was inconsolable at the 
prospect of a long separation. Don Domenico left 
her with renewed protestations, gave her a ring, and 
bemoaned his hard fate at being parted from one 
whom, he took God to witness, he held already as his 
wife. By a sort of presentiment she wrote to a 
trusted friend: “ He is gone, and I am a prey to 
all the terrors caused by a long absence, and the fear 
of losing him forever. I am almost reduced to 
despair. I imagine myself abandoned, dishonoured, 
the talk of the city.” For some time his letters 
were long, frequent, and tender. He describes the 
coronation, and says that he loves to see everywhere 
the dear name of Victoria. His last letter ends : 
“« My paper fails, but my heart does not follow suit, 
and is full of the most tender love for my Tolla.— 
Yours eternally, Cuccio.” Only eight days later he 
wrote very coolly from Brussels, both to Vittoria and 
her father, saying that as his uncle opposed the 
match, he thought it his duty to break it off, and 
hoped they would soon forget him. 
The distracted parents, who felt that the 
sorrow would crush their child, made every effort 
to induce him to redeem his promise ; but his 
unscrupulous uncle sent him as companion a man 
who worked on his weak nature, led him into 
the wildest excesses, what little good he had in 
him was swamped in evil, and he entirely 
renounced his confiding love. 
For a whole month the terrible truth was 
kept back from Vittoria, though day by day 
she grew more sad and anxious, as no letters 
came ; but at length it was broken to her. She 
wrote him one more letter, and when no reply 
