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Phillipps, Evelyn March; Bolton, Arthur T. [Editor]
The gardens of Italy — London: Offices of Country Life Ltd., 1919

DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.68272#0140

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122 VILLA PAMPHILJ DORIA, ROME.
wearisome, 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. Her letters show how her warm and loving nature responds to his appeals,
she looks forward to the future in the confidence of a perfect bliss. Like an eager, jealous
child, she asks about his every movement, gives him directions about curling his hair, tells him
what clothes he is to wear, and how he is to occupy his time.
All seemed to promise well, but a sinister influence was already 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, being engaged to marry Lady Mary Talbot. Queen
Victoria’s Coronation 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 protes-
tations, 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
for ever. 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 that he 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 a companion a man
who worked upon his weak nature, led him into the wildest excesses, and soon what little good
there was 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 came her health failed rapidly. Her father and mother
persuaded Cardinal Odescalchi to exert his influence with the Doria Cardinal, but all to no
purpose ; he remained inexorable, and Don Domenico himself was deaf to every entreaty.
Vittoria pined away. She still kept her faithless lover’s portrait ; but when all hope was
gone she consecrated her ring to the Virgin. On September 25th, 1838, she wrote Domenico
a last letter, and traced some loving words of forgiveness on the back of his picture, and a week
after she died.
When the city realised the news a storm of indignation arose. Her biography and letters
were published, verses were composed, and a great public funeral marked the popular sympathy.
Edmond About gave the name of Tolla to one of his heroines in her honour, and feeling against
Domenico ran high. He, meanwhile, was in Venice, where he received the news of her death
with every mark of profound indifference. He waited a year before returning to Rome, and
then appeared at a party given by the French Ambassador. He soon found, however, that he
had miscalculated the tenacity of the public memory, and that it was unsafe for him to remain.
He left Rome for ever, and settled at Genoa, where, ten years after Vittoria’s death, he married
a Genoese lady. He lived till 1873. His memory is still execrated, while that of the fair young
girl, whom fate used so cruelly, is still dear to the hearts of the Roman people.
These gardens had been the scene of fierce fighting in the siege of Rome in 1849, and a temple
built in 1851 commemorates the French who fell here. A memorial of a different kind catches
the eye, looking towards the eastward slopes. The name “ Mary ” in huge letters of clipped
cypress reminds us that Lady Mary Talbot became the wife of Prince Doria in 1835. Her
sister Gwendoline was married to Prince Borghese. E. M. P.
 
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