Mistress of the Vatican (7 page)

But only nine months after Paolo’s death, Olimpia was dealt another bitter blow. On March 9, 1612, one-year-old Nino also died. Olimpia had buried two children and a husband in less than three years. She had been abandoned once again.

She was abandoned, but very, very rich. For
she
was the heir of her son. All the Nini property bounced from the younger generation back to the older. Olimpia herself was now the proud and sole owner of the two Renaissance palazzos, inns, stables, taverns, farms, gardens, pasture lands, vineyards, municipal bonds, and mountains of cash.

Wealthy though she was, there was still the nagging question of her future. Society simply did not tolerate a young woman’s living alone. Ironically, Olimpia faced the same two choices that had presented themselves five years earlier; she could bury her grief in a convent—not a likely choice, under the circumstances—or she could marry.

If she had been widowed nearer to that boundary of female decrepitude, the age of forty, she could have remained independent and respectable. But a young and attractive widow was thought to be more sexually insatiable than a virgin; she had known the pleasures of coitus and would likely do anything to enjoy them again. According to contemporary documents, even if a sex-starved widow found the strength

[ 36 ]

M i s t r e s s o f t h e Vat i c a n

to behave herself, she would most likely break out in pimples and lose her mind as the “naughty vapors” rose from her private parts up to her head. Suffering from the “unruly motions of tickling lust,” she would require either a wall or a husband to keep her in line.
²

The solution was clear. Olimpia needed to find another husband. And if she cringed at the thought of hearing the word
convent
suggested as a repository for her, she would have to dry her tears and marry fast.

[ 37 ]

3

The Roman Noblewoman

q

When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

—Saint Ambrose to Saint Augustine limpia put the word out that she was a rich young widow in search of a husband. Not any husband. At this point, armed with youth, good looks, and great wealth, Olimpia could afford to pick and choose.

What could she want from a husband that she didn’t already have? Nobility, for one thing. As wealthy as Paolo Nini had been, and from a good old Viterban family chock-full of dead bishops, he had not been noble. Olimpia wanted to be the wife of a lord, a marquess, a count, or even a prince. “Princess Olimpia” had a lovely ring to it.

For another thing, she was tired of Viterbo. Though she would always love the region and often return to it, she longed to be in the beating heart of the Catholic world—the center of politics, finance, diplomacy, and church affairs. The land of glittering opportunities, Rome had always been so close but yet so far. Olimpia wanted to marry a Roman nobleman.

But even more than that, she wanted somehow to worm her way into political power. Given the irreparable handicap of her gender, Olimpia couldn’t run for city council herself. But she could work on political

O

M i s t r e s s o f t h e Vat i c a n

matters through an obliging, politically connected husband who confided in her and asked her advice. And of course, the prospective groom couldn’t be a domineering type whose abrasive personality would clash with hers. He must be a limp and languid person who would let her have her way.

As luck would have it, the perfect candidate presented himself as her son’s body was still cooling in the grave. Olimpia’s uncle Paolo Gualtieri had married Antonia Pamphili of Rome. The Pamphilis were a family of the minor nobility with a long tradition of church and government service. One of them had married the great-granddaughter of Pope Al-exander VI, a Borgia, the one papal family no one liked to trumpet as ancestors. The family success was crowned in 1604 when Uncle Giro-lamo had been made a cardinal, reaping a harvest of wealth and prestige.

Girolamo lived with his widowed brother, Camillo, a papal historian who had fathered eight children. Two daughters had married honor-ably; two others had been honorably stuffed into convents. Two sons had died young, and two still lived in the Pamphili palazzo. Camillo and his sons enjoyed the financial benefits that were bestowed on Giro-lamo as a prince of the church.

But on August 11, 1610, Cardinal Girolamo Pamphili died at the age of sixty-six, the unfortunate result, according to Teodoro Amayden, of having slept in a room that had been recently whitewashed. Perhaps Camillo, too, inhaled the whitewash fumes, because he died two weeks after his brother. The income disappeared. Now, less than two years after the deaths, Camillo’s sons were bereft of funds, living in a crumbling house, and in dire need of an heiress.

Born on May 6, 1574, thirty-eight-year-old Gianbattista Pamphili would have been closer in age to twenty-one-year-old Olimpia, but he was a priest trained as a canon lawyer—an expert in all matters of church law—and had the title of monsignor. However, his older brother, Pamphilio, the lay head of the family, was available, and it is unclear why he was unmarried. Perhaps he had been widowed early in life and had been reluctant to put his head in the noose again.

It is also possible that he had been a lifelong bachelor, though this

[ 39 ]

Eleanor Herman

would have been extremely rare among Italian nobles, as the oldest son was supposed to ensure the family’s extension rather than its extinction. It seems, however, that the two brothers didn’t particularly care about future generations of Pamphili greatness. In 1612 what they really cared about was paying the bills. This appears to have been the only incentive for bringing a woman into the house.

An inventory of 1611 revealed that Pamphilio possessed only two horses and his brother three, a pitiful stable for a noble family. Gian-battista paid for the hay and upkeep of all five horses, evidently from his salary as a canon lawyer, because his brother could not afford to. Although Pamphilio rented out shops on the street level of all three sides of his house, it seemed the rent didn’t even cover basic living expenses.

Not only was Olimpia’s suitor poor, but he was also balancing precariously on the precipice of what was considered old age for men— fifty. Yet contemporary reports noted that Pamphilio Pamphili was still strikingly handsome. He was known for his courtly manner and exquisite courtesy, traits he had acquired as a youth when he served as a page at the grand ducal court of Tuscany. Florence, the Italian capital of art and refinement, had given Pamphilio airs and graces that the riffraff Romans lacked. In his mid-twenties, Pamphilio returned home and was appointed to an office in the Campidoglio, the governmental center of the city of Rome.

It is not certain what position he held—perhaps taxation or administration—but whatever it was, it didn’t pay much. This is odd, because Pamphilio boasted all the attributes necessary for financial success in Rome—blue blood, an excellent education, and high-level connections with the court of Tuscany, the Catholic Church, and the Roman civic government. Each year hundreds of men of humble birth marched on Rome armed only with ambition. Many of these got rich; a few even became pope. Adrian VI (reigned 1522–1523) was a carpenter’s son. Pius V (reigned 1566–1572) had been a shepherd, and Sixtus V (reigned 1585–1590) had started his brilliant career feeding pigs.

But ambitious men had to wheel and deal, to bribe and cajole, to throw the right parties, to give the right gifts, and to plunge a figurative— or sometimes literal—dagger into the backs of their enemies at

[ 40 ]

M i s t r e s s o f t h e Vat i c a n

just the right time. It is possible that Pamphilio thought the most majestic course of action was to sit with noble dignity in his drawing room as the rain from his leaking roof dripped solemnly down on his head. Or perhaps he was simply too lazy to try very hard. One thing is clear: a Sforza Maidalchini he was not.

The one step he could take without terribly much effort was to marry money. And Pamphilio Pamphili was not alone in this predicament. Far older, more important families suffered along with him. The names that for a thousand years had made Rome ring to the clash of arms— the powerful Orsinis, Colonnas, Frangipanis, and Savellis—were dying out in mildewed palaces. Many decayed noblemen tried to boost the family fortunes by marrying into the
nouveau arrivé
papal families, trading their ancient lineage and impressive names for new Vatican money. The greatest prize of all was to marry a reigning pope’s niece, who brought with her the staggering dowry of 100,000 scudi.

Pamphilio was not on the exalted level of a Colonna, of course, and had no hope of marrying into a papal family. But on a lesser level, he was ready to do the same thing. “Of course one must sometimes manure one’s estates,” sniffed one seventeenth-century noblewoman in reference to such marriages.
¹
The manure for the Pamphili estate was to be Olimpia.

Their first meeting was likely arranged by Olimpia’s uncle Paolo Gualtieri and his wife. Perhaps Pamphilio, in his slightly moth-eaten carriage, made the pleasant journey to Viterbo, not only to meet the young woman but to eye carefully her two palazzos on the Via Annio. Or maybe Olimpia, in a luxurious gilded and painted carriage with plump tasseled cushions and footmen standing on the back, made the exciting journey to Rome.

It is likely, under the circumstances, that Pamphilio would have readily married an obese elderly woman disfigured by smallpox to obtain her money, and that Olimpia would have wed a decrepit dribbling idiot to obtain his nobility and his house in Rome. Love was not a prerequisite for marriage, but it was always a bonus when the bride and groom did not disgust each other.

Such was the case of Pamphilio and Olimpia. Pamphilio must have

[ 41 ]

Eleanor Herman

been pleased with Olimpia’s good looks and her Maidalchini charm. Olimpia was ingratiating. Olimpia was witty. Olimpia possessed a vigor that promised to rouse even a Pamphilio Pamphili from his noble torpor.

For her part, the shrewd Olimpia must have sized up the prospective groom at a glance. This handsome gentleman hid his insipid personality under a thick varnish of Florentine elegance, to the great admiration of all. She must have been relieved to see that here was no domineering temperament to compete with hers. Here was an easygoing man who would probably do as she asked just to keep harmony in the household. According to an anonymous document in the Vatican, Pamphilio “was a person who at the smallest hint would have made himself obey and respect his consort.”
²

Olimpia must have believed that such a man would be grateful for the clever advice of an energetic wife who could shoulder the burden of his governmental responsibilities. Pamphilio Pamphili could offer her everything she had been looking for in a husband, even political power. She jumped at the chance to marry him.

The dowry documents, signed on November 1, 1612, show a shocking inequality in the financial contributions to the marriage. Olimpia “promises to give him all her properties and inheritance which came to her through the death of Nino Nini, her son.” In return for Olimpia’s wealth, Pamphilio merely promised “to take her as his legitimate wife.”
³

Sforza Maidalchini must have watched with mixed emotions the meteoric rise of his perplexing daughter. He was proud of her, certainly, but also perhaps a bit afraid of her. He must have noticed her eyes narrow when she gazed at him, her lips almost imperceptibly tighten. Revenge is, after all, a dish best served cold. She had already served him one heaping helping of icy vengeance, and now that she had attained such an exalted position, she might be tempted to cram another one down his throat.

Though Olimpia’s ample Nini inheritance served as her dowry, the nervous Sforza belatedly stepped up to the plate in an effort to redeem himself. He agreed to pay three thousand scudi the day of the wedding along with a valuable pearl necklace and matching earrings, other pieces of jewelry, and silver. He would pay an additional two thousand scudi

[ 42 ]

M i s t r e s s o f t h e Vat i c a n

in installments. Altogether, the dowry was worth about six thousand scudi.

“The marriage was celebrated in Rome with all the pomp possible,” Gregorio Leti reported, “and with the entire satisfaction of both parties.”
⁴
She was now Lady Olimpia—Donna Olimpia in Italian—which accounted for her entire satisfaction. She was a noblewoman, and no one would ever dare to try sticking
her
in a convent again.

q

Olimpia found herself the mistress of the old Pamphili family manse in the Piazza Navona, the heart of Rome. The site had a long and illustrious history. In a.d. 86, Emperor Domitian built a fifteen-thousand-seat stadium for athletic games called
agoni
. The lozenge-shaped arena was covered with travertine marble and adorned with statues of the gods and heroes. The emperor presided from his podium wearing his purple Greek toga, a crown of golden laurel leaves on his head.