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in gorgeous embroidered robes and subjected to the scrutiny of the hundreds of notables who had been waiting throughout Clementina's long labor for a glimpse of him.
    Tiny, red and squirming, all but lost in the folds of his robes, he was nonetheless Prince of Wales, and deserved royal honors. A royal canopy of state was stretched above his head, while at his feet knelt well-wishers in an endless procession: his father's devoted followers, who now became his followers as well; the members of the household; diplomats and courtiers; Roman aristocrats and, one by one, the powerful members of the College of Cardinals. The cardinals, magisterial in their sweeping crimson robes, gold crosses and heavily ringed hands, symbolized not only the power of the Church but that of the European states as well. Cardinal Gualtieri was protector of England, Cardinal Sacripanti protector of Scotland. The Spanish minister Cardinal Aquaviva, liaison between the Jacobites in Rome and the Spanish court, represented his master King Philip V, while Cardinal Paolucci, prime minister, secretary of state and Great Penitentiary to Pope Clement XI, represented the Holy See itself.
    Had he been born the son of a reigning monarch instead of the son of a defeated exile. Prince Charles could hardly have received more attention. As it was, crowds gathered at the Palazzo Muti to watch the parade of dignitaries, visitors thronged the courtyard, gifts poured in. There were chests of doubloons from Spain, thousands of gold scudi from the cardinals and from Pope Clement, who also sent relics and consecrated garments for the prince's christening. Cardinal Ottoboni, protector of France, sent the proud father a kingly gift that had once belonged to the Tsar of Russia—a long velvet pelisse bordered in solid gold.
    To the Jacobites, this child was "Britain's hope," and the motto Spes Britanniae appeared on a medal struck to commemorate his birth. The more credulous among them swore that the heavens themselves bore witness to the importance of the event. A new star had appeared, they said, never before seen. And a great storm had suddenly arisen to ravage the kingdom of Hanover, home of King George who wrongfully occupied the English throne, as if to presage his destruction at the hands of the rejuvenated Stuart line.
    It had been rejuvenated, they liked to add, by the Sobieski blood. For if the Stuarts had, until then at least, been notably unlucky, the Sobieskis had produced, in the little prince's great-grandfather, a hero of godlike proportions.
    The exploits of King John III of Poland were legendary. Not content to be, by all accounts, the handsomest, most energetic and strongest ruler of his day, widely read and renowned for his cultural patronage, he had been seized by a sense of destiny. He had determined to beat back the advancing Turks whose armies were threatening Vienna. Calling his undertaking a holy war, and taking on himself the mantle of the medieval crusading kings, he led his Poles and the army of the Holy Roman Empire to the gates of Vienna, where he succeeded in relieving the city just as the starving inhabitants were about to surrender themselves into Turkish hands. It was a remarkable victory, for the Ottoman force was vast and powerful and King John was handicapped by the loss of tens of thousands of men en route to the battle. He emerged not only victorious but practically deified, with the grateful Viennese bowing down to kiss his feet and fighting one another for the privilege of touching the hem of his garment. Savior of Europe, vanquisher of the infidel hordes. King John was a resplendent hero and now, nearly forty years after the event, his name was more venerated than ever.
    In his earliest months Prince Charles flourished. An English nobleman, the Marquis of Blandford, who spent some time in Rome in 1721, went to the Palazzo Muti where James and Clementina welcomed him, the latter insisting that he visit her son. "He is really a fine