promising child," the marquis observed, adding that the prince was attended by his own household of English servants. Two of these, both Londoners, "kept such a racket about us to make us kiss the young Pretender's hand, that to get clear of them as soon as we could we were forced to comply." At this Clementina "laughed very heartily, and told us she did not question but that a day would come that we should not be sorry to have made so early an acquaintance with her son." 1
Blandford turned the comment aside with a gallant reply, but it irked him that he had been coerced into acknowledging the baby's regality. He was a Whig, a loyal subject of King George, with an "inbred dislike" for the pretensions of the Stuarts. Yet he had to confess that he was favorably impressed by James and Clementina, and in particular, by their degree of religious tolerance. Clementina told Blandford that Charles's attendants were mostly Protestants, for as "he was to live and die amongst Protestants she thought fit to have him bred up by their hands." In Poland, she added, there were no distinctions of religion, only of "honest and dishonest." James went even further, the marquis thought, in arranging for Protestant services to be performed at the palace for the benefit of his servants, courtiers and travelers. This, according to Blandford, was "amongst the greatest wonders of Rome."
Another wonder was James's undeniable kingliness. His "air of greatness" and majesty, the power of his glance, which lesser mortals found unbearable, the "fire in his eyes" when he lamented the sorry state of England, his "air of sincerity," lack of bigotry and evident high-mindedness all combined to overawe the marquis and threatened to make him "half a Jacobite." On first seeing James he was "perfectly stunned and not aware of himself," he confessed, and when James smiled on him the force of his "graceful countenance" was quite astonishing.
Possibly the arrival of a son temporarily inspired James as much as it did his followers, putting fire in his eyes and sparking his rather damp spirits with new hope. The news from England was particularly heartening in the spring of 1721, what with widespread bank failures creating havoc and turning more and more people against their Hanoverian ruler and his unpopular ministers. Jacobites in Britain and France began once again to plot and plan, and every post day brought fresh letters of encouragement to the Palazzo Muti.
Agents of the English government in Rome became concerned about the reviving hopes of the Stuarts. The most colorful of these agents was Baron Philip von Stosch, a thoroughly dissolute intriguer and sometime dealer in shoddy antiquities. In his dispatches to London Von Stosch tried to alleviate apprehension by claiming that the infant prince was sickly, that he "would not live very long." Even if he did live, Von Stosch said, he was likely to be a cripple, for his legs were reported to be "so turned inwards and distorted that it is very much in doubt if he will ever be able to walk."
The infant prince did have difficulty learning to walk, and his nurse had to help him, holding him with reins as his knees were too weak to permit him to walk unaided. When he was older, his weak knees were strengthened by a series of jumping exercises and by dancing. Apparently the exercises were effective, for another observer, more reliable than Von Stosch, reported that the youngest Stuart was soon "running about from morning till night," healthy and strong as could be.
Strength and stamina, coupled with strong-willed high spirits, were the young prince's earliest characteristics. As he grew older he added to these a far rarer and more valuable quality in a future ruler: charisma.
The Duke of Liria, Berwick's son, who encountered Charles when he was about six and a half, thought him "the most ideal prince he had ever seen, a marvel of beauty, dexterity, grave, and almost supernatural address." His manner and conversation