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were "bewitching," his charm infectious. There was none of his father's stiff correctness about him, no artificial politeness, no sense that he was playing a role he had been carefully coached to play by his elders. He was, quite simply, a naturally engaging young person whom those around him could not help but adore. That they were meant to adore him, to kiss his hand and bow when entering his presence, because of his rank among Jacobites as Prince of Wales, was almost an irrelevance. They were moved to pay him homage because of something far more compelling than rank, a force of personality that was ill-defined but unmistakable.
    That unusual gifts and accomplishments should accompany this force of personality seemed perfectly appropriate. The prince grew into a precocious athlete and huntsman, with his own stable of little horses, his own crossbows and pistols, his own ceremonial armor. He was an excellent shot, his aim true enough to shoot birds off the roof and to "split a rolling ball with a bolt three times in succession." He was proficient at tennis and shuttlecock, was a skilled dancer and an apt pupil at fencing. "No porter's child in the country," wrote one of his tutors, "has stronger legs and arms."
    By the age of six or seven he was speaking Italian, French, and English—the latter with a noticeable accent—and was reading and learning to write. He had a quick mind, but little aptitude for study, preferring riding and shooting and resisting his tutors' attempts at discipline. No doubt they were as susceptible to his charm as everyone else, and in any case the most important accomplishments in a future king were military, not intellectual.
    The prince's earliest letter, written in a large Italian hand and showing a less than perfect mastery of the handling of pen and ink, was composed in 1727.
    " Dear Papa ," it began,
    I thank you mightily for your kind letter. I shall strive to obey you in all things. I will be very dutiful to Mama, and not jump too near her. I shall be much obliged to the Cardinal for his animals. I long to see you soon and in good health. I am, dear Papa,
    Your most dutiful and affectionate son, Charles P[rince]. 2
    When this letter was written, James was in France, attempting to rally the scattered Jacobite forces and to gather the backing, political and financial, for another invasion attempt. George I had died in June of 1727, and James, now nearly forty, was dutifully upholding the family honor by protesting the accession of his successor George II and championing the Stuart claim.
    But his heart was no longer in it, and, brave though he undeniably was, he was gradually succumbing to continual frustration. He disliked having to keep his court in Italy, far from the kingdom he desired to regain. He was weary of having to be constantly on the alert for fleeting opportunities, constantly having to rally his dispirited followers when they lost heart and fell to bickering among themselves, constantly having to keep one step ahead of the continental rulers on whom he relied for support. He had the unenviable task of making his cause appear to be theirs, of convincing them that it was in their interest to back him even though that would mean alienating the English government. And this he had to do, day after day, while situations changed and uncertainty mounted.
    It was hard work, an uphill battle that he must have feared he was doomed to lose. In 1727 and 1728, he met with failure everywhere. The French court had turned its back on him. There was no way he could get to Scotland with a sizable force of arms and men. In Lorraine pressure from England forced the duke to expel him. In Avignon, where the pope ruled, more English pressure was brought to bear in the form of military threats and threats against English Catholics. In the end, the pope, Benedict XII, recommended that James return to Italy. By this time George II was secure on his throne and the prospect of James III ever ascending that