Now there is no reason for disputing this evidence, none for doubting the honesty of Mr. Dawkins in his despairing account of Charles. He was young, wealthy, adventurous, a scholar. In the preface to their joint work on Palmyra, Robert Wood—the well-known archæologist, author of a book on Homer which drew Wolf on to his more famous theory—speaks of Mr. Dawkins in high terms of praise, he gets the name of ‘a good fellow’ in Jacobite correspondence as early as 1748. Writing from Berne on May 28, 1756, Arthur Villettes quotes the Earl Marischal (then Governor of Neufchâtel for Frederick) as making strictures like those of Dawkins on the Prince. At this time the Earl was preparing to gain his pardon from George II., and spoke of Charles ‘with the utmost horror and detestation.’ His life, since 1744, ‘had been one continued scene of falsehood, ingratitude, and villainy, and his father’s was little better.’ As regards James, this is absurd; his letters are those of a heartbroken but kind and honourable parent and Prince. Villettes then cites the Earl’s account of the mission from Scotland (August 1755) urging reform on Charles, through the lips of Cluny. The actual envoy from Scotland cited here is probably not Cluny, but his co-signatory ‘H.P.,’ and he is said to have met Charles at Basle, and to have been utterly disgusted by his reception. [293]
Now the Earl had a private pique at Charles, ever since he refused to sail to Scotland with the Prince in a herring-boat, in 1744. He had also been estranged by Charles’s treatment of Goring in 1754. Moreover, he was playing for a pardon. We might conceivably discount the Lord Marischal, and Dr. King’s censures in his ‘Anecdotes,’ for the bitterness of renegades is proverbial. But we cannot but listen to Dawkins and the loyal Henry Goring. By 1754 the Prince, it is not to be denied, was impossible.
Honourable men like the old Laird of Gask, Bishop Forbes, Lord Nairne, and Andrew Lumisden (later his secretary) were still true to a Prince no longer true to himself. Even Lumisden he was to drive from him; he could keep nobody about him but the unwearied Stuart, a servant of his own name. The play was played out; honour and all was lost. There is, unhappily, no escape from this conclusion.
Charles declined to listen to the deputation headed by Cluny in August 1755. A secretary must have penned his reply; it is well-spelled, and is grammatical. ‘Some unworthy people have had the insolence to attack my character. . . . Conscious of my conduct I despise their low malice. . . . I have long desired a churchman at your hands to attend me, but my expectations have hitherto been disappointed.’
Soon he returned to the Mass, as we learn from Macallester.
He was ill and poor. [294] He finally dismissed his servants, including a companion of his Highland wanderings. He recommends Morrison, his valet, as a good man to shave and coif his father. The poor fellows wandered to Rome, and were sent back to France with money. Here is Sir Horace Mann’s letter about these honest lads:
‘Florence: December 20, 1755.
‘ . . . My correspondent at Rome, having given me previous notice of the departure from thence of some Livery Servants belonging to the Pretender’s eldest Son, and that they were to pass through Tuscany, I found means to set two English men to watch for their arrival, who pretending to be their friends, insinuated themselves so well into their company, as to pass the whole evening with them. They were five in number, and all Scotch. The names of three were Stuart, Mackdonnel, and Mackenzy. They were dressed alike in the Pretender’s livery, and said they had been with his Son in Scotland, upon which the people I employed asked where he was. They answered only, that they were going to Avignon, and should soon know, and in their merriment drank “the health of the Boy that is lost and cannot be found,” upon which one of them answered that he would soon be found. Another reproved him, and made signs to him to hold his tongue. They seemed to be in awe of each other.’
There was not much to be got out of the Highlanders, a race of men who can drink and hold their tongues.
On January 30, 1756, Walton, from Florence, reported that Charles was to be taken up by Louis XV., to play un rôle fort distingué, and—to marry a daughter of France! [296a] On January 31, Mann had the latest French courier’s word for it that Charles was in Paris; but Walton added that James denied this. Pickle came to London (April 2, 1756), but only to dun for money. ‘Not the smallest artickle has been performed of what was expected and at first promised.’ Pickle was useless now in Scotland, and remained unsalaried; so ungrateful are kings. The centre of Jacobite interest now was France. In the ‘Testament Politique du Maréchal Duc de Belleisle,’ (1762) it is asserted that Charles was offered the leadership of the attack on Minorca (April 1756), and that he declined, saying, ‘The English will do me justice, if they think fit, but I will no longer serve as a mere scarecrow’ (épouvantail). In January 1756, however, Knyphausen, writing to Frederick from Paris, discredited the idea that France meant to employ the Prince. [296b]
Turn we to Mr. Macallester for more minute indications.