But, in 1847, a book appeared, entitled "Tales of the Century; or, Sketches of the Romance of History between the Years 1746 and 1846, by John Sobieski and Charles Edward Stuart," and it immediately created a considerable stir in literary circles. It was at once evident that the three stories which the work contained were not intended to be read as fictions, but as a contribution to the history of the period; or, in other words, the authors meant the public to understand that Prince Charles Edward Stuart left a legitimate son by his wife Louisa de Stolberg, and that they themselves were his descendants and representatives.
The first of these "Tales of the Century" is called "The Picture," and introduces the reader to a young Highland gentleman, named Macdonnell, of Glendulochan, who is paying a first visit, in 1831, to an aged Jacobite doctor, then resident in Westminster. This old adherent of the cause feels the near approach of death, and is oppressed by the possession of a secret which he feels must not die with him. He had promised only to reveal it "in the service of his king;" and believing it for his service that it should live, he confides it to the young chief. "I will reveal it to you," he says, "that the last of the Gael may live to keep that mysterious hope—They have yet a king."
He then narrates how, in the course of a tour which he had made in Italy, in 1773, a lingering fascination compelled him to remain for some days in the vicinity of St. Rosalie, on the road from Parma to Florence; how he had often walked for hours in the deep quiet shades of the convent, ruminating on his distant country, on past events, and on coming fortunes yet unknown; and how, while thus engaged one evening, his reverie was disturbed by the rapid approach of a carriage with scarlet outriders. He gained a momentary glimpse, of its occupants—a lady and gentleman—and recognised the prince at once, "for though changed with years and care, he was still himself; and though no longer the 'Bonnie Prince Charlie' of our faithful beau-ideal, still the same eagle-featured royal bird which I had seen on his own mountains, when he spread his wings towards the south; and once more I felt the thrilling talismanic influence of his appearance, the sight so dear, so deeply-rooted in the hearts of the Highlanders—Charlie, King of the Gael."
On the same evening, while the doctor was pacing the aisles of St. Rosalie, he was disturbed from his meditation by a heavy military tread and the jingling of spurs, and a man of superior appearance, but equivocal demeanour, strode towards him, and demanded to know if he were Dr. Beaton, the Scotch physician. On receiving an affirmative answer, he was requested to render assistance to some one in need of immediate attendance, and all hesitation and inquiry was attempted to be cut short by the announcement—"The relief of the malady, and not the circumstances, of the patient is the province of the physician, and for the present occasion you will best learn by an inspection of the individual."
A carriage was in waiting, but, in true romantic style, it was necessary that the doctor should consent to be blindfolded; an indignity to which he refused to submit, until the stranger, with effusive expressions of respect for his doubts, said the secret would be embarrassing to its possessor, as it concerned the interest and safety of the most illustrious of the Scottish Jacobites. The doctor's reluctance now changed into eagerness; he readily agreed to follow his guide, and was conveyed, partly by land and partly by water, to a mansion, which they entered through a garden. After passing through a long range of apartments, his mask was removed, and he looked round upon a splendid saloon, hung with crimson velvet, and blazing with mirrors which reached from floor to ceiling, while the dim perspective of a long conservatory was revealed at the farther end. His conductor rang a silver bell, which was immediately answered by a little page, richly dressed in scarlet. This boy entered into conversation in German with the cavalier, and gave very pleasing information to him, which he, in turn, communicated to the doctor. "Signor Dottore," said he, "the most important part of your occasion is past. The lady whom you have been unhappily called to attend met with an alarming accident in her carriage not half an hour before I found you in the church, and the unlucky absence of her physician leaves her entirely in your charge. Her accouchement is over, apparently without more than exhaustion; but of that you will be the judge."
The mention of the carriage and the accident recalled to Dr. Beaton his hasty vision of the prince, but, before he could collect his confused thoughts, he was led through a splendid suite of apartments to a small ante-room, decorated with several portraits, among which he instantly recognised one of the Duke of Perth and another of King James VIII. Thence he was conducted into a magnificent bed-chamber, where the light of a single taper shed a dim glimmer through the apartment. A lady who addressed him in English led him towards the bed. The curtains were almost closed, and by the bed stood a female attendant holding an infant enveloped in a mantle. As she retired, the lady drew aside the curtains, and by the faint light which fell within the bed, the doctor imperfectly distinguished the pale features of a delicate face, which lay wan and languid, almost enveloped in the down pillow. The patient uttered a few words in German, but was extremely weak, and almost pulseless. The case was urgent, and the Scotch doctor, suppressing all indication of the danger of which he was sensible, offered at once to write a prescription.
For this purpose he was taken to a writing-cabinet which stood near; and there, while momentarily reflecting upon the ingredients which were to form his prescription, he glanced at a toilet beside him. The light of the taper shone full upon a number of jewels, which lay loosely intermixed among the scent bottles, as if put off in haste and confusion; and his surprise was great to recognise an exquisite miniature of his noble exiled prince, Charles Edward, representing him in the very dress in which he had seen him at Culloden. The lady suddenly approached, as if looking for some ornaments, and placed herself between him and the table. It was but an instant, and she retired; but when the doctor, anxious for another glimpse, again turned his eyes to the table, the face of the miniature was turned.
His duty done, he was led from the house in the same mysterious manner in which he was admitted to it; but not until he had taken an oath on the crucifix "never to speak of what he had seen, heard, or thought on that night, unless it should be in the service of his king—King Charles." Moreover, he was required to leave Tuscany the same night, and, in implicit obedience to his instructions, departed to a seaport. Here he resumed his rambles and meditation, having still deeper food for thought than when he was at St. Rosalie.
On the third night after his arrival, while strolling along the beach, his attention was attracted by an English frigate, and in answer to his inquiries he was told that her name was the "Albina," and that she was commanded by Commodore O'Haleran. The doctor lingered on the shore in the bright moonlight, and was just about to retire when he was detained by the approach of a horseman, who was followed by a small close carriage. In the horseman he recognised his mysterious guide of St. Rosalie, and waited to see the next move in the game. The carriage stopped full in the moonlight, near the margin of the water. A signal was given by the cavalier, and in response the long black shadow of a man-of-war's galley shot from behind a creek of rocks, and pulled straight for the spot where the carriage stood. Her stern was backed towards the shore. A lady alighted from the carriage, and as she descended the doctor observed that she bore in her arms some object which she held with great solicitation. An officer at the same time leaped from the boat and hastened towards the travellers. The doctor did not discern his face, but, from the glimmer of the moonlight upon his shoulders, saw that he wore double epaulettes. It may therefore be conjectured that this was Commodore O'Haleran himself. He made a brief but profound salute to the lady, and led her towards the galley. Then, says the doctor,—
"As they approached the lady unfolded her mantle, and I heard the faint cry of an infant, and distinguished for a moment the glisten of a little white mantle and cap, as she laid her charge in the arms of her companion. The officer immediately lifted her into the boat, and as soon as she was seated the cavalier delivered to her the child; and, folding it carefully in her cloak, I heard her half-suppressed voice lulling the infant from its disturbance. A brief word and a momentary grasp of the hand passed between the lady and the cavalier; and, the officer lifting his hat, the boat pushed off, the oars fell in the water, and the galley glided down the creek with a velocity that soon rendered her but a shadow in the grey tide. In a few minutes I lost sight of her altogether; but I still distinguished the faint measured plash of the oars, and the feeble wail of the infant's voice float along the still water.