Half-length; facing in front, inclined to the right; his right hand
only is seen. He is in the robes of the Order of the Garter, of
which the jewel hangs on his breast, and has a long full-bottomed
wig, a lace cravat and cuffs. On his left is a table on which is
the royal crown of England. The background is gray, with a red
curtain. On canvas, 3 ft. 3 in. high, by 2 ft. 6 in. wide.
The canvas is new. Behind was formerly this inscription:--"_James
son of James II.; by the Cavaliere Benedetto Luti, from the
Cardinal of York's collection at Frascati._" (Note in the _Royal
Inventory_.) This picture and No. 839 were bequeathed to George
III. by Cardinal York, the old Pretender's son, and the last of the
Stuarts, who died in 1807.
It was no doubt painted at Rome, some time between the year 1718,
when Prince James accepted the asylum in the Eternal City offered
him by the Pope, and the year 1724, when Luti died there. In 1720
he was married to the Princess Sobieski, and at the end of the same
year the young Pretender was born.
The Pretender's countenance has that heavy, sodden appearance, and
that weak dejected look, which were due partly to his inert
character, partly to his misfortunes, and not less to the debauched
and indolent life he led. His person, indeed, was never impressive;
and even an adherent, writing of the events at Perth in 1715,
admits:--"I must not conceal, that when we saw the man, whom they
called our King, we found ourselves not at all animated by his
presence, and if he was disappointed in us, we were tenfold more so
in him. We saw nothing in him that looked like spirit. He never
appeared with cheerfulness and vigour to animate us. Our men began
to despise him; some asked him if he could speak."
Gray the poet gives a similar account of him some years after:--"He
is a thin, ill-made man, extremely tall and awkward, of a most
unpromising countenance, a good deal resembling King James II., and
has extremely the air and look of an idiot, particularly when he
laughs or prays; the first he does not do often, the latter
continually." Horace Walpole observed that "enthusiasm and
disappointment have stamped a solemnity on his person, which rather
creates pity than respect."