(1744 to 1761.)
[Illustration: Drop-A] subject of great interest in the life of Charles
Edward presents itself to consideration in the alleged romantic, but
particularly absurd, incidents of his various appearances in London,
or England. These doubtful visits commence with the year 1744, and
close with the no longer _young_ Chevalier’s supposed presence at the
coronation of George III., 1761.
In the former year, there was residing at Ancoats, near Manchester, Sir
Oswald Mosley, who had been created a baronet by the Hanoverian king,
George I., in 1720. At the end of nearly a quarter of a century, if
common report do not lie, he seems to have been a thorough Jacobite,
with Charles Edward for his guest, in disguise! The ‘fact’ is first
recorded in Aston’s ‘Metrical Records of Manchester,’ in the following
doggrel lines:――
In the year ’44, a Royal Visitor came,
Tho’ few knew the Prince, or his rank, or his name――
To sound the opinions and gather the strength
Of the party of Stuart, his house, ere the length
Then _in petto_ to which he aspired
If he found the High Tories sufficient inspired
With notions of right, indefeasive, divine,
In favour of his Royal Sire and his line.
No doubt, he was promis’d an army, a host!
But he found to his cost, it was all a vain boast;
For when he return’d in the year ’45,
For the crown of his father, in person to strive,
When in Scottish costume at the head of the clans
He marched to Mancunium to perfect his plans,
The hope he had cherish’d, from promises made,
Remains to this day as a debt that’s unpaid.
[Sidenote: _CHARLES EDWARD IN MANCHESTER._]
A foot-note states that the prince was the guest of Sir Oswald for
several weeks, ‘no doubt, to see the inhabitants of Manchester and its
vicinity, who were attached to the interests of his family.’
At that time, a girl was living in Manchester, who was about fourteen
years of age. For seventy succeeding years she used to relate that in
1744, a handsome young gentleman used to come from Ancoats Hall into
Manchester, every post day, to the inn and post house of her father,
Bradbury, for letters or to read the papers from London, in which
papers, as he sat apart, he seemed to take unusual interest. The girl
admired his handsome countenance, his genteel deportment, and the
generous spirit which led him to give her half-a-crown for some trivial
chamber-maid service. In the following year, when Charles Edward
marched past her father’s house at the head of his troops, the girl
made outspoken recognition of him as the liberal donor of the welcome
half-crown. The father, ill-pleased at her demonstration, drove her
in, and silenced her with threats; but when all danger had ceased to
exist, he acknowledged that the handsome young fellow with the genteel
deportment and the young Chevalier were one and the same.――Such is the
substance of a corroborative story told by a later Sir Oswald Mosley,
Bart., in ‘Family Memoirs,’ printed in 1849 for private circulation.
[Sidenote: _MISS BYROM’S DIARY_.]
In Miss Beppy Byrom’s Diary, she narrates an interview which some of
the leading Jacobites of Manchester had with the prince when he was
there in the ’45 rebellion. These included her celebrated father,
John Byrom, Deacon, the father of the unlucky young captain who was
afterwards executed on Kennington Common, Clayton, and others. The
day was St. Andrew’s Day, Saturday, November 30th. Many ladies were
making crosses of St. Andrew; Miss Byrom dressed in white to go and
see the prince, who witched her with his noble horsemanship. The horse
seemed self-conscious of bearing a king’s son. After the review, the
lady and others went to church. ‘Mr. Skrigley read prayers. He prayed
for the King and Prince of Wales, but named no names.’ There was much
mild dissipation afterwards, with too much restlessness to partake of
settled meals, but infinite sipping of wine to Jacobite healths. In
the evening, after having seen the prince at table, the lady and many
companions drank more healths in the officers’ room. ‘They were all
exceeding civil,’ she says, ‘and almost made us fuddled with drinking
the P.’s health, for we had had no dinner. We sat there till Secretary
Murray came to let us know the P. was at leisure, and had done supper;
so we all had the honour to kiss his hand. My papa was fetched prisoner
to do the same, so was Dr. Deacon. Mr. Cattell and Mr. Clayton did
it without. The latter said grace for him. Then we went out and drank
his health in another room,’ &c., &c. This record is quoted in ‘Notes
and Queries,’ May 1, 1869, and as it makes no reference to the alleged
visit of 1744 (only one year before), it may be taken as demolishing
the earliest legend of the legendary visits of Charles Edward to
England.
[Sidenote: _THE VISIT IN 1748._]
The next in order of date is a very undefined visit of 1748. In support
of it there appears that exceedingly, questionable witness, namely,
Thicknesse.
Crazy Philip Thicknesse, in his crazy Memoirs, on the title-page of
which he crazily announced that he had the misfortune to be the father
of George Thicknesse Tuchet. Lord Audley (the son George had succeeded
to the ancient barony, through his deceased mother) was the man who, on
his son refusing to supply him with money, set up a cobbler’s stall,
opposite the son’s house, with a board on which was painted, ‘Boots and
shoes mended in the best and cheapest manner, by Philip Thicknesse,
father of Lord Audley.’ This had the desired effect. In the farrago,
called his Memoirs, Thicknesse says he knew ‘an Irish officer who had
only one arm.’ In a note, the name _Segrave_ is given as that of the
officer; but this editorial addition has been transferred to the text
by all writers who have quoted crazy Philip’s account. The officer with
only one arm assured Thicknesse that he had been with the Prince in
England, between the years 1745 and 1756, and that ‘_they_,’ Prince and
one-armed officer, ‘had laid a plan of seizing the person of the King,
George II., as he returned from the play, by a body of Irish chairmen,
fifteen hundred of whom were to begin a revolution, in Lincoln’s Inn
Fields.’ Philip, however, with a return of sense, remarks: ‘I cannot
vouch for the truth of this story.’ Yet out of this unfounded story
grew a report that Charles Edward was in London in 1748, which was
between the years above named. Philip Thicknesse was in his 70th year
when he began to put together his book, which was published in 1788.
He reminds his readers, that he ‘never pretended to be an accurate
writer.’ The reminder was hardly necessary.
[Sidenote: _THE VISIT IN 1750._]
The next witness, in chronological order, is Dr. King, the Chevalier’s
great agent, who gives the year 1750, as that in which Charles Edward
came to London. This information was first furnished in a book which
was published in 1818, under the title, ‘Political and Literary
Anecdotes of his own time.’
The editor is anonymous. He gives this account of how he came in
possession of the MS. ‘A Friend’ (no name given) ‘who was a long time
a prisoner in France, met with the following work in the possession of
two ladies’ (not named, but who are described as) ‘relations of the
writer, Dr. King. From the interesting passages which he was permitted
to extract, the Editor’ (as destitute of name as the others) ‘conceived
that the original might be well worthy of publication, he therefore
desired his friend to procure it, and found, on a comparison of the
hand-writing with that which is well ascertained to be Dr. King’s, in
the account books of St. Mary Hall, in Oxford,――that there is every
reason to suppose this MS. to have been written by Dr. King himself.’
Four nameless persons, and only ‘a reason to suppose’ among them.
[Sidenote: _DR. KING AND THE CHEVALIER._]
Dr. King’s life extended from 1685 to 1763; and it was towards the
close of his life, that he collected the anecdotes from the manuscript
of which the editor (1818) was permitted to take extracts. Where the
original manuscript is to be found is not mentioned. The only reference
to the young Chevalier of any importance is in the paragraph in
which the writer leads us to infer that the prince was in England in
September, 1750, at Lady Primrose’s house. ‘Lady Primrose,’ he says,
‘presented me to ――――’ Why this mysterious dash, when frequent mention
is made of Charles Edward, in description of character, as ‘the Prince’
or ‘Prince Charles?’ It is also stated that the prince was King’s
guest, and was recognised by King’s servants. For a Jacobite, the
doctor is as severe a dissector of the young Chevalier as the bitterest
Whig could desire. He speaks ill of the illustrious visitor, morally
and intellectually. As to his religion, King says he was quite ready to
‘conform’ to the religion of the country; that he was a Catholic with
the Catholics, and with the Protestants, a Protestant. This was exactly
what Lord Kilmarnock said before he was executed. King further states
that Charles Edward would exhibit an English Common Prayer Book to
Protestant friends; to the Catholics he could not have afforded much
pleasure by letting Gordon, the Nonjuror, christen his first child, of
which Miss Walkenshawe was the mother. Such an easy shifting of livery,
from Peter’s to Martin’s, and back again to Peter’s, was natural enough
in the case of a man, who had been brought up at Rome, but who was
placed under the care of a Protestant tutor, who of express purpose
neglected his education, and who, if King’s surmise be correct, made a
merit of his baseness, to the Government in London, and was probably
rewarded for it by a pension. Dr. King speaks of the prince’s agents
in London, as men of fortune and distinction, and many of the first
nobility, who looked to him as ‘the saviour of their country.’
[Sidenote: _MEMORANDA._]
This visit to London in 1750, if it really was ever made, is supposed
to be referred to, in one of several memoranda for a letter in the
prince’s handwriting, preserved with other Stuart papers, in Windsor
Castle; and first published by Mr. Woodward, Queen’s Librarian, in
1864. It runs thus: ‘8thly. To mention my religion (which is) of the
Church of England as by law established, as I have declared myself
when in London, the year 1750.’ This memorandum is at the end of a
commission from the writer’s father dated 1743, to which commission
is appended a copy of the ‘Manifesto’ addressed by the prince to
Scotland, in 1745. At what date the memorandum was written there is no
possibility of knowing. If the prince, as was his custom, used only the
initial of the name of the city, it is possible that Liége was meant;
and, after the word ‘when,’ the writer may have omitted the name of
one of his many agents of ‘fortune and distinction,’ who looked to him
as the saviour of their country.
[Sidenote: _FURTHER MEMORANDA._]
There are other memoranda for letters, supposed to refer to the above
visit. For example:――‘Parted, ye 2nd Sept. Arrived to A, ye 6th, parted
from thence, ye 12th Sept. E, ye 14th, and at L, ye 16th. Parted from
L, ye 22nd, and arrived at P. ye 24th. From P, parted ye 28th, arrived
here ye 30th Sept.’ In this memorandum the initials are supposed to
stand for Antwerp, England, London, and Paris. There is nothing to
prove that they _do_; and, it may be said that A and L quite as aptly
represent Avignon and Liége. However this may be, dates and supposed
places are entirely at variance from other dates and places which are
taken as referring to this identical visit of the young Chevalier to
London, in 1750. ‘Ye 5th Sept. O.S. 1750, arrived; ye 11th parted to D,
ye 12th in the morning parted and arrived at B, and ye 13th at P. R. S.
ye 16th Sept. ye 22nd, 23rd, and 24th.’ Here, D and B are interpreted
as signifying Dover and Boulogne, P. is Paris. R. S. have received no
interpretation. It is certain that one of the two records _must_ be
incorrect; and both of them _may_ be.
[Sidenote: _CHARLES EDWARD’S STATEMENT._]
But, something more definite is reached in a despatch from the British
Minister at Florence (Mann), which Lord Stanhope published in his
‘Decline of the Stuarts.’ The minister, who writes in 1783, describes a
conversation which took place at Florence, between Charles Edward (then
known as Count d’Albany) and Gustavus, King of Sweden, in the course
of which the count told the king that, in September, 1750, he arrived
secretly in London with a Colonel Brett; that together they examined
the outer parts of the Tower, and came to the conclusion that one of
the gates might be blown in by a petard. After which, at a lodging in
Pall Mall, where fifty Jacobites were assembled, including the Duke
of Beaufort and the Earl of Westmoreland, the prince said to these
Jacobites, or rather to Gustavus, that if they could have assembled
only 4,000 men, he would have publicly put himself at their head. He
added that he stayed a fortnight in London, and that the Government
were ignorant of his presence there.
It is to be remembered that this story was told three and thirty years
after the alleged occurrence. The narrator was then an aged man, whose
brains and memory and general health were so damaged by ‘the drink,
the drink, dear Hamlet!’ that not the slightest trust could be placed
in any single word that he uttered in respect to his past history. He
may have dreamed it all, but that any two gentlemen, the face of one of
whom was familiar, from prints and busts publicly sold, could have so
carefully examined the Tower as to find out where it was vulnerable,
without the sentinels having discovered the same part in the explorers,
is surely incredible. The vaunt of the secret visitor publicly placing
himself at the head of an army of Jacobites, was just such a boast as
the brainless drunkard of 1783 would be likely to make. There is as
little reliance to be put on the statement of the Duke of Beaufort and
Earl of Westmoreland being present at a Jacobite meeting in Pall Mall.
The really Jacobite duke died in 1746. His successor, and also the Earl
of Westmoreland (of the year 1750), may have been often in opposition
to the Government, but no act of their lives would warrant the belief
that they could be insane enough to attend a meeting of half a hundred
Jacobites in Pall Mall, to listen to a project for blowing up the Tower
and pulling down the throne.
[Sidenote: _THE VISIT IN 1752-3._]
Two years after 1750, however, according to the MS. Journal of Lord
Elcho, Charles Edward was again in London, secretly at the house of
the very outspoken Jacobite lady, Lady Primrose. Hume, the historian,
says, in a letter to Sir John Pringle (dated 1773), that he knew with
the greatest certainty that Charles Edward was in London in 1753; his
authority was Lord Marischal, ‘who said it consisted with his certain
knowledge.’ The knowledge was derived from a lady――whom my Lord
_refused to name_, and whom Hume _imagined_ to be Lady Primrose. Now,
Lady Primrose was the Protestant daughter of the Dean of Armagh, of
Huguenot descent, bearing the name of Drelincourt. She was the widow of
Viscount Primrose who had been an officer of distinction in the king’s
service. Lady Primrose, herself, was a warm-hearted Jacobite who had
given a temporary home in Essex Street, Strand, to Flora Macdonald,
during part of her brief sojourn in London in 1747. According to
this legendary visit of 1753, Charles Edward, unexpectedly, entered
her room, when she was entertaining a company at cards. He was there
unannounced, yet Lady Primrose called him by a name he assumed! Her
object was to keep him undetected by her friends; but his portrait hung
in the room, and the company identified the visitor. Lord Marischal
told Hume (he thinks, ‘from the authority of the same lady,’ whom
Lord Marischal had refused to name), that the Prince went about the
streets and parks, with no other disguise than not wearing ‘his blue
ribband and star.’ Some years after, Hume spoke of this visit, to Lord
Holdernesse (who in 1753 was Secretary of State). This minister stated
that he received the first intelligence of Charles Edward’s presence
in London from George II.; who may have been misinformed, and who is
reported to have said, ‘When he is tired of England, he will go abroad
again!’ A very unlikely remark. Another story resembled that of the
Lincoln’s Inn Fields’ chairmen, namely, that in 1753, Lord Elibank,
his brother Alexander Murray, and five dozen associates, were to be
employed in carrying off this very good-natured monarch!
[Sidenote: _CREDIBILITY OF THE STORIES._]
As to the credibility of this story, it is only necessary to remark
that, in 1753, Dr. Archibald Cameron was hanged in London for being
present in Scotland, where mischief was intended; and that, if the
Ministry were so well served by their spies, such as Sam Cameron was,
through whom the Doctor was arrested and executed, Charles Edward could
not possibly have escaped; and his capture was of great importance
at the moment. Moreover, the king was powerless. It belonged to the
Administration to decide whether the undisguised Prince should be
captured or allowed to go free.
[Sidenote: _CONFLICTING STATEMENTS._]
Assuming that he was so allowed, he is again found in London in 1754.
At least, crazy Thicknesse says: ‘that this unfortunate man was in
London, _about_ the year 1754, I can positively assert. He was “at
a lady’s house, in Essex Street;” was recognised in the Park, by a
Jacobite gentleman who attempted to kneel to him, and this so alarmed
the lady in Essex Street, that a boat was procured the same night,
in which he was forthwith despatched to France. Tonnage of boat and
captain’s name not registered.
Later, the date of this last visit is given in a letter, addressed by
Lord Albemarle, British ambassador in Paris, to Sir Thomas Robinson,
namely, May 1754. The writer, in August, 1754, states that he had
been ‘positively’ assured by a discontented Jacobite, that ‘no longer
ago than about three months,’ Charles Edward had been in London, ‘in
a great disguise as may be imagined;’ that the prince had received
friendly notice, at Nottingham, that he was in danger of being seized,
and that he immediately fled. As to the authority, Lord Albemarle
writes:――‘The person from whom I have this, is as likely to have been
informed of it as any of the party, and could have had no particular
reason to have imposed such a story upon me, which could have served no
purpose.’ The ambassador is mistaken. The purpose of such stories was
to keep warm the hopes――fading hopes――of the Jacobites, and it was not
the last story invented with that purpose in view.
[Sidenote: _AT THE CORONATION._]
Lastly, there is the story of the prince’s presence at the coronation
festival of George III., in 1761. According to some authorities, it was
without any stirring incident. Others say, that very stirring matter
indeed sprang from it, and that much confusion was the consequence.
Walpole, describing the illustrious people, state officers, and others
at the coronation-banquet of George III., September 1761, pauses at
sight of the son of the unhappy Lord Kilmarnock. ‘One there was ... the
noblest figure I ever saw, the High Constable of Scotland, Lord Errol’
(he had succeeded to this title through his mother), ‘as one saw him
in a place capable of containing him, one admired him. At the wedding,
dressed in tissue, he looked like one of the Giants in Guildhall, new
gilt. It added to the energy of his person――that one considered him
acting so considerable a part in that very Hall, where, so few years
ago, one saw his father, Lord Kilmarnock, condemned to the block.’ In
1746, Lord Errol, then Lord Boyd, had fought at Culloden, against his
father.
[Sidenote: _AT THE BANQUET._]
They who were still of that father’s way of thinking were for long
afterwards comforted by a story that when the King’s Champion
proclaimed George III. king, and challenged all who questioned the
right of him so proclaimed, by throwing down his glove, a Champion
of James III. boldly stept forward, took up the glove, and retired
with it unmolested. The story, so to speak, got crystalised. It is
still partially believed in. It may have arisen out of an incident
chronicled in ‘Burke’s Peerage.’ It is there said that, officiating
at the coronation as Constable of Scotland, Lord Errol, by accident,
neglected to doff his cap when the king entered; but on his
respectfully apologising for his negligence, his majesty entreated him
to be covered, for he looked on his presence at the ceremony as a very
particular honour.’ This wears an air of absurdity. However that may
be, Scott has made use of the alleged challenge of the king’s right to
his crown.
It occurs in ‘Redgauntlet,’ where Lilias swiftly passes through the
covering lines of Jacobites, takes up the gauntlet, and leaves a pledge
of battle in its stead. But contemporary accounts take no note of any
such occurrence. Walpole, an eye-witness, merely records: ‘The Champion
acted his part admirably, and dashed down his gauntlet with proud
defiance. His associates, Lord Talbot, Lord Effingham, and the Duke of
Bedford were woful. Lord Talbot [the Lord High Steward] piqued himself
on backing his horse down the hall and not turning its rump towards
the king; but he had taken such pains to address it to that duty, that
it entered backwards; and, at his retreat, the spectators clapped, a
terrible indecorum.’ This indecorous clapping, as the Champion (Dymoke)
and his knights backed out of the hall may have been taken by those
who were not aware of the cause as some party expression. ◆[Sidenote:
_GEORGE AND CHARLES EDWARD._]◆ Out of it the story of the Jacobite
taker-up of the glove may have arisen. The story was told with a
difference. A friend (who is anonymous) informed the Earl Marischal
that he had recognised Charles Edward among the spectators at the
coronation banquet, and had spoken to him. The prince is said to have
replied: ‘I came only out of curiosity; and the person who is the
object of all this magnificence is the one I envy the least.’ Scott,
in a note to the incident in ‘Redgauntlet,’ remarks,――‘The story is
probably one of the numerous fictions that were circulated to keep up
the spirits of a sinking faction. The incident was, however, possible,
if it could be supposed to be attended by any motive adequate to the
risk.... George III., it is said, had a police of his own, whose
agency was so efficient that the Sovereign was able to tell his Prime
Minister, on one occasion, to his great surprize, that the Pretender
was in London. The Prime Minister began immediately to talk of measures
to be taken, warrants to be procured, messengers and guards to be got
in readiness. “Pooh! pooh!” said the good-natured Sovereign, “since I
have found him out, leave me alone to deal with him.” “And what,” said
the Minister, “is your Majesty’s purpose in so serious a case?” “To
leave the young man to himself,” said George III., “and when he tires,
he will go back again.” The truth of this story does not depend on that
of the lifting of the gauntlet, and while the latter could be but an
idle bravado, the former expresses George III.’s goodness of heart and
soundness of policy.’
[Sidenote: _A DISQUALIFICATION._]
Altogether it is very clear that dates, persons, and places have been
inextricably mixed up in the Jacobite legends of the Chevalier’s visit
to London. At the same time there seems to be but one opinion among all
writers, without exception, who have dealt with this subject hitherto,
namely, that the alleged visit of 1750 actually occurred. Perhaps
the best evidence is furnished in the ‘Diary of a Lady of Quality’
(Mrs. Wynne). The writer’s grandson states that his grandmother had
frequently told him that she had had, from Lady Primrose herself, full
particulars of the visit of Charles Edward to London in 1750. A few
questions, however, might easily break down even this assertion. After
all, the decision must be left to the reader’s judgment.
Although no overt act answered the Champion’s challenge in Westminster
Hall, the right of George III. to succeed to the crown was vigorously
denied in very High Church coteries. Soon after the king’s birth,
in 1738, he was baptised by Secker, Bishop of Oxford. Now, Secker
was born and bred a dissenter, and did not enter the Church till
after he had been a medical student, and had run a not too exemplary
career. How could an unbaptised bishop validly baptise a prince,
heir to the crown of England? If the king was an unbaptised, or
as good as unbaptised king, he was neither lawful King of England
nor temporal head of England’s Church! This was the only form in
which the Champion’s gage was picked up. It did not amount to much.
Nevertheless, an old inheritor of Nonjuring principles occasionally
may be found questioning the right of George III. to succeed, on the
score of his being unbaptised, or of being (still worse) baptised by
an ex-dissenter, who himself had never been sanctified by the rite
according to the Church of England! ◆[Sidenote: _THE PROTESTANTISM
OF CHARLES EDWARD._]◆ As to the story of the alleged Protestantism
of Charles Edward, it never had more foundation than his own ignoble
assurances to members of the Church of England whom he happened to
encounter. In this sense he often ‘_declared_’ himself; but, never in a
church, at Liége or in Switzerland, or in London, at St. Martin’s, St.
James’s, or St. Mary’s le Strand. There is no record of any such solemn
circumstance connected with any such exalted personage in any of those
places or edifices. Such a fact as his conversion would have been utter
ruin to him. The very report that the fact existed caused many of his
Irish friends to tighten their purse-strings. Rome, with full knowledge
that he really had no ‘religion’ at all, was perfectly satisfied that
his Catholicism was uncontaminated. When, after his father’s death in
1766, Charles Edward returned to Rome, no recantation, nor anything
like it, was demanded of him.
The stories of the change of religion not only differ from one another,
but the same spreader of the story gives different versions. Walpole,
in his Letters (April 21, 1772) says: ‘I have heard from one who should
know, General Redmond, an Irish officer in the French service, that
the Pretender himself abjured the Roman Catholic religion at Liége
_a few years ago_.’ Walpole, in his ‘Last Journals,’ i. 81 (April,
1772), says, ‘General Redmond, a brave old Irish officer in the French
service, and a Roman Catholic, told Lord Holland that the Pretender had
abjured the Roman religion at Liége, and that the Irish Catholics had
withdrawn their contributions on that account.’ The time is also set
down as ‘_a few years ago_.’
[Sidenote: _FOUNDATION OF THE STORY._]
The entire flimsy fabric of these stories of conversion was probably
raised on a simple but interesting incident. An English baronet of an
ancient family, Sir Nathaniel Thorold, died at Naples. His heir, a
Roman Catholic, could not succeed. Inheritance was barred by his being
of the Romish Church. The law was as cruel as anything devised by the
‘Papists,’ on whose overthrow this legislation was made against them.
To evade it, and secure his rights, the heir of Sir Nathaniel Thorold,
probably, _permissu superiorum_, stripped himself of his Romanism, and
became a member of the Protestant community, at St. Martin’s. This step
entitled him to his uncle’s estates, and, doubtless, little disturbed
his earlier convictions; but is not this the seed out of which grew the
legend of the Pretender’s cutting himself loose from Popery? Charles
Edward, in some things, was not unlike the craft commanded by poor
Nanty Ewart, which ran in to Annan, with her smuggled kegs of Cognac,
as the ‘Jumping Jenny,’ but which began her voyage from Dunkirk with
seminary priests on board, as well as brandy, and was there known as
‘La Sainte Geneviève.’
[Illustration: Decorative banner]