Bonnie Prince Charlie: A Biography (31 page)

By July of 1746, what had been methodical destruction became uncontrolled mayhem. Soldiers raided, pillaged and murdered indiscriminately, raping women and killing for sport. Cumberland and his officers now began to issue orders against such atrocities, but to little effect. The damage was done, the Highlands would never completely recover from it.

The wanton harm done on the islands of Raasay and Rona was particularly savage. On Raasay, three hundred cottages were destroyed, and the laird's house burned to the ground. No habitation on the entire island was spared, save two crude huts that were somehow overlooked. All the animals were killed and their carcasses left to rot. On Rona, a blind girl was raped, men were brutally flogged and the wretched inhabitants stripped of the clothes on their backs. When he learned of this, Charles made a promise to the islanders that better days would come, and that he would guarantee to replace all the burned-out cottages with better and stronger houses when his rule began.
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At the end of 1746 a report was drawn up for the benefit of Cumberland's successor Lord Albemarle by two spies who had been traveling in the Highlands. District by district they chronicled the horror: so many villages burned, so much land destroyed, so many inhabitants uprooted. In Glengarry, the report read, "there is neither houses nor people, only some few huts inhabited by women only in a starving condition."
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On September 12, Charles received word that two French ships were waiting in Loch nan Uamh to carry him over to France.

They were the latest in a series of vessels that had been sent to rescue him, some of which had been captured by the British. An Irishman, Captain Warren, whom Charles had sent to France as a messenger earlier in the year, chartered two heavily gunned privateers there,
L'Heureux
and
Prince de Conti
. The two ships had been chased, but not engaged, by British warships during their crossing from France and had found their way to Loch nan Uamh thanks to an informant on South Uist. Flying British colors themselves, the privateers anchored in the loch and waited there for Charles for two weeks, while a fierce gale hampered shipping which otherwise might have discovered their presence.

Finally on September 19 Charles went on board the
Prince de Conti
, accompanied by more than a hundred of his supporters who like himself had been living the lives of fugitives since Culloden. They were all lucky to be alive, yet many were seen to weep as they went on board. Even Charles, who on his way to Loch nan Uamh had been in exceptionally high spirits and had amused himself by tossing his companions' bonnets in the air and shooting at them, became more sober. After supper he moved from the
Prince de Conti
to
L'Heureux
, which set sail several hours before dawn on September 20. Nine days later both ships weighed anchor off the coast of Brittany. The great adventure of Charles's life was behind him.

Chapter 19

Charles disembarked near Morlaix on the coast of Brittany on October 10,* after an uneventful voyage. On his arrival his first concerns were to see his banker, his brother, and his dog—in that order. [*This was October 10 New Style (September 29 Old Style), according to the calendar in prevailing use on the continent.]

In Paris his banker, Waters junior, advanced him enough money to get established and to help out the exiles who had come with him to France. Charles was, as always, in want of money. He was in debt to some of the more distinguished exiles, who had loaned him money for his campaign, and he needed to dress and equip himself in princely fashion for his appearances at Louis XV's court. The rough clothes, boots and beard suitable to his Highland wanderings would now have to be replaced by finely tailored suits of velvet and silver lace, shoes with diamond buckles, smoothly shaven cheeks and a new bag-wig. Waters was cooperative in providing the needed funds, but only up to a point. The account Charles drew on was his father's, and James had informed the banker that he would retain personal control of it from Rome.

Next Charles sent a message to his brother, whom he had not seen for nearly three years, and arranged to see him. Henry, having spent six damp and foggy months on the French and Flemish coasts earlier in the year, ostensibly in command of the invasion force that was never launched, had returned to Paris after Culloden and taken up residence at Clichy. Though willing enough to help Charles if he could, Henry had been immensely glad to leave the cheerless port towns where he had been stranded "without the least amusement," as he put it, unable to get the exercise he craved and surrounded by soldiers and other rough types who ridiculed his conspicuous piety and could not share his cultivated tastes.
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Henry was twenty-one, sensitive, a bit of a hypochondriac, a lover of poetry and fine music. Even after he left the seacoast and moved to his uncle's country estate near Evreux he suffered, complaining that the "thickness" of the air made him ill and took away his appetite. He moved on to Bagneux and then, in the first week of October, to Clichy, to the residence of the Cardinal of Auvergne. There he feasted on the pleasures offered by the life of a great ecclesiastic: sumptuous clothing, wigs made by the best Versailles wigmaker, a distinguished physician available on call, celebrated virtuosi to entertain on the violin and harpsichord, a famous painter to paint his portrait. In such surroundings, the contemplative, spiritual life could be pursued without fear of ridicule and without the discomforts of austerity. Henry found it appealing in the extreme.

When the two brothers met, Henry rushed to embrace Charles, crying out for joy and flinging himself into his arms with such violence that one of Charles's attendant Highlanders, not recognizing Henry, mistook him for a Hanoverian assassin.
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So profound was Henry's pleasure in seeing his brother safely returned from his perilous adventure that he overlooked the fact that the members of Charles's entourage snubbed him, refusing to pay their respects to him and eventually becoming openly hostile. They blamed him for failing to spur the French to action the previous winter, possibly they despised him for luxuriating in comfort while Charles was risking his life for the cause. His dull, mild-mannered personality was utterly unheroic, and he certainly suffered by comparison with Charles.

After greeting his brother, Charles went to greet his dog. Marquis, left behind fifteen months earlier. Waiting for him along with Marquis was all the mail that had arrived since his departure for Scotland, most of it from his father. James had written every week during the time that Charles was away, loving, labored, occasionally pedantic letters that he knew had little chance of reaching their intended recipient. He sent his warmest affection to "his dearest Carluccio," assuring him of his continuing anxiety for his safety and his eagerness for news of him. "I cannot brag much of my health, but my chief ail at present is my concern for you." "I heartily embrace you with a heart full of love for you and confidence in the divine providence over you."
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Nothing in the letters was a surprise. Besides expressions of anxiety and affection there were only mundane references to the social activities of the pope and to the ''fine season" in Rome. James was growing very weary of the vain pursuit of the crown. The failure of Charles's efforts, and the strain of worrying over his wellbeing, had drained away what enthusiasm he had once had. At fifty-eight, he was an old man, living through his children and wishing that they were near at hand.

James might be far away, but Charles and Henry had one relative living in the vicinity of Paris: their uncle Charles-Godefroy, Due de Bouillon.

The duke was an important man at the French court, holding the titles of Grand Chambellan, Grand Maître, and Grand Ecuyer. More important, he was a great crony of the king, dining with him, gambling with him, accompanying him in his pursuit of amusement. A contemporary described him as "a very pleasant man for society," and indeed his portrait shows such a man—baby-faced, indulgent and fleshy, with soft skin and soft features looking out of a face without any notable stamp of wit or intellect. His critics called him an overgrown child, good-looking but immature. Immature or not, he was in a position to be of use to Charles when he approached Louis XV for aid, and before going to see the king Charles consulted his uncle at length.

Both Charles and Henry went to Fontainebleau to join the court on October 21. They were graciously received, with King Louis interrupting a meeting of his council to talk briefly to "Baron Renfrew" and the "Count of Albany," as Charles and Henry were known. The dauphin too greeted them cordially, and the queen left her card table to talk to Charles, her ladies crowding around the tall, handsome adventurer about whom they had heard so much. On succeeding days Charles was entertained at lavish dinners and suppers with many of the court luminaries, including Noailles, Marshal of France and the Comte d'Argenson, war minister and one of the principal anti-Jacobite voices at the royal council table. Charles's dinner with the war minister must have been a test of his discretion—and Charles was not noted for his discretion. To dine with the man whose intransigent opposition had helped to prevent the launching of the invasion force (and thus to prevent the success of Charles's entire venture) must have strained politeness to the breaking point.

The highlight of the court visit was an evening Charles spent at supper with the royal mistress, the Marquise de Pompadour. It was an intimate party with only a dozen or so of the courtiers present, including the Due de Bouillon and the Due de Richelieu, who had been in charge of the would-be invasion force. During the supper the king arrived unexpectedly, strolling into the room without fanfare or formality and insisting that all the marquise's guests stay seated. He made himself comfortable, conversing with Charles in particular on every subject except politics until two in the morning and urging him to recount the adventures he had had while hiding from the Hanoverian troops. Was it true, the assembled company wanted to know, that he had been trapped for days in the heather, with hostile soldiers all around him and with nothing to eat? And that once, when he was about to be captured, the patrol that was after him suddenly and providentially turned in the opposite direction, for which there was no explanation save that God had chosen to spare his life?
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The familiarity King Louis displayed toward him on this evening was heartening to Charles, but he waited in vain for a private audience with the king at which the serious business of the Stuart restoration could be discussed. Finally, in desperation, Charles sent a message to the king suggesting a way for them to meet in secret: he, Charles, would have a tainting spell, whereupon he could be brought to a private apartment to recover. There King Louis could meet him, with no one the wiser—not even Henry. 'T love him tenderly," Charles wrote confidentially to Louis. "I would like to avoid giving him any jealousy."

When nothing but royal silence greeted this note, Charles saw that he had been tricked. He had been put off with royal joviality and social pleasantries; he had been taken into the inner circle of the court, accepted for his pedigree, yet he had not been allowed, as an official representative of his father's interests, to ask officially for money, men and arms with which to continue his fight. He was only Baron Renfrew with his brother the Count of Albany, objects of intense but ephemeral interest in the Marquise de Pompadour's dining room.

Charles was furious. Not only had he been put off with meaningless familiarities, not only was he forced to forgo princely honors and be received as Baron Renfrew, but he had been thwarted in his quest for a private audience. Clearly the king had no intention of backing another invasion attempt. And then, insult of insults, a clerk arrived from the office of the secretary of state for foreign affairs, offering both Charles and Henry a joint income of a mere twelve thousand livres a month and the use of a mansion at Bercy, to be furnished at state expense. It was, as Charles wrote in a letter to James, a "most scandalous arrangement." He had been expecting a much higher income and a royal palace to live in, either Vincennes, Luxembourg or possibly St.-Germain, where his grandfather had held court.

In Paris, by contrast, Charles was a great celebrity. When he attended the opera with his uncle, the huge crowd that had gathered to catch a glimpse of him burst into tumultuous applause the moment he stepped from his carriage. Inside, the cheering operagoers would not let him take his seat in the royal box until he had bowed to them time and again. There were rumors about him in the capital. It was said that King Louis not only planned to install him in one of the royal palaces, but had given him eight hundred thousand livres from the royal treasury, plus a monthly stipend of another fifty thousand livres. The Parisians knew who he was and what he was truly worth; it was only the pusillanimous king and his duplicitous courtiers who failed to take his full measure.

Very well then, Charles decided, he would deal with them as a prince, even though they had not treated him as one. He sent the king an arrogant memorandum setting out his demands and justifying them with outrageous statements that fell considerably short of the truth. He refused absolutely to accept either the inferior Bercy mansion or the puny stipend of twelve thousand livres. He was "'absolutely convinced," he wrote to James, "that the only way of dealing with this ***** government is to give as short and smart answer as one can, at the same time paying them in their own coin by loading them with civilities and compliments, setting apart business, for that kind of vermin the more you give them the more they'll take, and also the more room you give them the more they have to grapple at, which makes it necessary to be laconic with them, which is the only way of passifying them, and putting all their shame upon their backs."
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Charles's princely terseness did not produce any immediate result, but his uncle stepped in to solve at least the housing problem. Bouillon arranged for Charles and Henry to occupy two houses next to his palatial one on the Quai Malaquais, installing Henry in the structure known as the "petit hotel de Bouillon" and Charles in the former Hotel Transylvanie. As for their incomes, Charles continued to go to Waters for what he needed, amassing a large debt of a hundred and twenty thousand livres before the end of the year.
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