Sheridan, a relative of the Stuarts (he was James's half-nephew), and the Abbé Legoux, a French cleric from the University of Paris. All were Catholics, and were under the supervision of the Protestant chief tutor, or "Governor," James Murray, Earl of Dunbar. None was able to instill discipline or develop concentration in the lively Charles, and Baron von Stosch, always on the lookout for stories of turmoil and conflict within the Stuart household, wrote to London that Charles was so unruly he threatened to kill Murray and had to be locked in his room—with his weapons taken away.
The boy had a quick mind, but a short attention span, and as a result he reached adolescence without acquiring that familiarity with the Greek and Latin classics which marked a cultivated man, without any apparent knowledge of mathematics—essential to soldiering—and without any knowledge of the history or governance of England. His heavily accented English did not improve as he grew older, and given his father's assiduous efforts to make himself appear to be an Englishman, Charles's deficiency in English speech and culture is remarkable. It is all the more remarkable in that he was exposed to the company of the English Jacobite exiles, and of the English tourists sojourning in Rome.
When Charles was nine years old, in the spring of 1729, Clementina wrote several letters to her "dear Carlusu," telling him she hoped he would continue to be "civil and good" and urging him to "remember well my lessons, which you know is the only proof you can give me of your love." 2 "Be certain of my constant and just love I always will have for my dear Carlusu," she went on, "for whom I have prayed with all my heart to day, and put you [ sic ] under the protection of the Blessed Virgin." 3
James wrote Clementina that "Carluccio was mightily pleased with your Letter and to Sir Thomas's and my great surprise, read it almost current [i.e., almost without hesitation] without much help." That the reading of a relatively simple letter should surprise both James and Sheridan implies that Charles was no prodigy, but at least he could read reasonably well, and his own surviving letters show that, with the help of his tutors, he could compose a well-turned brief letter in either English or French. 4 Outdoor activity continued to be his forte, however. As James told Clementina, "I saw him ride yesterday much to my satisfaction, and on the whole I am very much pleased with him." Riding, hunting, playing games: these were what mattered to Charles. He had taken to setting harder challenges for himself, such as staying out after dark with a shotgun, taking aim at flying bats.
The cultivation of Charles's mind and physique were one thing, the cultivation of his manners another. The training of a young aristocrat in the arts of civility required many hours of sophisticated instruction, and one wonders which of the four tutors was responsible for this dimension of Charles's education. There were music teachers to teach him to play the viol—precursor of the cello—and dancing masters to teach him the steps of the current courtly dances, at the same time showing him how to walk with elegance, how to stand and sit gracefully, how to carry himself with regal distinction in any situation. But the subtler lessons of good breeding and gentility must have been left to Murray and his colleagues—and perhaps to Clementina and James as well.
There is no better guide to these principles of aristocratic civility in the earlier eighteenth century than the letters Lord Chesterfield wrote to his errant son. Chesterfield was an English peer, active in politics from the 1720s on and an astute observer of court life. His models of polished manners and wise conduct were the French, and his instruction was as applicable to continental society as to that of England. His purpose in writing letters of advice to his son Philip was to make the young man capable of holding his own in the most
The boy had a quick mind, but a short attention span, and as a result he reached adolescence without acquiring that familiarity with the Greek and Latin classics which marked a cultivated man, without any apparent knowledge of mathematics—essential to soldiering—and without any knowledge of the history or governance of England. His heavily accented English did not improve as he grew older, and given his father's assiduous efforts to make himself appear to be an Englishman, Charles's deficiency in English speech and culture is remarkable. It is all the more remarkable in that he was exposed to the company of the English Jacobite exiles, and of the English tourists sojourning in Rome.
When Charles was nine years old, in the spring of 1729, Clementina wrote several letters to her "dear Carlusu," telling him she hoped he would continue to be "civil and good" and urging him to "remember well my lessons, which you know is the only proof you can give me of your love." 2 "Be certain of my constant and just love I always will have for my dear Carlusu," she went on, "for whom I have prayed with all my heart to day, and put you [ sic ] under the protection of the Blessed Virgin." 3
James wrote Clementina that "Carluccio was mightily pleased with your Letter and to Sir Thomas's and my great surprise, read it almost current [i.e., almost without hesitation] without much help." That the reading of a relatively simple letter should surprise both James and Sheridan implies that Charles was no prodigy, but at least he could read reasonably well, and his own surviving letters show that, with the help of his tutors, he could compose a well-turned brief letter in either English or French. 4 Outdoor activity continued to be his forte, however. As James told Clementina, "I saw him ride yesterday much to my satisfaction, and on the whole I am very much pleased with him." Riding, hunting, playing games: these were what mattered to Charles. He had taken to setting harder challenges for himself, such as staying out after dark with a shotgun, taking aim at flying bats.
The cultivation of Charles's mind and physique were one thing, the cultivation of his manners another. The training of a young aristocrat in the arts of civility required many hours of sophisticated instruction, and one wonders which of the four tutors was responsible for this dimension of Charles's education. There were music teachers to teach him to play the viol—precursor of the cello—and dancing masters to teach him the steps of the current courtly dances, at the same time showing him how to walk with elegance, how to stand and sit gracefully, how to carry himself with regal distinction in any situation. But the subtler lessons of good breeding and gentility must have been left to Murray and his colleagues—and perhaps to Clementina and James as well.
There is no better guide to these principles of aristocratic civility in the earlier eighteenth century than the letters Lord Chesterfield wrote to his errant son. Chesterfield was an English peer, active in politics from the 1720s on and an astute observer of court life. His models of polished manners and wise conduct were the French, and his instruction was as applicable to continental society as to that of England. His purpose in writing letters of advice to his son Philip was to make the young man capable of holding his own in the most
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