e Court of Louise, Queen of Great Britain, France, and Ireland,
whom the people of Rome, hearing of the throne and dais in the ante-room
and of the royal ceremonial in the palace near the Santissimi Apostoli,
usually spoke of as the _Regina Apostolorum_; while only a very few, who
had approached that charming little blonde lady, corrected the title to
that of Queen of Hearts, Regina dei Cuori. Among the few who bowed
before Charles Edward's wife, in consideration of this last-named
kingdom, was a brilliant, wayward young man, destined to remain a sort
of brilliant, wayward, impracticable child until he was eighty; and
destined, also, to cherish throughout the long lives of both, the sort
of half genuine, half affected, boy's, or rather page's, passion with
which Queen Louise had inspired him. Karl Victor von Bonstetten, of a
patrician family of Bern, a Frenchified German, more French, more
butterfly-like than any real Frenchman, even of the old _regime_, came
to Rome, already well-known by his romantic friendship with the Swiss
historian Mueller, and by the ideas which he had desultorily and gaily
aired on most subjects, in the year 1773. In his memoirs he wrote as
follows of the "Queen of Hearts": "She was of middle height, fair, with
dark-blue eyes, a slightly turned-up nose, and a dazzling white English
complexion. Her expression was gay and _espiegle_, and not without a
spice of irony, on the whole more French than German. She was enough to
turn all heads. The Pretender was tall, lean, good-natured, talkative.
He liked to have opportunities of speaking English, and was given to
talking a great deal about his adventures--interesting enough for a
visitor, but not equally so for his intimates, who had probably heard
those stories a hundred times over. After every sentence almost he would
ask, in Italian, 'Do you understand?' His young wife laughed heartily at
the story of his dressing up in woman's clothes." A dull, garrulous
husband, boring people with stories of which they were sick; a childish
little wife, trying to make the best of things, and laughing over the
stale old jokes; this is what may be called the idyllic moment in the
wedded life of Charles Edward and Louise. What would she have felt, that
strong, calm lady, growing old far off in the Isle of Skye, had she been
able to see what Bonstetten saw; had she heard the Count and Countess of
Albany laughing, the one with the laughter of an old sot, the other with