But Misson observed how the English Court at that time was more exacting of outward courtesy than even the Court of Louis XIV., the officers in attendance on the French king at a review being allowed to keep their hats on, whereas (p. 29) “I saw the King of England reviewing above 12,000 men (which could be no short review) surrounded by a large attendance, all with hat in hand.”
As we have come within sight of royalty, there may be introduced here an account of King James’ agitation at the approach of the expedition from Holland, which Misson asserts to have come under his attention at first-hand (p. 242). James, being very restless and uneasy, on 23d October (1688) orders a weathercock to be placed where he might see it from his apartment, that he may ascertain with his own eyes whether the wind is Protestant or Popish; for this was the way of talking in the court and in the city; the east wind was called Protestant, and the contrary Popish. On the 30th he receives letters from Newport, informing him, with extravagant exaggerations, of the dispersion of the Prince of Orange’s fleet. Being at dinner, he used one hand only, holding in the other this most welcome letter. Laughing, he says to Monsieur Barillon, “At last, then, the wind has declared itself a Papist;” but adds, resuming his habitual serious air, and lowering his voice, “You know that for these three days I have caused the Holy Sacrament to go in procession.” That very evening, letters arrive which modify the former tidings, and the joy of Whitehall is changed into consternation. Two days after, namely, on 1st November, the weathercock points a north-east wind, and the consternation increases. At this moment William goes on board again. “The weathercock, large, handsome, and high, is (writes Misson) still to be seen; it is at one end of the banqueting-house.”
As to William III., Misson says (p. 362):—
“I leave his eulogium to be made by the professed makers of such, and shall only say here, out of the abundance of my heart, and with sufficient knowledge of the fact, that I do not believe there is in the world a more worthy man, a sublimer genius, or a king so fit to govern.”
To return to private life, our author speaks of catching cold, like one who had personally suffered (p. 41):—
“When a cold grows inveterate in England, you may reckon it the beginning of a mortal distemper, especially to strangers; you must beware, therefore, how you neglect a cold.”
But, if a sufferer, he had a fireside to cheer and warm him. Under the heading “Coals,” he writes (p. 37, see also p. 364):—
“In many parts of England they bum nothing but wood, in some others, turf, ling, &c, but their common fuel is the coal which comes from Scotland and Newcastle. The Scotch coal burns faster than the other, and is dearer; it flames like wood, and makes a bright fire. The common coal is not so combustible; but when once it is lighted, and there is a sufficient quantity of it, it bums very well, and has this convenience that it lasts a great while with little mending. To make a coal fire, they put into the chimney certain iron stoves about half a foot high, with a plate of iron behind and beneath; in front, and on each side, bars are placed and fastened like the wires of a cage, all of iron; this they fill with coal, small or great, just as they come. In the middle they put a handful of small coal, which they set fire to with a bit of linen or paper. As soon as this small coal begins to burn, they make use of the bellows, and the other coal takes fire in less than two minutes. After this you must blow a little longer, till the fire spreads a little round about, and then you hang up the bellows. As the coal grows hotter, it becomes glutinous, and sticks together. To keep up the fire, and revive it, you now and then give it a stir with a long piece of iron made for the purpose. As it burns out, you must throw on more coals, and thus with a little pains you have a fire all day long. The smoke that rises is horribly thick, but if the chimneys are well built, it is carried clean away, and consequently incommodes the streets more than the houses. The smell of sulphur caused by this is offensive to persons lately come from France, but one soon gets used to it; and the smell is less perceptible within doors than in the street, especially when the fire is thoroughly lighted. All tilings considered, a wood fire is unquestionably more agreeable; yet, being naturally prejudiced in favour of what they themselves possess, not a few English people pity the unhappy state of the French and other nations who have no coals. I have sometimes said to them in reply, ‘It is a strange thing that your king and all the nobility should voluntarily throw themselves into the misery of poor French folks in burning nothing but wood in their bed-chambers.’”
Sometimes, of course, Misson would put on his hat and go out in search of variety.
