Great Britain -- History -- Revolution of 1688 -- Fiction; James II, King of England, 1633-1701 -- Fiction
He was a little man, and walked with a strutting air; his clothes were
of the utmost extravagance of fashion, and glistened with gold and
silver thread; his peruke was curled and powdered elaborately; and in
the hat he held in his hand was a small flashing mirror among the
feathers—the last whim of the mode; but there was a pride and
containment in his sharp features, a power and purpose in his keen eyes,
that overshadowed any fopperies of dress.
He began speaking at once, and abruptly, but with much grace in the
delivery.
"My lords, I am just come from the directors of the Bank. I have been
closeted with them all day, and they have promised me they will do what
they can. I asked for two hundred thousand pounds. I told them it was
the very least there was any use in offering to His Majesty. And I told
them it must be in gold or silver"—he waved his hand—"no paper, I said,
for Flanders."
He seated himself, with another flourishing gesture, on the chair near
Portland. Under all his affectations was noticeable a deep pride and
satisfaction; the Bank on which everything now depended was his scheme;
that of his rival, Harley, had ended in dismal failure. He felt that
his brilliant career would be more brilliant still if his project saved
the Government now.
"Two hundred thousand!" said Shrewsbury forlornly. The Land Bank had
promised two and a half million, and the King’s last entreaty had been
for eight hundred thousand; but Portland caught even at this.
"It would be something," he said; "it would cover His Majesty’s most
pressing wants——"
"It is all," answered Mr. Montague, "that I dare ask for—in hard
money—at such a time."
"We are fortunate if we obtain it," remarked Somers. "Is it promised?"
"No, Sir John," admitted the Chancellor; "for they cannot do it without
another call of twenty per cent. on their subscribers, and they may not
decide that themselves, but must submit it to the vote in a general
court——"
"Why," interrupted the Duke, "there must be six hundred with a right to
vote at such a meeting!"
"About that number, I think, your Grace," said Mr. Montague.
"Why, good-bye then to our hopes of even this beggarly sum!" cried
Shrewsbury. "Are six hundred likely to agree to lending even sixpence
to the Government?"
"Beggarly sum!" repeated Mr. Montague. "My Lord Portland here can tell
you what long debate and diplomacy it took to secure even the promise of
that amount——"
"Yes, I know, Mr. Montague," answered the Earl grimly; "and I think the
sum worth any sacrifice. We _must_ have it. Could you have seen His
Majesty, gentlemen, as I left him at Attere, surrounded by starving
troops on the verge of mutiny, sending off agents to endeavour to raise
a few thousands on his word in Amsterdam, you would not consider two
hundred thousand paltry."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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