At this table was seated, with paper, and pen, and ink before him--not unemployed even at that moment--a man of the middle age, of a very striking and interesting appearance. As none of the sconces were lighted, and the candelabra before him afforded the only light which the room received, he sat in the midst of a bright spot, surrounded almost by darkness, and, though Heaven knows, no saint, looking like the picture of a saint in glory. His face and figure might well have afforded a subject for the pencil; for not only was he handsome in feature and in form, but there was an indescribable charm of expression about his countenance, and a marvelous grace in his person which characterized both, even when in profound repose. We are too apt to confine the idea of grace to action. Witness a sleeping child--witness the Venus de Medici--witness the Sappho of Dannecker. At all other times it is evanescent, shifting, and changing, like the streamers of the Aurora Borealis. But in calm stillness, thought can dwell upon it; the mind can take it in, read it, and ponder upon its innate meaning, as upon the page of some ever-living book, and not upon the mere hasty word spoken by some passing stranger.
He was writing busily, and had apparently uttered the words, "Come in," without ever looking up; but the moment after Jacques Cœur and his young companion had entered, the prince--for he could be nothing else but a prince, let republicans say what they will--lifted his speaking eyes and looked forward.
"Oh, my friend," he said, seeing the great merchant; "come hither. I have been anxiously waiting for you."
Jacques Cœur advanced to within a few paces, while the other still kept his seat, and Jean Charost followed a step or two behind.
"Well, what news do you bring me?" asked the prince, lowering his tone a little; "good, I hope. Come, say you have changed your resolution! Why should a merchant's resolutions be made of sterner stuff than a woman's, or the moon's, or man's, or any other of the light things that inhabit this earth, or whirl around it? Faith, my good friend, the most beneficent of things are always changing. If the Sun himself stuck obstinately to one point, we should be scorched by summer heat, and blinded by too much light. But come, come; to speak seriously, this is absolutely needful to me--you are a friend--a good friend--a well-wisher to your country and myself. Say you have changed your mind."
All this time he had continued seated, while Jacques Cœur, without losing any of that dignity of carriage which distinguished him, stood near, with his velvet cap in his hand, and with an air of respect and deference. "I have told your highness," he replied, bowing his head reverently, "that I can not do it--that it is impossible."
The other started up from the table with some impetuosity. "Impossible?" he exclaimed. "What, would you have me believe that you, reputed the most wealthy merchant of all these realms, can not yourself, or among your friends, raise the small sum I require in a moment of great need? No, no. Say rather that your love for Louis of Orleans has grown cold, or that you doubt his power of repaying you--that you think fortune is against him--that you believe there is a destiny that domineers over his. But say not that it is impossible."
"My lord duke, I repeat," replied Jacques Cœur, in a tone which had a touch of sorrow in it, "I repeat, that it is impossible; not that my affection for your service has grown cold--not that I believe the destiny of any one in these realms can domineer over that of the brother of my king--not that I have not the money, or could not obtain it in Paris in an hour. Nay, more, I will own I have it, as by your somewhat unkind words, mighty prince, you drive me to tell you how it is impossible. I would have fain kept my reasons in respectful silence; but perhaps, after all, those reasons may be better to you than my gold."
"Odd's life, but not so substantial," replied the Duke of Orleans, with a smile, seating himself again, and adding, "speak on, speak on; for if we can not have one good thing, it is well to have another; and I know your reasons are always excellent, Maître Jacques."
"Suppose, my lord," replied Jacques Cœur, "that this wealth of mine is bound up in iron chests, with locks of double proof, and I have lost the key."
"Heaven's queen, send for a blacksmith, and dash the chests to pieces," said the Duke of Orleans, with a laugh.
"Such, perhaps, is the way his highness of Burgundy would deal with them," replied Jacques Cœur. "But you, sir, think differently, I believe. But let me explain to you that the chests--these iron chests, are conscience--the locks, faith and loyalty--the only key that can open them, conviction. But to leave all allegories, my lord duke, I tell your highness frankly, that did you ask this sum for your own private need, my love and affection to your person would bid me throw my fortune wide before you, and say, 'Take what you will.' But when you tell me, and I know that your object is, with this same wealth of mine, to levy war in this kingdom, and tear the land with the strife of faction, I tell you I have not the key, and say it is impossible. I say it is impossible for me, with my convictions, to let you have this money for such purposes."
"Now look you here," cried the Duke of Orleans; "how these good men will judge of matters that they know not, and deal with things beyond their competence! Here, my good friend, you erect yourself into a judge of my plans, my purposes, and their results--at once testify against me, and pronounce the judgment."
"Nay, my good lord, not so," replied Jacques Cœur. "You ask me to do a thing depending on myself; and many a man would call various considerations to counsel before he said yea or nay; would ask himself whether it was convenient, whether there was a likelihood of gain, whether there was a likelihood of loss, whether he affected your side or that of Burgundy. Now, so help me Heaven, as not one of these considerations weighs with me for a moment. I have asked myself but one question: 'Is this for the good of my country? Is it for the service of my king?' Your highness laughs, but it is true; and the answer has been 'No.'"
"Jacques Cœur, thou art a good and honest man," replied the duke, laying his hand upon the merchant's sleeve, and looking in his face gravely; "but you drive me to give you explanations, which I think, as my friend and favorer, you might have spared. The spendthrift gives such explanations, summons plausible excuses, and tells a canting tale of how he came in such a strait, when he goes to borrow money of a usurer; but methinks such things should have no place between Louis of Orleans, the king's only brother, and his friend Jacques Cœur."
"Ah, noble prince," cried the merchant, very much touched. But the duke did not attend to his words; and, rising from his seat, threw back his fine and stately head, saying, "The explanation shall be given, however. I seek not one denier of this money for myself. My revenues are ample, more than ample for my wishes. My court is a very humble one, compared with that of Burgundy. But I seek this sum to enable me to avert dangers from France, which I see coming up speedily, like storms upon the wind. I need not tell you, Jacques Cœur, my brother's unhappy state, nor how he, who has ever possessed and merited the love of all his subjects, is, with rare intervals, unconscious of his kingly duties. The hand of God takes from him, during the greater part of life, the power of wielding the sceptre which it placed within his grasp."
"I know it well, your highness," replied the merchant.
"His children are all young, Jacques Cœur," continued the duke; "and there are but two persons sufficiently near in blood, and eminent in station, to exercise the authority in the land which slips from the grasp of the monarch--the Duke of Burgundy and the Duke of Orleans. The one, though a peer of France and prince of its blood royal, holds possessions which render him in some sorts a foreigner. Now God forbid that I should speak ill of my noble cousin of Burgundy; but he is a man of mighty power, and not without ambition--honorable, doubtless, but still high-handed and grasping. Burgundy and Flanders, with many a fair estate and territory besides, make up an almost kingly state, and I would ask you yourself if he does not well-nigh rule in France likewise. Hear me out, hear me out! You would say that he has a right to some influence here, and so he has. But I would have this well-nigh, not quite. I pledge you my word that my sole object is to raise up such a power as to awe my good cousin from too great and too dangerous enterprises. Were it a question of mere right--whose is the right to authority here, till the king's children are of an age to act, but the king's brother? Were it a