The Dream Maker

by Jean-Christophe Rufin

  But the most troubling thing of all was the absence of any conclusion, the way the sovereign had departed abruptly at the end of the interview, without letting any of his opinions about me show.

  Nevertheless, these fears were tempered by a few encouraging realizations. First of all, the king had received me alone, which was extremely rare. Thus I had been given the opportunity to see him without his usual courtiers at his side answering in his place. The moment he appeared in public with them, the king had a self-effacing, almost fearful attitude. His tics did not help matters. He rarely came out with an idea of his own, and merely consented to those expressed by his counselors. As they were often contradictory, he had acquired an unfortunate reputation for indecisiveness. He was held to be weak and easily influenced, and in fact, there were not many who believed he governed on his own.

  To me he had shown another face, his own face, with his doubts and questions and inner struggles regarding the world around him. I would learn my lesson from this, and never allow myself to see him as a puppet. The other favorable sign, although it was difficult to interpret, came from Ravand. He told me a few weeks later that the king had questioned him about me for a long time before agreeing to meet with me. Knowing the king as I do now, I can tell what he had in mind. His subservience to the clans surrounding him was only equaled by the brutality with which he cast off his favorites and withdrew his trust from those who had taken the liberty of abusing that trust too generously. In order to prepare for such reversals, Charles observed. He was curious about new people and set about, in the utmost secrecy, putting them to the test. What Ravand had revealed to me gave me hope that this had been the case with me. But as the days went by, then the months, and there was nothing, I concluded that I had not passed the test. When I thought back on our nocturnal meeting I reproached myself a thousand times over, and was convinced that I bore full responsibility for my failure.

  Fortunately all my energy was consumed with starting our business and I was left with little time to brood over my errors. Jean sent me messages through the men in his group, and Guillaume had set up a veritable private postal service between Montpellier and Bourges. Eager not to overlook any possibility for enrichment, he had made it quite profitable by agreeing to carry letters for rich clients from the Languedoc.

  The enterprise was rapidly taking shape. After so many years of devastation, there were shortages everywhere. The first shipments, sent to inaugurate the network we were creating, yielded considerable profit. Guillaume was able to participate in fitting out a ship for Alexandria as an important shareholder.

  Prospects were all the more favorable in that the king had finally signed a peace treaty in Arras with his uncle the Duke of Burgundy. This news turned my thoughts to him. As odd as it might seem, for we had met for scarcely an hour, I missed the king. I felt a deep bond with this unhappy little brother.

  Peace with Burgundy greatly facilitated trade with the Duke’s territory. Unlike those regions with which Charles had had to make do, those of Philip the Good were prosperous, and had largely been spared by the gangs. The imperial provinces controlled by the Duke, Flanders, and Hainaut were extremely industrious. As the war had deprived them of convenient outlets, they proved to be favorably inclined toward those who, like my partners and myself, offered to sell their products in new markets.

  I was very busy in those days and took no notice of the fact that I was becoming rich. It must be said that the business swallowed everything. Every sale led to a new purchase, a new trade, a new gain, and every gain, immediately reinvested, then became part of the constantly moving cycle which we were setting in motion. The lack of cash and the rapid growth of our activity did not allow us the somewhat useless luxury of building up capital. Sometimes, when convoys went through our town, I would help myself to items of silk or gold to give to Macé. It was as if I were stealing from our own pocket, and we enjoyed it all the more. Later on, when wealth made permanently available to me more precious objects than I could ever have desired, I sometimes looked back fondly on those early days of prosperity. They went hand in hand with a sort of incredulity, almost a culpability, which made the acquisition of objects even more delightful than ownership.

  I traveled often, and my first long absences date from those early days. Very quickly there came a time when my presence at home would be exceptional. I often deplored this, but in the beginning everything was still a source of pleasure, risk, and discovery.

  A year and a half had passed since my meeting with the king, and I had received no news from him, either directly or through Ravand’s intermediary, though Ravand had seen him several times since then. We were overwhelmed by the business, and I had eventually put the king out of my thoughts, even if in some corner of my mind I still hoped for something from him. It was upon my return from a journey to Angers that I found his messengers.

  There were two of them, and they had ridden strictly for this purpose from Compiègne. They introduced themselves as the king’s men but nothing, apart from their arrogance, substantiated what they said. I was tempted for a moment to contest their identity, but one of them said to me with a laugh, “Upon my word, you are more awake than the other time!”

  He was one of the guards who had led me to the audience at the Duke’s palace.

  From then on I no longer had any doubt.

  “What message does his Majesty have for me this time?”

  “No message,” answered the guard with an insolent smile. “You are to pack your trunk and follow us, that is all.”

  “It is packed, I have just come from a journey.”

  “In that case, we can leave at once.”

  I scarcely had time to embrace Macé and the children before riding off with the two men. On the way, they gave me some news of the situation. Paris now supported the king. Those burghers who only yesterday had sworn their loyalty to Burgundy had attacked the English garrison and opened the gates to the king of France. He had not yet entered the city himself but was preparing to do so. I wondered what role I might obtain in such a play. For the three days of the journey, I sometimes felt like a prince being followed by his escort, and sometimes like a prisoner between his guards. In truth, I have always greatly enjoyed such high points in life when one does not know which way fortune will lead. And if I had not had a liking for such balancing acts, I should have fallen much lower and above all much sooner.

  Autumn came late that year and although it was already the end of October, the trees still had their leaves and were only just beginning to turn red. As we drew closer to Compiègne, we met more and more people on the roads. We could tell that the war was still raging nearby, because there was a constant coming and going of armed troops. At the same time, from their casual, nonchalant air, and the joyfulness of the civilians—men, women, and children, for the first time in many years, were getting a taste of the heady freedom of being able to move about without fear—it was obvious that the time for peace had come.

  The king’s army was camped beneath the walls of Compiègne, at the very place where Joan of Arc—unwise, or betrayed—had been captured. The king and his court were hidden away in a palace in the town. We entered through two wide open gates, where an old guard with a good-natured manner kept casual watch. My escort was waiting for orders and visibly did not know what to do with me. I followed my guardian angels to one house after the other. Each time, one of them waited outside with me, while the other went to inquire within. Night had fallen. Sleeping arrangements were made in a private house. The owner was a stern burgher whose loyalties were divided between joy over the royal victory and concern for his property. Incessantly frowning and scowling, he led us to a loft, where wood had been piled for the winter. There were rustling sounds and murmurs and stifled laughter as we climbed the stairs, and we understood that he had hidden his womenfolk—his wife, his two daughters, and the serving girls—for fear of an attack. The next day, as I was washing
in the courtyard, I pretended not to notice the little pink face watching me from a narrow window in the stairway. Our presence kindled their curiosity. I had always been faithful to Macé, but now I felt the stirrings of desire, which fear and uncertainty enriched like powerful fertilizer. If we had stayed longer, I do not think our host would have been able to protect the virtue of his brood. Alas, or fortunately, on the second day my guards received the order to take me to the palace.

  I did not know the reasons for my summons, nor the rank of the person who was to receive me. I had not given up hope that it would be the king himself, and this was confirmed to me when the messengers handed me over to a guard wearing royal regalia. This time, there were no dark corridors or secret doors. I went up wide stairways full of people, resonant antechambers echoing with noisy conversations. At last the guards showed me into a vast hall, though its proportions were smaller than the hall in Bourges. Two chandeliers, all candles ablaze, dissolved the darkness of late afternoon and cast their brilliance on the suits of armor. The crowd in the room consisted of many captains and knights in coats of mail, their weapons at their side. I also noticed a group of prelates, evocative of a large bouquet consisting of violet corollas and purple skullcaps. Surplices of lace, watered silk hats, sleeves lined with fur visible at the cuffs: one’s eyes were dazzled by luxury, but no semblance of order allowed one to arrange these impressions into an intelligible whole. It was a brilliant chaos that nothing seemed to restrain. And yet there must have been some hidden logic apparent to those who were used to it, for my presence did not go unnoticed. Although I had dressed carefully in such a way that I would not stand out, the majority of those present immediately identified me as a stranger. Conversations stopped as I walked by, and curious gazes, more hostile than anything, followed me as I went with the guards farther into the room. And the farther we went, the denser the crowd of people clustered together, moving reluctantly aside to let us pass. Finally we went through a last row of people and came out into a narrow circle, almost deserted, occupied by a platform. On the platform was a wooden armchair with a high straight back carved with fleurs-de-lis. The king was hunched over in this seat. It was obvious how uncomfortable he was, as witnessed by the angle his crossed legs made with his torso, while his shoulders sloped to the left, obliging him to hold up his head with a weary hand. This was no longer the man I had seen in Bourges. Mute, his eyes half closed, struggling in vain against the nervous tics which distorted his face, he was the very image of suffering and debility. The previous day I had had the leisure to overhear the rumors in town celebrating the sovereign’s heroism during the capture of Montereau. The legend had spread in order to arouse the people’s admiration. But the reality I had before me was very different. More than ever, the king continued to reign through his weakness. He had gathered around him all the influential people who, at one time or another, had advised his rule, but he was increasingly besieged by this ghastly company. In a way, they held him hostage. In any case, he enjoyed making them believe this was so.

  I had unwisely thought that the king would address me. After I had greeted him in an appropriate manner, I kept my face turned towards him, in expectation of what he might choose to say. A lord whose name I did not know, and who stood leaning toward the king with one foot on the platform, called out to me.

  “Are you Jacques Cœur?”

  “The same, my lord.”

  “The king has called you here to go with him to Paris. We shall set off tomorrow.”

  I bowed respectfully to mark my total submission to this command. All around me, people regarded me haughtily. By confirming my name, I had revealed that I was a burgher and a tradesman, and these grand nobles paid me with a weight of scorn equal to my value.

  “As soon as we reach Paris, the king would like you to take charge of administering the taxes in the city.”

  I could not help but glance over at the king. He gave me a look of recognition, so fleeting that only I could see it, then again assumed his absent, mournful air.

  The lord with whom I had been speaking turned away and began to converse with other people. I understood that this was the sign to leave. I bowed to the king and went out again, following the guards.

  *

  As soon as I was outside, I inquired how I might expedite messages to Montpellier and to Lyon, where Jean was staying. We had to evaluate as quickly as possible the consequences of my new responsibilities upon our enterprise. I also asked my associates to put money aside for me in order that I might equip myself appropriately for my new dignity. I had sufficient means to buy a horse and hire two valets. I went back into the house where we had slept in order to gather my belongings, and my sudden entrance caused the brood of pretty women to hurry away, leaving me with the painful sweetness of their perfume.

  Until then, great changes had been prepared in dreams and silence; now the time had come for the metamorphosis. It was no longer enough for me to imagine my undertakings or to hope for an event: now it would be granted me to experience them. This unknown factor aroused several reactions in me, some familiar, others new. Among those to which I was accustomed, there was this almost icy calm, which made me see myself and everything around me as though from the lofty altitudes of a bird of prey. Among the new sensations was a sensual appetite that had never seemed so strong. My carnal relations with Macé had been softened by tenderness. We approached each other only in darkness, not confessing to any desires other than those modestly expressed by our bodies. Now, in this commotion of malodorous men and war horses, in the confusion of the court as it made ready to visit its capital once again, I felt a crucifying need for a carnal relation, in broad daylight and in the open air, as if my body had absorbed all the anxiety my mind had expelled. Perhaps the violence of my new condition demanded above all an appeasement of equal strength, something only a woman could procure for me. The situation, however, while making such a passion infinitely desirable, absolutely prohibited me from surrendering to it for the moment. I took leave of our host and departed with the great convoy of the court.

  We entered Paris several days after All Saints’ Day. I was not near the front of the procession, far from it. So I did not see the celebrations that the populace of the capital had prepared for the king they had opposed for so long. I heard talk of an official ceremony to hand over the keys to the city, and of songs and dances organized on the squares. When I arrived, there were still here and there groups of men and women in disguise, heading home dejectedly. The festivities, in truth, were primarily a way of appealing to the mercy of their new master. They forced themselves to laugh, for fear of having once again to suffer and weep.

  The sight of Paris distressed me. I felt the same shock as when, on my way to the Levant, I had passed through the devastated regions of the Midi. And even then, the countryside between the ruined villages at least offered a restful picture of nature, once again grown wild but bursting with life. The wounds of Paris were gaping and barren. Riots, pillaging, fires, epidemics, and successive mass departures had violated the city. Many houses were abandoned, and refuse had accumulated on empty lots. Half the shops on the Pont-au-Changes were closed. The dark and narrow streets were still cluttered with everything the people had thrown at the English to make them leave, and pigs rummaged in the debris, eating their fill. The king moved into the Louvre. I found accommodation at an inn on the rue Saint-Jacques, while waiting to find out the location of the mint, which was now my responsibility.

  My situation was paradoxical. At court I knew no one, with the exception of the king himself, whom I could not approach. By gathering information here and there I learned that the man who had spoken to me in Compiègne was called Tanguy du Châtel. This was a renowned name, for he was Charles’s oldest companion, from the time they were children. It was he who had wrapped the future king in a blanket and hastily taken him away when the Burgundians occupied the capital twenty years earlier. His return was a brilliant re
venge, and he had insisted on resuming his former title as provost of merchants. In this time of reconciliation, he was in the way. He was accused—without proof, but there were strong suspicions against him—of having held the dagger that had killed the father of the Duke of Burgundy on the bridge of Montereau. Only at Arras was this stain removed, when the king, who shouldered the blame, was humiliated. No king could favor a former criminal without provoking the anger of his new allies. I learned that Tanguy du Châtel, despite the restoration of his title, had not been allowed to move into the Châtelet. In short, he was being hidden away. I finally found him in the innermost recesses of the Louvre. He was holding an audience in a vaulted room, a damp crypt whose walls, facing the river, were covered in saltpeter. He received me in a most inconsiderate manner, and I understood that my appointment as exchequer had been imposed on him by the king. He asked me if I had any talent in the matter and I replied that I had been in charge of the mint in Bourges for several years. He did not seem to know that I had fallen foul of the law. He handed me a letter which he had dictated to a secretary and which authenticated my new position.

  With this accreditation in hand I walked to the coinage workshop. It was at the back of a courtyard and consisted of a series of four rooms, almost empty. When fleeing, the enemy had taken not only all the cash, leaving the coffers gaping open, but also all the tools, and they had smashed the molds.

  One old craftsman, too old to flee, was sitting in a corner eating walnuts. I recognized on his face the traces of the damage caused by metal vapors. He explained that the workshop had never been very active, as the English preferred to mint their coins in Rouen, and the Duke of Burgundy in Dijon. The quality of the coins produced in Paris was mediocre and, toward the end, they produced nothing but blackish billon coins—which sufficed amply, because in any case there was nothing for sale.