The Dream Maker

by Jean-Christophe Rufin

  Obviously, he dreamt of painting her portrait, and was prepared to do anything to that end. When she asked him to paint the king’s portrait to begin with, I was stunned to hear him accept. And although he hated all venues of officialdom, he followed Agnès to the castle. That was where he painted Charles’s portrait, which everyone has had the opportunity to admire—or, at least, of which everyone has heard. Fouquet behaved well in the king’s presence, so that he would not embarrass Agnès, no doubt. But while he hid the aversion he felt for the sovereign, his portrait confessed it openly. It shows Charles in a climate of sentiments that were typical of him: jealousy, fear, cruelty, distrust—it is all there. Fortunately, one of the particularities of Fouquet’s works was that they always pleased their models, even when he depicted them in an unfavorable light.

  I arranged a stipend for Fouquet so that he would stay at court. This was the beginning of a patronage I discussed with Agnès at great length. Like me, she knew how things were done in Italy, and she wanted to implement the same practices in France. King René’s way of doing things, where a troop of artists was attached to his person and paid to enliven his feasts, seemed to her as old-fashioned as it did to me. We both agreed that art should be allowed to live for its own sake. We had to encourage artists to follow their own path, and not create solely to please us. Her judgment of the queen was severe on that point, for she reproached her for keeping a painter in her home solely in order to illuminate her book of hours. Agnès was of the opinion that if we gave artists our dwellings to decorate, our evenings to recite their verse, or our ceremonies to play their music, it was because we cared to place our means in the service of their art and not the other way around. We had long discussions about this, which gave me inspiration for the palace in Bourges. Construction was progressing and very soon it would come time to decorate it. Macé would leave me in charge of choosing the artists and commissioning their works. She trusted me on this point not because she thought I had particular taste in art but because, since I spent most of my time at court, I was in a better position to know what was in fashion.

  It is true that I had become a regular courtier. My duties in the service of the king, while still attached to the Argenterie, were less and less restricted to it. Guillaume, as I have said, had taken over the running of our enterprise. He and Jean were expanding the web of our agents all across northern Europe. They kept me fully informed of their activities and I trusted them completely. I remained in charge of the delicate question of commercial expansion into Italy and the Levant. And because I was in contact with the king, my role was becoming increasingly political.

  Charles delegated to me the responsibility of keeping abreast of Mediterranean affairs for the council. Regarding the Levant, he encouraged me to enlarge the fleet of galleys and to establish regular trade routes with their ports. In keeping with my recommendations he had decided to bring about a political rapprochement with the Sultan of Egypt. I sent him several letters accompanied by rich gifts, and from him I obtained all the facilities required to trade in the lands under his control. I also sent samples of everything we could provide him with, including items the Mohammedan desired more than anything, and which no Christian was authorized to sell him: weapons. I had no trouble providing him with them, given that he was not our enemy and was not in danger of using them against anyone except the Turks, who had set about invading Europe. Nevertheless, I knew that by delivering weaponry to a Saracen prince, I was taking a risk and giving my enemies arguments against me. However, I did so with the king’s approval (although later on he would pretend to forget this), and I thought that was enough.

  In order to maintain good relations with the sultan, I was obliged to make other dishonest compromises, which contributed to the enmity against me. Thus, one morning in Alexandria, a young Moor jumped into one of our galleys and asked to embrace the Catholic faith and come to France. The captain of the ship consented. I found this out after his return, and summoned the captain to demand that the Moor be sent back to the Sultan, who had conveyed his displeasure about the abduction to me. It was a difficult decision to make, though I disguised my sorrow and weakness beneath a mask of anger and brutality. I met the boy: he was not more than sixteen, and when they brought him to me he fell at my feet, trembling all over. The captain of the galley explained that if I sent him back to Egypt I would be condemning both his body and his soul: he would certainly be put to death, and before that they would oblige him to abjure the true God, who had now, through baptism, taken him into the fold. I stood my ground. The young man was sent away. I wrote to the Sultan to advise clemency, but I do not think he took any notice.

  That was one of the most painful moments of my life. I would be reproached later in life for my part in this affair, but those reproaches never equaled the ones I made myself. In dreams long after I often saw the boy’s black eyes, and his cries still woke me from my sleep. This was something I had not anticipated: I did not think I would ever have to pay such a price for my ambition.

  Whatever it cost me, I maintained excellent relations with the Sultan. I was able to establish a regular route to the Levant. Our favorable understanding with the Mohammedan sovereign also procured me other connections in the Mediterranean, particularly with the Knights of Rhodes. These soldier-monks had disembarked in Crete and aimed to remove the island from the Sultan’s influence. The Sultan had reacted by sending a powerful fleet, and the Knights found themselves in a very difficult position. The Grand Master of the order asked me to intercede on their behalf, which I did successfully. I earned the precious support of these knights, with whom one must reckon when sailing in the Levant.

  To deal with these matters, I sought to avoid exposing myself once again to the dangers of a maritime passage, and the king did not want me to be absent for too long from the court because he had grown accustomed to my presence. Therefore, I had to act through the intermediaries of messengers and delegations. To that end, I employed a young man from the Berry named Benoît, who was connected to me through his marriage to one of my nieces.

  As for Italy, however, I would have to go there myself.

  *

  The king had asked me to keep abreast of affairs in Italy, and the situation in Genoa to begin with. For a long time there was nothing, but one morning a messenger came from Provence with surprising news. A ship transporting a group of important personages from Genoa had arrived in Marseille. Among these Genoese was a member of the powerful Doria family. The man leading the operation was a certain Campofregoso. He wrote to the king to solicit his help. He wanted to obtain the means to set up an army for the reconquest of Genoa. He pledged that he would then place the city under the authority of the king of France.

  I had informed Charles, already long before, of the unrest in the city of Genoa. He had grasped the significance of a potential French conquest of the city. The Genoese had trading posts all through the eastern Mediterranean, and were renowned for their industry. It was an opportunity not to be missed.

  The king reacted enthusiastically to Campofregoso’s proposition. Alas, he had no experience of these Italian condottieri, and he took their pretentiousness for importance. The letter from the man from Genoa was excessively vain, and implied that he was in charge of a veritable court in exile. I urged the king to beware. I knew such adventurers only too well. In all likelihood they were a gang of misers, and one must treat them with caution, but they were far from deserving any princely protocol. Charles would not listen. He put together a mission, led by the Archbishop of Reims, which included old Tanguy du Châtel, his chamberlain, who had rescued him thirty years earlier from the massacre in Paris. I was ordered to go along with all these grave individuals. We went to Marseille, and anyone who saw our procession pass by might have thought we were on our way to an audience with the Byzantine Emperor. The Genoese, no doubt informed of our arrival, put on their finest attire and welcomed us in the grandest style at the house of an Italian me
rchant. The Archbishop of Reims was well accustomed to confusing power with its conventions. He was deceived by the elegance of the Genoese, and took their boldness for nobility. Better informed than he was regarding customs in Italy, I had immediately seen them for a bunch of imposters and scoundrels who were trying to obtain from us not only the means to conquer their city, but even to fill their own plates, no later than the very next morning. I tried to warn the Archbishop, but I soon realized it would be impossible for me to make him change his mind.

  What followed was a ridiculous negotiation. It led to a very solemn treaty between the king of France and . . . no one. For the people who signed the treaty were only representing themselves. They agreed, from the moment they came to power, to place Genoa under the authority of the king of France. Our plenipotentiaries walked away satisfied once again. They left me behind to provide the conspirators with the means to recruit soldiers and lead an expedition.

  Campofregoso sensed that he had not fooled me with his theatrics. As soon as the emissaries had left, he was friendly and direct with me. In any case he could not hide the truth for long: the conspirators needed everything. The man was pleasant, jolly, generous, and a bon vivant. However, I no more trusted his natural good humor than I did the mask he had worn at the start. In Italy I had met a great many of these enterprising, voluble, charming people, who were always disconcertingly inconstant. Betrayal, in these cities that have known so many revolutions and changes of allegiance, is a weapon like any other. Perjury is worn proudly like a bandolier, the way in other parts one hangs one’s sword from one’s belt. To me it seemed that Campofregoso would stop at nothing, and what happened next proved this was so.

  While the Genoese set up their headquarters in Nice thanks to the funds I advanced them, I went to Montpellier for my business. When I returned, they had not made much progress. I reckoned it would take many months before they would be able to attack their city. I left an agent with them, one who represented me in the region, and I returned to the court at Chinon.

  The time has come, no doubt, to explain the events which later would be held against me as proof of betrayal. It is true that at the same time as I was helping to arm Campofregoso’s expedition, I was corresponding with Alfonso of Aragon, who supported the party in power in Genoa, the very same one which the emigrants were determined to overthrow. I have already mentioned the fact that I had long prided myself as a friend to the king of Aragon, who was now the king of Naples. This friendship assured that my ships could navigate freely in the waters infested by his corsairs, because King Alfonso regularly provided me with safe conduct.

  I needed him, and I needed Genoa just as much. Over time I had gained a clear vision of what I must accomplish in the Mediterranean. It was the same vision I had tried to share with the king. My most important connection in the Levant was with the Sultan, and to make sure that my ships would reach him, I had to rely on the support of the entire chain of powers located along that route—Naples and Sicily, the lands of the king of Aragon, Florence and Genoa, the pope, and the House of Savoy—for free passage over the Alps.

  If Charles VII were to take over and manage to extend his influence into these regions, so much the better, and I was prepared to help him in any way I could. But if he did not, I must preserve my own alliances. Thus, in Genoa, I honestly did everything I could so that Campofregoso and his friends could honor their commitments. However, I never broke off my ties with their adversaries. Much good it did me, in the end. For the emigrants whom I had helped to arm did indeed eventually conquer their city—only to declare at once that they were in no way bound by any commitment to the king of France. I loyally attempted, during a final voyage, to overturn the situation. I begged the king to deploy his troops. Campofregoso would have taken fright and yielded. But Charles was busy elsewhere and did not follow my advice. Genoa was lost to him. Fortunately, thanks to the alliances I had preserved on both sides, with Campofregoso who liked me well enough and knew what he owed me, and with the partisans of my friend the king of Aragon, I went on doing an increasing amount of business in the city.

  When the time came for me to explain myself, I know that no one understood my opinion. The fact that there were some individuals who viewed my position as a betrayal affected me more than any torture I had to undergo. In truth, I was angry with myself for not finding the words to express my convictions. For a man who in spite of everything is still imbued with the chivalric ideal, the interest of the lord is more important than anything. In serving Charles VII I should have broken off with Genoa the moment the city refused to pledge its allegiance to him. And to them it was inconceivable that someone could maintain friendly relations with the enemies of one’s king. Such conceptions, to my mind, were the cause of much misfortune and ruin, and should no longer be obeyed. It is my conviction—but who shares it?—that a superior bond unites all men. Trade, that trivial occupation, is the expression of that shared bond, which, thanks to the exchange and circulation of goods, unites all human beings. Beyond birth, honor, nobility, and faith—all things invented by man—there are humble necessities such as food, clothing, and shelter, which are obligations of nature and before which all human beings are equal.

  I allied myself with the king of France to support my enterprise and fulfill my dreams. He served me and I served him. But his reign will only last for a certain time and in a certain place, whereas the great movement of mankind and things is universal and eternal. That is why, while I sincerely desire to please the king, when he goes against something that seems useful to me, I take care of it myself, with other means and other people, among whom there might happen to be some of his enemies.

  *

  It is strange for me to be writing about such grand matters when life has now deprived me of everything. There are storms brewing above the island, and I felt a few drops of rain earlier coming through the trellis. I went into the house to go on writing. An idea came to me as I was moving so pitifully inside. It contradicts everything I have just asserted. And I am wondering whether my detractors were not right after all, and whether the king’s mistrust of me is not justified after all. Do I not have an inadmissible but deep penchant for what others call betrayal, and which I fail to see as a flaw?

  The truth is, I feel absolutely incapable of devoting myself completely to one cause. That same impetus which troubled my mind during the siege of Bourges and enabled me to view everything as from a great height, like a bird, is no doubt the most characteristic feature of my personality. Most of the time it is a strength, in particular when I’m called on to negotiate, when putting oneself in the other’s shoes is essential. It is also a profound weakness, which all my life has kept me not only from bearing arms, but even from behaving like a loyal combatant. When I see that poor Dunois, entirely devoted to his hatred of his adversary and who has no other choice but to defeat him or die, I take the measure of my own weakness. In his position, at the moment of assault I would be overcome by thoughts for my adversary. Considering the righteousness of his cause and seeing the situation with his eyes, I would ask myself whether it is truly legitimate to exterminate him. And in the time it took for me to ponder this, I would already be vanquished and dead.

  If I consider my life in this light, the evidence is blinding. I have never ceased—although it was not my intention—from betraying everything and everybody, even Agnès herself.

  Depending on my mood, I might not call it a betrayal, and I might find good excuses for having behaved in a certain way. But now that I have been stripped of everything and have no more indulgence for myself, I cannot forgive my cowardice.

  The instrument of my felony was Louis, the Dauphin. Agnès had no more formidable enemy. She had managed to win over nearly the entire court, even the queen, and she knew how to render inoffensive the hatred of which she was the object, if not to suppress it entirely. But with Louis she never succeeded. He saw Agnès and Brézé as obstacles between himself and the
king, depriving him of the power to which he aspired. After multiple intrigues in which he had associated himself with the king’s worst enemies, he had begun to come up with audacious schemes for foreign alliances, in order to give free rein to the energy he felt inside and, perhaps, to acquire enough power so that some day he might defy his father the king. That is the way he was, constantly involved in complicated projects where common sense, in the end, was not altogether absent. We had been long acquainted. I helped him financially in some of his enterprises, provided they were not directed against the king. He showed me his esteem, but respected the secrecy of our relations, in order not to put me in a compromising position. I hope that the day he becomes king he will have it in his heart to spare my poor family.

  Finally, the first day of January in the new year of 1447, he considered that everything was lost, and threw a fit. I do not know what his father had said to him. In any case, he left for his lands in the Dauphiné and as of this writing he is still there. He began to launch unremitting attacks on Agnès and Brézé. If the situation had been reversed, I am absolutely certain that Agnès would have made my enemy her enemy, and would have violently opposed the Dauphin. But I have never been capable of that integrity of feeling which gives combatants their conviction and delivers them from doubt, so I have sought to reconcile contraries, to reunite enemies and, with hindsight, I see that I proved myself disloyal to both in the end. Louis knew nothing of the nature of my ties with Agnès, and did not even suspect them. As for Agnès, I do not know what she would have thought if she had known that I went on maintaining close ties with her worst enemy.