The Dream Maker

by Jean-Christophe Rufin

  There are those who might view my attitude as simple mercantile logic. The Dauphiné is located along the route to the Mediterranean and the Levant. By discreetly intervening, against the king’s wishes, to facilitate Louis’s remarriage with the daughter of the Duke of Savoy, I was making two essential allies and opening the Alpine route to our trade with the Levant.

  However, if I am altogether sincere—and in the position in which I find myself today, I have no other choice than to be sincere—I should admit that my secret loyalty to the Dauphin was never based on any mercantile considerations. I am prey to deep personal attachments that nothing can explain or, at times, excuse. The antagonism between Agnès and Louis did not seem sufficient reason to me to break off our friendship. There are some loyalties that lead to treason.

  It must be said that in those days, ever since I had met Agnès, duplicity informed my entire existence. It was less reprehensible only in that my happiness was founded on it. I was betraying the king by having a relationship with his mistress—a relation that, though not one of lovers, would have seemed to him, had he learned of it, a savage betrayal of his trust nonetheless. However, this relationship gave me greater serenity in his presence, for I was certain that Agnès would be working to obtain his kindly support where I was concerned, which made me less fearful of his moods and the effects of calumny.

  Similarly, I was betraying Macé and my entire family. The carnal relations I had enjoyed on occasion until then were solely infidelities of the body. In this instance, while the body did not partake, it was my soul that was forsaking my legitimate spouse and surrendering in its entirety to someone else. However, a new serenity in my relations with Macé emerged from my betrayal. I accepted our insurmountable differences, her thirst for respectability, her love of appearance. It had become pointless for me to desire or regret everything this woman did not offer me, since now I found it with another.

  In addition, it was a period of repeated triumphs for Macé. Through Guillaume Juvénal, acting in the name of the king, our son Jean had been introduced to the pope, and the pontiff had agreed for him to succeed Henri d’Avaugour as archbishop of Bourges. For Macé this was a double triumph. She could be immensely proud, personally, of her son’s great advancement, and doubly so because it had occurred in the only place that mattered to her: our town.

  Not long afterwards there came another crucial event for Macé: the marriage of our only daughter, Perrette.

  This episode sent me to extremes of guilt, as far as betrayal went. Perrette was marrying Jacquelin, the son of Artault Trousseau, viscount of Bourges, and lord of the château at Bois-Sir-Amé. The wedding was held at the castle, to Macé’s great delight. However, that same year the king, who had acquired the castle, had given the property to Agnès. Thus, circumstances placed Bois-Sir-Amé at the crossroads of the two irreconcilable parts of my life.

  Agnès loved the castle and we stayed there often to oversee its restoration, as we had done at Beauté. Every visit to Bois-Sir-Amé granted us the happiness of an impossible union. This place, more than anywhere on earth, united memories of the two great bonds in my life, although they were so different from one another. My wife, my daughter, and all my children walked over this same ground where Agnès had run barefoot in the summer to come and kiss me. Thus, the four walls of the old castle brought together everything I was incapable of uniting in myself.

  Agnès was always in my thoughts, even when I was not by her side—particularly when I was not by her side. I did my best to curtail the missions entrusted to me by the king. The affair in Genoa, however, kept me longer in the south than I would have liked, and I took the opportunity to attend to my business in Marseille and Montpellier. In both those towns, particularly the latter, I built houses that, while they did not match the wealth of my palace in Bourges, were nevertheless magnificent edifices. I did not need this luxury, as I rarely stayed in these cities. But it served as a sort of compensation. By representing me, and allowing passersby to imagine me inside as they walked past my imposing doors, these grand houses functioned to make others forget my absence. In truth, the same applied to the house in Bourges: the price of my freedom not to be with Macé was my gift of a palace.

  As for Agnès, the king could offer her the sort of estates I would have found difficult to obtain for her. But I performed in secret a strange comedy for myself alone. I have already mentioned that I took pleasure in buying ancient fortified castles. This useless expenditure had not ceased, and since I had met Agnès it had even taken on the proportions of a veritable vice. I astonished myself, during my trial, when I discovered how many estates I owned.

  The fact is, the fairly mysterious passion of the early days had been replaced by a sort of amorous madness which, in order to be assuaged, demanded ever-increasing numbers of offerings, like some cruel god. The time I had spent at Bois-Sir-Amé had left me so nostalgic and with such a memory of great happiness that I sought, pathetically, to reproduce it. Every time I bought a new estate, I imagined myself living there with Agnès. It was, obviously, a fantasy. There was no reason for her to come to these damp, remote backwaters in the Puisaye or the Morvan. Even if she had agreed to accompany me there, we would have had to explain to the king the purpose of our visit . . . Yet, like a sick man who sets aside any objection that might prove the contrary and surrenders to the delight of believing he will recover his health thanks to some providential remedy, I seized the opportunity of every new acquisition to dream of living there with Agnès.

  These dreams lasted only a short while, and sooner or later they vanished. I had to find something else, to acquire a new place. All the same, whenever these dreams had me in thrall, I was happy. Thus, during the days spent riding along the dusty roads of Provence, or the never-ending discussions with those rogues in Genoa, or while I listened gravely to my agents as they reported on their transactions, my mind took flight and cloaked itself, as though with a warm and precious cloth, with the endless and glorious name of some old estate lost in the forest that I had just acquired, and flew to Agnès to take her there. My interlocutors would see a faint smile come to my lips, and were disconcerted. There was no way they could begin to imagine what I was thinking, and for good reason, so they interpreted as irony something that was no more than bliss. And, convinced I had seen right through their lies and their miserable scheming, they were unsettled and confessed the truth.

  But sometimes when I was in this mood I could also fly into a terrible rage if my orders were questioned, or if grievances were laid too forcefully before me—in short, if someone forced me to leave behind the sweetness of my dreams and return altogether to the present. Thus, on the basis of these deep misunderstandings, my reputation grew, quite unfairly, as a cunning, implacable, and occasionally violent man.

  Although I was not aware of it at the time, such reactions earned me lasting enmities, occasionally verging on hatred. I discovered this much later, when the time came to take stock of my resentment and incurable wounds. But that time had not come yet, and for now, everything seemed to be going my way.

  *

  In Montpellier, and along the coast of the Languedoc, I could see how our trade with the Levant was prospering. We no longer had to entrust our cargoes to other ships: our own fleet of galleys ensured the transport. New vessels were being built, for our needs far surpassed what our existing ships could satisfy.

  We could sail where we liked throughout the Levant. I had sent Jean de Villages to the Sultan, and his mission had been a resounding success. The Mohammedan had signed a treaty that was very favorable to our trade in his lands, and he sent magnificent gifts to the king of France as proof of his friendship. During my last stay in Genoa, I had learned of Campofregoso’s volte-face, for he refused to honor his commitment and ally himself with France. But the friendship I had formed with that scoundrel, together with the trust shown me by the king of Aragon, now master of that city, gave me the confidence to go
on doing fruitful business there. I went to see King René in Aix and he opened the markets of Provence to me. The Dauphin and the Duke of Savoy were my clients and, dare I say it, my debtors. In short, in the course of only a few years, trade in the Mediterranean had begun to flourish. Silk from Italy, taffeta from Baghdad, weapons from Genoa, mastic from Chios, crepe from Syria, and gems from the Orient were all delivered in great convoys, and there was never enough to satisfy the appetite of the court, or all the needs that the cessation of hostilities had revived. Cloth from Flanders and England, furs, finery, and cut gemstones all went the opposite direction to the courts of the Levant, where people were eager for such things.

  These successful transactions enabled me to return to the company of the king, and thus to Agnès. I was very active on the Council. Charles acted pleased to see me. Above all, he was grateful that I had been able to meet all his demands, and he did not hold me accountable for all his favors: he had helped me to build my fleet of galleys and he had appointed me steward to the states of the Languedoc, and the contributions of those states had enriched me beyond the sums I was obliged to transfer to the king. To show that he was pleased, in addition to all the other favors, that year Charles appointed me Collector of the Salt Tax. Our relation was one of mutual profit. By entrusting me with such a responsibility, he knew I would make it prosper. And likewise, in any business, I undertook to set aside the part that, in one form or another, must be reserved for the king. Everything was going well, and all I wanted was for the situation to stay as it was.

  Alas, the king’s satisfaction in my regard, although it had flattering effects, also disturbed my peace of mind, because he sent me back to Italy. He had appreciated my intervention in the affair in Genoa, even though it had ultimately failed. Charles was beginning to understand what a mission must consist of. Prior to this he had been far too susceptible to the influence of the princes. For those great lords, representing the king meant bringing together a group of bishops and marshals, men who had great names and were rigid with their own self-importance. As a rule, the result was catastrophic. Such worthy notables listen to no one, have great difficulty getting along, and in the end they can be taken in by anyone—if, as is often the case nowadays, they are not received by men as noble as themselves, but rather by scoundrels.

  With me the king had discovered another method. In Genoa I spoke with everyone and without any prior protocol. With my interlocutors I used the new universal language, which, alas, had replaced the codes of chivalry: money. Some can be bought, others must be paid, promises are made to this one, credit extended to that one: it is a language that everyone understands. Just as Charles had finally defeated the English by abandoning the methods of chivalry and using the weapons of the villeins, now, in similar fashion, he intended to exercise a new form of diplomacy, particularly with the myriad small states clustered around the Mediterranean. And unfortunately for my own tranquility, he made me his diplomat. The affair with which he entrusted me was, in its way, even more complicated than Genoa, because it had to do with the pope.

  I have never had much appetite for matters of religion. During my childhood, because of the Schism, we had multiple popes. The papacy was such a comfortable position that there were two, even three of them who claimed the right to fill it. My mother suffered greatly from these papal turpitudes and she prayed that the church would recover its unity. My brother devoted himself to that cause, pacing up and down the corridors of Rome. As for me, I nurtured secret, insolent thoughts. Today I can reveal them without fear that they might wrong me, any more than I have already been wronged: I believed that God must know best how to tidy up his own affairs. If he was not capable of deciding who should represent him on this earth, no doubt it meant that he did not wield the almighty power one attributed to him. Later on I would always comply with the customs of religion, but without seeing it as anything more than an obligation.

  Although we never discussed it, Macé had always understood that I did not share her faith, and she did not hold this against me. What she would not forgive, however, was my mistrust of prelates. She had always been fascinated by their unctuous piety, their serene authority, and she was dazzled by their sense of pomp and luxury. Their great expenses were justified by the fact that they were incurred in God’s name, and this removed any remaining scruples Macé might have had to be sensitive to their ostentation.

  As for me, I like the raw power that nothing can hide, the raw power of kings and wealthy merchants. That power, at least, speaks its name. It shows its true face, and it is up to each individual to decide what he intends to do with it. Ecclesiasti­cal power makes it way beneath the mask of humility. It never acts or strikes without invoking the submission of those who exert it to a superior force, to which they claim to be the slaves. In short, when one is in the presence of a man of the cloth, one does not know with whom one is dealing: a master or a servant, a weak man or a strong one. Everything in their world is uncertain and secret, concealing hidden traps that one discovers only once the ground has already given way beneath one’s feet.

  I had always taken care to avoid venturing into their presence. To be sure, at the time I was appointed to the Argenterie, I had taken part in the assembly at Bourges that had prepared the Pragmatic Sanction. Since the pontiff had left Avignon and returned to Rome, he had become, as far as the king of France was concerned, a foreign power, whose intervention in the internal affairs of the realm could not be tolerated. Through the Pragmatic Sanction, the king now asserted that his sovereignty over the Church of France could safeguard it from any abuse on the part of the pontiff. I was in agreement with Charles on this point. Together with the struggle against the princes and the financial reform, this text would give the king absolute power over his country. But I could not go too far in showing my support for the king’s initiatives, on pain of displeasing the pope in Rome, whom I needed for my business. Through the intermediary of my brother Nicholas, I regularly obtained dispensations from the pope authorizing me to trade with the Muslims.

  The religious quarrels became even more complicated when the Ecumenical Council met in Basel and set about curtailing the pope’s powers and limiting his excesses. One could not help but subscribe to such a praiseworthy program.

  Alas, the Council rebelled so thoroughly that it elected another pope. The old schism had been reignited. I told myself that there was really nothing to expect from the clerics. It so happened that I knew the antipope of Basel quite well, since he was none other than the former Duke of Savoy, with whom I had long had business relations. He was a pious and humble man who had abdicated in order to shut himself away in a monastery. Circumstances dictated that such peace would not be granted him. The delegates of the Council had come to drag him from his retreat and inform him that he was the pope. With him, at least, the position would be filled by a man of faith and great integrity. Charles saw him as a lesser evil and I agreed with him, all the more so in that at the time the pope in Rome had neither scruples nor morals. Nevertheless, in our Italian affairs, between northern Italy where France sought to play a role, and the kingdom of Naples, which had been lost by the Angevins, it was absolutely essential to consolidate the power of a pope over these states, and that this pope should be in our favor.

  For all these reasons, the king opined, and I agreed with him, that it was time to finish once and for all with the Schism, and send the unfortunate duke who had become the antipope back to the monastery he should never have left. I attempted a first mission to Lausanne. The old duke wanted nothing more than to be persuaded, but he was surrounded by a court of canons and clerics who refused to listen. They were too gifted at scholastic controversy for me to attempt to confront them on their own terrain. I went home empty-handed.

  But not long after that, the situation changed. A new Roman pontiff was elected, under the name of Nicholas V. He was a cultured and reasonable man. The majority of cardinals recognized his authority, while the Coun
cil of Basel had been discredited due to its stubbornness and excess. As a result of this election, Charles decided to act.

  He ordered me to negotiate with the two popes once and for all, using all the financial means at my disposal to convince them. While I was attempting to bring this secret diplomacy to a successful conclusion, he would send an ordinary mission to Rome. Its purpose would be to greet the new sovereign pontiff and thus to let the world know where the king of France’s preference lay. The antipope would understand that he had lost his most important support. To make the message clear and unambiguous, it was necessary to pull out all the stops. The mission to Rome must be brilliant: significant in size, a lavish display, an event to resonate all over Christendom. I would travel with the mission, and my primary role would be to ensure its desired brilliance.

  *

  Agnès was always sad to see me leave, and told me as much, but she had a very different reaction when she found out I was going to Rome. I knew her devotion, which she displayed through her luxurious offerings to her parishes. But I had been unaware of how genuine her faith was, and we had never spoken about it. Because of this pending mission, I discovered the depth of her piety. Agnès’s religious fervor in no way resembled Macé’s. There was no room for ostentation, even if her kindly deeds to the church, given her position at court, were public knowledge. The Collegiate Church at Loches had received several of her offerings, in particular a golden altarpiece, which contained a fragment of the True Cross brought back by the crusades.