The Dream Maker (14 page)

I did not know all this back then, and I had never yet had the occasion to be in the presence of such a man. The trap worked perfectly and I pitied him immediately.

What struck me, and made him pleasant to me, was his great simplicity. In this very place I had met nobles who were far less illustrious, yet made an odious use of the superiorty their birth gave them. Charles, however, seemed to have received his titles of Prince, Dauphin, and King as curses. They brought him some distinction, to be sure, but also a great deal of jealousy, hatred, and violence. He saw his royal role as a fatality, almost a weakness. He would only be rid of it when he was rid of life, and in the meantime, it deprived him of life itself. What I knew about him illuminated this curse, painfully so. He had watched as his mad father reigned over the country; his mother had yielded to the extreme pressure of her enemies, to the point of embracing their interests and rejecting her own son; a foreign king fought him for his crown in his own capital—no destiny could be as tragic as his. This crooked little man, whose only weapon was the long nose he used to sniff out his visitors and locate his enemies among them, now elicited a surge of total devotion in me. The little smile at the corner of his lips should, however, have warned me. He was stronger than he was prepared to let on, like a hunter disguised as prey, always glad to find a new victim caught in his snare.

The king was also silently examining my own person. His calm and silence were disconcerting. I was accustomed, in critical moments, to asserting my authority over others by stepping back and displaying a coldness that contrasted with their excitement. With a character such as the one I had in front of me, this method would not work. For a moment I was tempted to reverse the roles and act in a voluble and passionate manner. But that was not my true nature, and by improvising such a transformation I ran the risk of falling flat, or even making a regrettable impression of falseness.

I emptied my mind, took a deep breath, and waited. As Charles was not very forthcoming, the conversation began with a long, drawn-out silence. Finally, very cautiously, he moved the first pawn.

“So, I hear you have come from the Levant?”

I understood that Ravand had used my voyage as bait. If you said “Levant” you actually meant “gold.” Many tales had gone to enhance the notion that the lands of the Levant were overflowing with gold, so much so that it was worth less than silver in our parts.

“Yes, sire.”

This short but solid defense seemed to disconcert the sovereign. He wrinkled his nose and made a gesture with his curved forefinger as if he wanted to straighten it. I would soon realize that this gesture was merely one of the numerous tics that afflicted him.

“It would seem my uncle Burgundy is preparing to launch a crusade?”

This was a long sentence for the amount of breath he seemed to have available. He ended it in a murmur, then inhaled deeply through his mouth, as if he had almost drowned.

“Indeed. In Damascus I met his first esquire, who was gathering information for that purpose. He was disguised as a Turk.”

“Disguised as a Turk!”

Charles burst out laughing. His laugh was tortured, like all the rest of his expressions. In truth, one might have thought he was writhing in pain, and the sound which came from his clenched teeth had something of the cry of a partridge rising in fear from a field of wheat. His eyes were weeping. It was painful to watch him. Still, I was pleased to have a reaction from him, perhaps against his will.

“Do you think he will succeed?”

“I hope he will not, sire.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are many more things to be done in the Levant than to instigate crusades that are no longer necessary.”

Charles narrowed his eyes. My boldness seemed to frighten him. He glanced hastily from left to right. I wondered if anyone else were there in the room. My vision had gradually adjusted to the darkness and I could not see anyone. But perhaps in the darkest recesses there were invisible people observing us.

“Do you not think it is necessary to restore the true faith to the Holy Land . . . and to make the Mohammedans . . . who are imposing their law . . . show respect?”

He had uncoiled his sentence in spurts, laboriously. His shortness of breath was not the only reason for this slowness. He was searching for words as if he were reciting a lesson. I concluded that these ideas were not his own, and that he was encouraging me to contradict them. At the same time, it was a risky wager. Although I could not evaluate the extent of my host's perversity, I was beginning take the measure of it, and the mortal danger implied by any direct exchange with him.

“It seems to me that nowadays our attention must first be given to Christian lands. Two centuries ago, we were building cathedrals, the countryside was rich and our towns were prosperous. We had the wherewithal to send expeditions to the Levant to restore the true faith. But today our first duty as Christians is to restore the prosperity of our people. Perhaps a day will come when we will be powerful enough to resume the conquest.”

The king froze and for a moment I thought I had said too much. All his tics vanished while he stared at me. He was not smiling, nor did he seem indignant. It was just an icy, avid stare. Much later I would learn to recognize this expression. It appeared on his face whenever his gaze happened upon something that aroused his covetousness—an idea he wanted to appropriate, a woman he desired, an enemy he had just condemned, a talented person he judged necessary for his service. I remained motionless, trying to hide the doubt that was stifling me. Finally, the tension relaxed quite unexpectedly: he yawned noisily.

A jug of water and a glass stood on the table. He helped himself, took two swallows then, oddly, passed me the glass. By then I was seeing traps everywhere, and this caused me to hesitate a moment too long. Which was worse, to drink in a king's glass or refuse his offer? I saw him smile and so I opted for fraternity. Basically, here was a man my own age offering me something to drink, and I was thirsty. He seemed pleased to see me take the glass. Later on, I would have the opportunity to observe how naturally he shared everyday gestures. This simplicity was the consequence of a harsh, impoverished upbringing. At the same time, I have seen him condemn a man for having taken liberties with him that were far less obvious.

“And how,” he continued, “should we proceed to restore, as you say, the prosperity of our people?”

He had uttered these words with an infinite sadness that seemed sincere. Some invisible suffering made him swell his chest and gave him the strength to continue in a voice that was almost loud.

“Have you traveled in my kingdom? . . . Ruins . . . Villages burned, war. Death. The English, pillaging us. Burgundy, who has taken the best part for himself . . . Those who serve me rape and kill wherever they go. Yes, I do agree . . . You are completely right. There is nothing for us in the Levant. But here. In this very place. How can we restore wealth? Wealth! What am I saying? How can we feed everyone? Just that. How?”

He slumped on his chair, exhausted by his disjointed tirade. The question again crossed my mind: had he already slept, or was he receiving me before going to bed? And suddenly, seeing him collapsed on his seat, I thought that my question could only make sense regarding someone who lived a normal life. For him, there could be no sleeping hours, nor such a thing as wide-awake. His life must unfold in that state of anxiety that combines wakefulness and rest. On that point at least, I was not mistaken.

He picked up the jug from the table, poured some water into his palm and splashed his face. Then he seemed to emerge completely from his torpor and he looked at me eagerly.

“Well, what say you?”

“You are the one, sire, who will bring prosperity to your kingdom.”

It was important that I begin with something obvious. The memory of Joan of Arc had been present in my mind since the beginning of our interview. This same man had questioned her, just as he was questioning me. Like me, she had no titles to inspire his trust, and yet, he had listened to her. Why? Because she had touched in him the chord of pride and weakness, the hidden, mysterious spring which made this strange man believe that he was everything but that he could do nothing. She had said, simply: you are the king of France. And that simple fact had led them to Reims, and to his coronation.

“Yes,” I said again, “you will bring prosperity to this kingdom.”

I paused for a moment, in silence. The king swallowed noisily, as if he had just absorbed the balm of my words and was waiting for it to take effect. I saw him sit up straight, stare into the darkness ahead of him, and with the tone of someone who is already headed toward his dreams he asked, “How?”

And so I explained it to him. I told him everything I had concealed from my partners, because they were helpless to change anything in these matters. I spoke to him about France being split in three—the lands of the Englishman which included Paris, those of the Duke of Burgundy, and his own lands in the Berry and the Languedoc. Each region turned its back on the others and there was no movement of men and things among them. He was the only one, by accepting peace, who would be able to reestablish communication among these three pieces of France. The country would then be open to trade again, and products from the entire world would converge toward France, from Scotland and from Florence, from Spain and from the East.

“This war has been lasting for more than a century, sire, but you will put an end to it. This will not simply be another truce. Peace is not merely a suspension of war. Peace means the industry of mankind, the movement of goods, the blossoming of cities and markets.”

“You speak like the merchant that you are,” he interrupted, suddenly scornful.

For the first and only time, I showed my temper.

“But I despise merchants, sire! They think only of their own profit under any circumstance, and they are comfortable with poverty for as long as it raises their prices. What I want is abundance. I want to create wealth through movement and trade. I want caravans bringing the finest creations from every land on earth to converge upon France.”

He slumped again on his chair, adopting the sullen air of a scolded schoolboy. He wrinkled his nose and scratched it with his fingertip.

“At present,” I continued, “those caravans all go to the East. I have seen them. The wealth they have brought has created a refined civilization. More refined than our own. And those knights of ours, rotting beneath their filthy suits of armor, have failed to understand this.”

“‘Rotting beneath their filthy suits of armor.' Ha, ha! Well said.”

I was no longer paying attention to the king's reactions. I had to go on to the end.

“They went there to take, though they would have done better to learn. The Levant is rich in both wealth and knowledge. We could gain by imitation. It is not merely a question of being equal: we can do better. I am convinced that the Levant is in decline. It is going nowhere in its prosperity. If we were to study its methods, bring back its techniques and knowledge, and if we maintain peace, I have no doubt we could surpass them.”

In spite of myself I had become excited, and the king felt it necessary to curb my enthusiasm.

“Messire Cœur, what exactly have you come to propose to me?”

I placed my hands on my knees and took a deep breath.

“I have set up a trading house with the Levant. We have relays in a number of regions, including Burgundy, Flanders, and as far as Rouen. Let peace come, and the difficulties of communication will subside.”

“That is all very well, but how does it concern me, apart from the question of peace, of which I am very well aware?”

“Sire, this house is yours. Give it your protection and it will grow to the dimension of the realm. What we are doing on a small scale, you would give us the possibility to accomplish on a grand scale.”

The king sneezed and wiped his nose on his cuff. His eyes were shining, and I could not tell whether it was the mention of profit that excited him, or whether he was mocking me in a nasty way.

“In short, you want me to become your associate?”

“No, sire, my intention is solely that your Majesty should live without going to war.”

This argument had its effect—I could tell from the shadow that briefly darkened his gaze. The king was in a position to know better than anyone what war brought him. It was in order to wage war that he required his lords and the cities of the realm to pay their bitterly negotiated contributions. But he also knew the cost of peace. Deprived of those exceptional contributions, he would have very few resources, particularly as in declaring himself king he had decided, to please his princes and induce them to fight alongside him, to abolish taxes. He was caught in a terrible dilemma: perpetual war, or poverty. Suddenly I had shown him the possibility of another source of income, one which could be obtained through trade. Hitherto it had taken the form of taxes that were difficult to raise. What I was suggesting was to involve the State in these activities, to control them, expand them, practice them himself. The instrument I was devising with Guillaume and Jean was not destined to remain our property. I saw it rather as the embryo of an organization which would be the king's property and to which he would bring his power.

My intuition was clear in principle but there were still many points to clarify. What would be the link between the sovereign and my plan of action? Who would administer the network? How would the profits be divided among the different agents required?

During a long silence, I could sense he was considering these difficulties, and no doubt drawing up a list of issues to be resolved. As always when the solution to a problem did not appear clearly to him, or when he needed help in obtaining what he wanted, his expression became wretched. His features fell, and it seemed that even his eyes were not looking in the same direction. He slumped forward, touched his fingertips together; his bony hands looked like two spiders. It was impossible for anyone in his presence not to be moved by this vision of weakness, uncertainty, and suffering. And I like a fool hurried to his assistance.