The Dream Maker (25 page)

Once again the king was showing us that he had vision. He was opening France to the Mediterranean and the Levant, and involving the country in Italy's affairs. These decisions confirmed that he had listened to me and understood my point, and they surpassed even my own expectations.

I set about eagerly implementing the king's wishes. I called on Jean and Guillaume as well as my most important agents from the Argenterie to inform them of these revolutionary changes.

By opening the route to Italy, the king was endorsing a project we had often spoken of at the Argenterie but had feared we would not be able to implement any time soon. As merchants, we were well aware that we depended on those who produced our goods. If we could become manufacturers ourselves, it would be to our great advantage. And for the most precious substance, which was silk, and which we were now buying in great quantities, we must follow the example of the Italians. They had discovered this material in China, and for centuries had been bringing it from there at great expense and with significant losses. One day they uncovered the secret of its fabrication, and now they were producing it locally. Florence had become the greatest silk making city in all of Europe. If we in turn could enter the closed circle of silk producers, we would no longer be dependent on others to supply us. We could control the quality, the quantity, and the prices.

In order to obey the king's political desires and, at the same time, pursue the interests of the Argenterie, I turned to Italy. In the spring I left for Florence.

This time I would have to make an impression on people I did not know, and win them over. I had only a few contacts in the milieu of moneychangers. Guillaume had dealings with two major Florentine merchants regarding a cargo of spices, but he had never been there. Therefore, contrary to my usual habit, I decided to arrive in grand style and flaunt my titles. From what I had heard, the Italians were less inclined toward simplicity than we were; rather, they considered it belonged elsewhere. Politeness, for them, meant maintaining one's rank, and what seemed like ostentation to us was to them merely a convenient signal one gave so that others would immediately know where to situate one's role in the great comedy of society. Once this was established, affable, natural behavior was possible, and even appreciated. In France the process was often just the reverse. Notables might put on a show of simplicity, but to make sure their importance was acknowledged, they sprinkled their words with insolence and marks of vanity.

As soon as we had crossed the Alps, I adorned myself in splendid garments. My horse was groomed and harnessed in velvet, with a host of gold curb chains and sparkling pom-poms. My escort of ten lansquenets were wearing identical livery of tawny leather. When we came in sight of Florence, we displayed our banners. One bore the coat of arms of the king of France and the other my personal blazon, featuring three hearts and scallops. I had taken the precaution of providing for an interpreter. He was an older man who had once served a Lombard banker in Paris, before the Armagnacs expelled all the Italian financiers from the capital. He had accompanied his master to various towns all over the peninsula and he provided me with useful descriptions of Florence.

I was prepared for what I would see. However, it was still a shock to discover the city. I could even say that my surprise and wonder were equal to or even greater than what I had experienced in the Levant. I found myself in a city that expressed harmonious development, that had been spared by the wars that had ruined France. The beauty of her palaces and churches, beginning with the marvelous Duomo of colored marble, was stupefying. The same refinement I had appreciated in the Levant could be found here in this gentle, sunny climate, but instead of the arid deserts that surrounded the cities of the Levant, Florence was encircled by verdant hills. Wherever one looked there were ancient relics to remind one that civilization had existed here for centuries. It is true that civilization in the Levant also had distant origins, but now it seemed frozen in its refinement, whereas in Florence it was alive, constantly evolving and improving.

The city was overflowing with energy, activity, and novelty. In every street one could hear the sound of new construction. Stone masons, brick masons, roofers, and carpenters were constantly adding new palaces to the already tight warren of buildings. I rapidly understood that there was no difference in this free city between what at home we defined as noblemen and burghers. One could see this constantly reflected in the customs governing fortune and construction in particular. In France, palaces and castles are primarily the legacy of nobles, who in fact have neither the means to maintain them nor to build new ones. As for the burghers, their ambition is more constrained than their finances: they are always fearful of rising to a height forbidden by their birth. In Florence, wealth knows neither modesty nor prohibition. The only precaution taken by those who display their wealth is to ensure that it wears the appearance of art. Beauty is the means whereby the powerful share their wealth with the people.

I had never seen so many artists, and they were widely celebrated. Crowds would gather around to admire every new statue on squares and crossroads. You could see workers rushing all over town carrying the huge paintings intended for new palaces, and everyone stood respectfully out of their way. Believers hurried to church not only to say mass but also to admire the new retable on a high altar or hear the latest oratorio composed for a choir. I discovered that several of the city's renowned artists had come from Constantinople or fled the cities of Greece and Asia Minor. The link I had made intuitively between the splendors of the Levant and those of Florence was not, therefore, altogether fortuitous. The movement of civilization from the Levant to the West was not a dream: it had already begun. All that remained was for France to be inspired, too.

Oddly enough, there were not many Frenchmen in the town. While trade had induced the Florentines to travel abroad quite readily, even as far as China, it would seem that their city did not attract many foreigners. Initially I feared that this absence might indicate that it would be difficult for a stranger to settle in the city. But I soon found out the opposite. Provided one did not act in an arrogant manner, or strive to hide one's wealth or power, one was given a warm welcome. In short, all that was necessary was to adapt to the customs of this city of merchants and bankers. The master here was money, and one's power was in proportion to the means one had at one's disposal. My position at the court of France, my profession as a merchant and financier, and above all the lifestyle I decided to lead from the moment of my arrival, opened every door. I stayed only four days in a hostelry, the time it took to rent a palace, at an exorbitant price, from a widow who could no longer afford it since the death of her husband and the ruin of his activity. I modeled myself on Ravand and Jean and arranged my own little court, and I began to receive visitors.

Wherever money reigns, it never stays still. Everyone is trying to acquire it, and all you need to do is display it and you will have all sorts of people rushing up to you and offering their services. In no time I understood that everything was for sale: objects, of course, but also bodies and even souls. In the air I caught the same whiffs of corruption I had smelled in Paris; here, however, there was a certain good humor and, might I say it, sincerity in fraud, which immediately endeared the place to me.

The interpreter, who was also working as my steward, instantly received offers for the services of several cooks, a dozen chambermaids, and suppliers of all kinds. He sorted through these proposals and in less than a week the house was bustling with servants, the cellars were filled with wine from Asti, and the kitchens were overflowing with ham and fresh victuals.

By then I had already perfected the method I would always use in business. My part was minor, but essential: I chose my men myself. For as long as I can remember, that is the way I have done things. A vision carries me toward a project. This project presupposes a number of daily activities, and an aptitude for counting, surveying, and ordering, which I have only in very limited supply. The solution is to find a man and to infect him with my dream, the way a plague-sufferer infects those around him, thus allowing the illness to develop inside him. This is what I had done everywhere in France, from Flanders to Provence, from Normandy to Lorraine. In truth, my enterprise comprised a troop of madmen, all contaminated by my ideas and sparing no effort to make them reality. All the more so abroad, and in the unknown milieu that was Florence: it was out of the question for me to enter alone the thorny forest of laws that had been drafted to be corrupted, of rules burdened more with exceptions than classic examples, of merchants connected to each other through mysterious ties of kinship, allegiance, or intrigue. I needed a partner.

There were weeks of dazzling suppers, receptions, and feasts, where I met all sorts of people in my trade. What was new was to discover a society that had no bearings, because it had no sovereign. In France, no matter the king's misfortune, his supremacy was never questioned. The court is ordered around him, and everyone shines with the brilliance this central star casts on those in his proximity, even to the darkest corners of the realm. In Florence this was not the case: great families ruled, the highest ranking being the Medici, followed by an infinite number of greater and lesser noblemen, whose hierarchy was anything but obvious. For a person to be illustrious, there were several prerequisites: lineage and relations, to be sure, but also, and perhaps above all, property and fortune.

This mixture was all very new to me. I came from a world that had long been dominated by the land, by those who own it and those who work it. Feudal tradition fixed every person to his place within the three orders of land, labor, and prayer. Beyond that, nothing mattered. This was why for so long merchants and craftsmen had occupied such a lowly position, devoted to the base activities of exchange, usury, and manufacture. Gradually, the burghers and those who worked with money had become established, particularly under Charles VII, until one day they found themselves being granted the most eminent positions. However, among the merchants there did remain an aspect of the old days: the vague certainty that we did not belong to the order of God's chosen subjects.

Now, in Florence, it was a revelation to see that these two worlds, rather than excluding each other, could be united. The Florentine aristocracy does value its feudal order. They possess castles and fields, they have roots in the earth. But at the same time, they do not know what it is to scorn work. They do not forbid themselves from working in trade or industry. Far from disdaining wealth, they have seized upon it. This curious mixture, in its way, has reconciled me with the two orders I had always held to be incompatible.

Yet in mingling, these two qualities of nobility and wealth are altered. They have given rise to a singular breed of humanity that resembles neither the lords nor the merchants one meets in France. I felt at ease with these elegant, affable people, but at the same time I could not rid myself of a disturbing impression: I could understand them no better than they themselves understood me. I needed an intermediary whom I could trust.

This has always been a decisive step in the expansion of my business. How many times have I stayed for days or even entire weeks in strange towns, surrounded by people who are eager to oblige me, offering me their relations and their fortune simply because they hope to become part of the “Maison Cœur” and serve as my agent? I can make my choice as soon as I arrive, and on occasion I have been resolved, or forced, to do so. But most of the time I wait. I don't know what I am waiting for, still less for whom. I only know that at a given time, a sign comes to show me in whom I can place my trust. Now and again I have been mistaken, still more frequently deceived. Now that I think back on this, I was always deceived by those individuals whom I was most reluctant to employ, and their sign in my consciousness had been weak, or nonexistent.

In Florence the sign was clear, and I did not hesitate.

 

*

 

Nicolo Piero di Bonaccorso arrived at my house with his youngest sister on his arm. I never knew who had invited them, and even today I suspect it might have been some little ploy of Marc's to lead the young beauty to my bed. He was wasting his time. In Florence, perhaps because I had introduced myself in grand style and using my true identity, I did not intend to leave myself vulnerable because of some feminine intrigue. It seemed to me that in this society the women were even more dangerous than the men. It did not take me long to notice that they were the ones who reigned over this city of jealousy and pleasure. It required some effort to keep to my resolution, because the Florentine women were charming and clever, their great natural beauty enhanced by the finery of gold and silk that had made the fortune of their city. The young girl escorted by her brother was no exception. She seemed modest and reserved, quite incapable of making a man lose his head. Since my adventure with Christine in Paris, I had come to view such qualities as even greater reasons to be on my guard.

I do not know why the feature I found worrying in the sister—her simple, natural manner—intrigued me in the brother. As I talked with Nicolo, before long the thought occurred to me that he was certainly the one whom Providence had chosen for me. He was at least twenty years younger than I, but behaved with far greater composure than I had at his age. On his mother's side he belonged to the milieu of silk manufacturers. He was also indirectly related to the Medici. And, unlike some older men who had been informed of my arrival and knew of my position with the king, he knew nothing about me. When I informed him of my plans, he seemed genuinely enthusiastic. He gave me a great deal of advice, and he could already picture silks from Florence spreading through France. He dreamt of going there one day.