The Dream Maker (16 page)

“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 revenge, 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.

I went back to the inn feeling quite dejected. It was already cold, and in spite of my promise to reward him generously, my landlord had not found any good firewood. The fire burning in the only working hearth produced more smoke than flames, and heated nothing.

The next morning, in the hope that I might approach the king, I went to linger at the Louvre. With my official letter I was allowed into the rooms where the courtiers gathered. I did not see a single familiar face, and wandered aimlessly among the different groups. At least it was warm, and I stayed there for a while until my hands, blue with the chill of the icy wind, had regained their color. I was standing by a window blowing on my fists when a youngish man came up to me. He was tall and held himself somewhat bent over, as if leaning down to examine me. He was friendly enough for all that, and had the simple manner of a soldier. He had heard that I had been entrusted with the mint, and that I was a merchant.

I immediately understood that his solicitude was self-interested. No doubt he needed money and was counting on me to procure services or things for him that he would not have to pay for. This was a practice I had been familiar with since birth. And it still seemed to be the order of things, though to a lesser degree than before. After all, he was a nobleman. For the time being, in any event, I was destitute and could not do anything to help him. He could help me, however. I asked him about the court, about the political situation in the capital, and about the progress of the war. He explained that the English had not gone far, that they had attacked Saint-Germain-en-Laye and there would surely be more fighting. His opinion of the capital was quite severe, and he did not seem sensitive to the pity which, in my opinion, the martyred city deserved.

“They are going to pay now,” he said, referring to the Parisians.

As for the political situation, it filled him with bitterness.

“Now we are friends with the Burgundians,” he scowled. “All is forgotten, don't you see? Even my father's murder.”

At that moment I realized that he was the son of Louis of Orléans, whose murder my father had described the winter of the leopard.

“My brother is still in the hands of the English, but no one seems in the least concerned.”

Charles of Orléans had taken up arms to avenge his father and he had been held prisoner ever since the debacle at Agincourt.

Thus the man whose acquaintance I had just made was the famous bastard of Orléans, Joan of Arc's companion and a valiant captain whose feats of arms were renowned throughout the land. I liked his blue eyes, his youthful air. There is always something very direct about soldiers, which may be due to their familiarity with administering death. To strike someone, even in battle, one must cast off the weight of a civilization that confines most of us to falseness and forced gentility. Once this screen is removed, man's true nature is revealed. Most of the time, only coarse men emerge from this bur, with the violent nature of roughneck soldiers. But now and again, stripped of any social artifice, a simple, almost tender nature can appear, a pure soul with the sensibility of a child, and the tactful manners ordered by a sincere respect for others. This was the impression made on me by the young man who, for some time longer, would be called the bastard of Orléans. When he took his leave I felt as if I had discovered a precious stone in the mire of that court.

 

*

 

But I was no further along for all that. Once the time for celebration was over, life in Paris once again became what it had been all during these last years: violence and hardship. Everything was rare and expensive, starting with food, and all the more so because there was still fighting around the capital, as the bastard of Orléans had informed me. I had written to Ravand to ask him to send me what I needed for coin making, but I had not yet received any response. I hoped at least to have some time before the first monetary production was demanded of me. One morning, no more than four days after I had moved into the workshop, two carts stopped outside, escorted by the provost's guards. They were filled with objects to be melted. There were cartloads of candlesticks, dishes, and jewelry, and the guards were piling them in the middle of the courtyard. A cluster of onlookers, their faces hostile, were watching this delivery. I learned somewhat later that the king, in thanks for the triumphant welcome he had received, had ordered that the confiscations take effect immediately. Churches were looted, private homes were raided, and anyone caught trying to hide their wealth risked their head.

All I could hope was that the battered city would not have much left to be requisitioned. As for everything that had already been taken and piled up at my workshop, I must set about melting it as quickly as possible.

Fortunately it turned out that Roch, the old worker, was a skilful foreman. He knew many of the former employees of the workshop who had deserted for lack of work. By the end of the week there were over a dozen of us, including the apprentices and guards. We made use of the old molds, by altering the inscriptions: Charles VII replaced Henry VI. Our makeshift effort resulted in
Chenrl VII
, but in all likelihood no one would take offense.

Our alloys were not very precise and the coins we produced did not look like much. As a merchant I would willingly have attempted to manufacture a higher standard of currency. I was convinced that the quality of its coin was necessary for a country to inspire confidence and attract the best merchandise. But du Châtel had implied that he hoped to see the profit of this activity without delay, and I could not meet his expectations without resorting to Ravand's underhanded formula.

By the end of the month my workshop was functional. I delivered sizable quantities of coins to the royal treasury, and kept enough to pay my employees and myself. I had become a person of some importance. I avoided going to court, where I would have been overwhelmed with requests for loans or assistance. That did not prevent people from visiting me for the same reasons.

Never had I seen so much wealth and poverty side by side as in Paris. Aristocrats felt obliged to show off, because the city now had the honor of being the capital. In spite of the filth and poverty all around, they continued to live in grand style in those palaces which Eustache had described to me all those years ago. But in order to receive guests in style with torchlight and chandeliers, they would go five days a week without supper. The women had more face paint than food. Starving carcasses were clothed in silk and velvet. In spite of the appetite this lifestyle was beginning to awaken in me, I effortlessly turned away any number of opportunities. All I had to do, when I saw a woman headed eagerly my way, was to see her withered bosom, her missing teeth, the scurf on her décolleté covered in powder, to feel all temptation vanish. Never had I known such a strange mixture of extreme luxury and utter decline. In Bourges we were more or less well off, but no one would have endangered his health for the sole benefit of superfluous appearances.

Thus, in spite of myself, I quickly acquired a reputation for virtue.

Roch, my old foreman, did not leave the workshop. He slept in a shed at the back of the courtyard. And yet, inexplicably, he knew everything that was going on in the city. He was the one who, one morning, brought me the latest rumor: the king was going to leave again. The people of Paris did not know what to make of this decision. On the one hand, they were proud to be the capital once again, proud to have their monarch staying there. On the other hand, Charles and his entourage had treated them not as loyal subjects but as a defeated populace, with a harshness even the English had not shown them.