Read Online The Dream Maker by Jean-Christophe Rufin, Alison Anderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jean-Christophe Rufin, Alison Anderson
Tags: Historical
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the noxious fumes of mercury, antimony, and lead had poisoned him, and indeed he died a few months later.
Ravand taught me everything, with patience and enthusiasm. In the beginning, the adventure went to my head. The red flames of the forge, the hot gold bubbling in marble crucibles, the shine of pure silver and its capacity to resist alteration from other metals by imposing its color and brilliance, even when it was in great minorityâall of this caused a new heart to beat in the anemic body of our town. From here departed the streams of coins that would go on to circulate throughout the realm and beyond. It was as if I were the keeper of a magic power.
And yet it took me only a few weeks to discover the truth. It was not as shiny as the new coins that jangled as they fell into our coffers. The breadth of our activity concealed the meanness of our methods. For at the heart of the manufacturing secrets that Ravand revealed to me was another secret, even more closely guarded: we were deceiving the king. When he ordered us to cast twenty-four coins to the mark, we made thirty. We delivered the twenty-four coins as ordered and kept the rest for ourselves. It was easy and very profitable.
Oddly enough, I had never dealt in crime until then. My father had always made it a point of honor not to cheat his customers, although they suspected him of it all the same. Everyone, in fact, would have found it perfectly normal for him to get rich in this way. His satisfaction came from never selling his work for more than its just value. His profit was purely moral, and his only reward was the pride of knowing he was an honest man. As for Léodepart, he was too wealthy to run the risk of resorting to villainous methods. In short, I assumed that dishonest means were expedients to which only the destitute or chronically impoverished would resort. And now Ravand was showing me another world: one could be involved in matters of great importance, minting the money of the realm, and yet still indulge in the base practices of scoundrels of the lowest sort.
And when I did express my surprise, he explained that it was common practice. Thanks to Ravand, I discovered there was a war being fought among the minters working in neighboring regions. In Rouen or Paris, on behalf of the Englishman who claimed to reign (as in Dijon, where the Duke of Burgundy on his vast lands depended on no one), coins were minted that were intentionally of a very low standard. When these coins came our way, to the lands that were faithful to King Charles, they were exchanged against our own, which had a much higher content of fine metal. With these superior coins the merchants returned to their own lands, richer at our expense. By minting coins of too high a standard, we were impoverishing the kingdom and allowing precious metal to pass into the hands of the very princes who were at war with our king. Ravand managed to persuade me that by resorting to fraud to enrich ourselves at the kingâs expense, we were actually doing him a favor, albeit he had entrusted us with this employ. And I believed him, until that spring afternoon when a detachment of ten of the kingâs men-at-arms came to arrest us in our workshop and throw us in prison.
Ravand greeted this judgment with great serenity. I would subsequently learn, too late, that he had been at risk of arrest on numerous occasions. It was in order to avoid a heavy sentence that he had fled from Rouen and ended up in our town.
For me, this imprisonment was a harsh ordeal. Hardest of all was the shame, of course. We hid it from my children, but their playmates answered their questions soon enough. I was in despair at the thought that the entire town now took me for a thief. Much later I would learn that, on the contrary, this ordeal had merely added to my prestige. In the eyes of the majority, it was as if I had undergone an initiatory rite: I had looked straight at the black sun of power, close up; I had felt
Ravand taught me everything, with patience and enthusiasm. In the beginning, the adventure went to my head. The red flames of the forge, the hot gold bubbling in marble crucibles, the shine of pure silver and its capacity to resist alteration from other metals by imposing its color and brilliance, even when it was in great minorityâall of this caused a new heart to beat in the anemic body of our town. From here departed the streams of coins that would go on to circulate throughout the realm and beyond. It was as if I were the keeper of a magic power.
And yet it took me only a few weeks to discover the truth. It was not as shiny as the new coins that jangled as they fell into our coffers. The breadth of our activity concealed the meanness of our methods. For at the heart of the manufacturing secrets that Ravand revealed to me was another secret, even more closely guarded: we were deceiving the king. When he ordered us to cast twenty-four coins to the mark, we made thirty. We delivered the twenty-four coins as ordered and kept the rest for ourselves. It was easy and very profitable.
Oddly enough, I had never dealt in crime until then. My father had always made it a point of honor not to cheat his customers, although they suspected him of it all the same. Everyone, in fact, would have found it perfectly normal for him to get rich in this way. His satisfaction came from never selling his work for more than its just value. His profit was purely moral, and his only reward was the pride of knowing he was an honest man. As for Léodepart, he was too wealthy to run the risk of resorting to villainous methods. In short, I assumed that dishonest means were expedients to which only the destitute or chronically impoverished would resort. And now Ravand was showing me another world: one could be involved in matters of great importance, minting the money of the realm, and yet still indulge in the base practices of scoundrels of the lowest sort.
And when I did express my surprise, he explained that it was common practice. Thanks to Ravand, I discovered there was a war being fought among the minters working in neighboring regions. In Rouen or Paris, on behalf of the Englishman who claimed to reign (as in Dijon, where the Duke of Burgundy on his vast lands depended on no one), coins were minted that were intentionally of a very low standard. When these coins came our way, to the lands that were faithful to King Charles, they were exchanged against our own, which had a much higher content of fine metal. With these superior coins the merchants returned to their own lands, richer at our expense. By minting coins of too high a standard, we were impoverishing the kingdom and allowing precious metal to pass into the hands of the very princes who were at war with our king. Ravand managed to persuade me that by resorting to fraud to enrich ourselves at the kingâs expense, we were actually doing him a favor, albeit he had entrusted us with this employ. And I believed him, until that spring afternoon when a detachment of ten of the kingâs men-at-arms came to arrest us in our workshop and throw us in prison.
Ravand greeted this judgment with great serenity. I would subsequently learn, too late, that he had been at risk of arrest on numerous occasions. It was in order to avoid a heavy sentence that he had fled from Rouen and ended up in our town.
For me, this imprisonment was a harsh ordeal. Hardest of all was the shame, of course. We hid it from my children, but their playmates answered their questions soon enough. I was in despair at the thought that the entire town now took me for a thief. Much later I would learn that, on the contrary, this ordeal had merely added to my prestige. In the eyes of the majority, it was as if I had undergone an initiatory rite: I had looked straight at the black sun of power, close up; I had felt
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