Chapter 281 - 220: The Spiritual Cultivator

Eric and Jesuade fell into conversation, and Jesuade began to tell his story.

Jesuade was the name he had adopted after beginning his cultivation. His secular name was Bernard.

He was the second son of Bela Revaudon, the Old Count of Revaudon in the Toulouse region. His family had long-standing ties by marriage to the Toulouse Clan and the Provençal Family, which meant the Count possessed extensive lands in Toulouse and Provence.

The Old Count was a respected nobleman. Young Jesuade attended the finest schools, where he showed a quick mind for mathematics and an easy grasp of Latin, Greek, and the ideas of the great philosophers.

His future seemed limitless. Though his elder brother was to inherit the title of Count, Jesuade seemed destined to make his mark in banking or commerce.

However, these were the Count’s ambitions, not Jesuade’s.

As a young man, Jesuade had a wild streak that neither his father nor the local authorities could tame.

He was bone-thin, with a gaunt face, a sharp nose, and dark, brooding eyes. Despite his severe appearance, he was handsome enough to attract a great many beautiful women, and he bedded them with ease.

His friends were a pack of vagrants and artisans, happy to carouse with him on his father’s dime.

The Count believed his son would mature with age, but by the time he was eighteen, Jesuade showed no signs of settling down. He spent more money than ever, racking up huge debts from drinking and gambling.

Sometimes, when he woke in the morning with only an empty bottle and a strange woman beside him, his memory a complete blank, he would be tormented by shame, but the feeling never outlasted the hangover.

He was both prolific and insincere in his confessions.

’Priest, forgive me for my sins...’ He would then rise and perform his penance. Thus purified, he was free to sin again.

Finally, when he was nineteen, a wild party at the family’s country manor—one that left tapestries trampled and furniture destroyed—proved to be the last straw for Jesuade’s father.

"I will continue to provide you with a living allowance," he said, "but only on the condition that you leave Revaudon and never return."

At first, this arrangement delighted the young Jesuade.

He traveled through Aquitaine, Poitiers, Provence, and Champagne, after which he came to the prosperous land of Italy, touring Milan, Verona, Tuscany, Rome, Syracuse, and Naples.

In keeping with his character, in every city he first ascended its cultural peaks, then explored its depraved depths. In Milan, he dined with Marquis Azo, who had business dealings with his father.

They attended a concert in the garden, after which he got roaring drunk and, on a bet, swam naked across the Po River from wall to wall.

Venice captivated him. He spent long days in the Governor’s library, reading the works of Plutarch and Livy.

He visited Saint Mark’s Cathedral with the Governor’s niece.

Outside of Constantinople, there was no more magnificent edifice.

Jesuade was overwhelmed by it all: the magnificent view of the square from the balcony; the mosaics of biblical scenes inlaid on every surface; the Triumphal Quadriga—four bronze Greek horses symbolizing ancient wisdom, now pulling the chariot of Lysippos; and most of all, the beauty of the woman by his side.

When dusk fell and the Cathedral emptied of worshipers, he led her behind the Pala d’Oro Screen, which glittered with countless sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and pearls. Before the tomb of Saint Mark, under the watchful gaze of a Guardian Angel, Jesuade plundered her.

His path to redemption began in Rome. He visited the Vatican, intending to wash away his sins by donating some of his wealth. This form of bribery had long been standard practice in the corrupt Church, but a Bishop coldly informed him that the Church had begun to curtail the practice.

Jesuade lingered at the Holy See. He had heard of St. Peter’s Cathedral and wanted to visit, but was told the church was under renovation.

A guard accepted a Silver Coin and Jesuade’s promise of silence, and the church doors were opened. Jesuade stepped inside, his gaze drawn upward to the magnificent decorations, the likes of which he had never seen.

He knelt on the cold marble floor, gazing. The altar’s decorations and the sacred atmosphere made him feel as if he were looking directly into Heaven. There were frescoes of biblical stories—God creating the heavens and the earth, Noah’s Ark—all rendered with a perfect brilliance that was beyond his comprehension.

For two brief days, he watched the artisans at work. These were the craftsmen who had spent years decorating the church, and now they were creating new frescoes and sculptures for the altar. They worked alone on scaffolding, their labor lit by the faint glow of candles.

He lay on the cold marble floor and gazed upward. It was as if the clouds had parted and he was looking directly into Heaven. He saw scenes from Genesis—God separating light from darkness—and the story of Jonah, all depicted with a perfect brilliance that surpassed his understanding.

The fresco was dark and deeply unsettling. It depicted the Last Judgment, a grim foreshadowing of the torments awaiting unrepentant sinners.

Jesuade watched for hours, his soul stirring with a yearning for a life beyond his own. He knelt on the cold floor and prayed.

He stood up, filled with righteousness, but the feeling was fleeting. The moment he was outside the Vatican, he breathed the fresh air of Rome, saw a friend, and immediately reverted to his true nature. That night, he was once again out carousing in the city.