Page 296 - Revelation

Svetlana de Rohan-Levashova. Revelation

personally I would never be able to live in this flashy luxury... The gilt walls and ceiling
were somewhat depressing; they suppressed the masterpieces of amazing frescos and
strangled them in the blinding glare of the gold. I admired the talent of the painters,
who created this miracle, for hours, being sincerely delighted with their exquisite
craftmanship. For the moment nobody disturbed or stopped me: although I constantly
met people who, on seeing me, bowed and went farther, hurrying to attend their affairs.
Nevertheless, this false "freedom" made me all the more alarmed. This "calmness"
could not last forever and I was almost sure that it necessarily would "be delivered" of
a terrible misfortune...

To avoid thinking of bad things, I forced myself to explore the shocking Papal
palace every day as attentively as possible. I was interested in the limit of the
permissible... There should be a "forbidden" place where the "strangers" were not
allowed. Oddly enough, I failed to get any reaction from the guards... I could walk
everywhere I wished within the borders of the palace, certainly.
So, freely walking about the Pope’s dwelling, I raked my mind as to what this
inexplicable protracted "break" meant. I knew that Caraffa was in his rooms, which
meant that he did not go on long trips, but he also left me alone for some reason, as if
he sincerely forgot about my existence...

I met a lot of very different people who visited the "holiest" Pope while I "walked"
around the Papal residence. These were cardinals and some officials of high standing
(judging by their clothes and how proudly and independently they behaved with
others). But after they abandoned the Pope’s rooms, none looked as confident and
independent as they were before they had entered the Papal study, because, as I said
before, nothing mattered to Caraffa, whoever stood in front of him, but HIS WILL. The
rest had absolutely no importance. Therefore, quite often I saw very "battered" visitors
who bustled to leave the Papal "biting" rooms...
One day, which differed in absolutely nothing from other "gloomy" days, I
suddenly decided to fulfill that which had given me no rest for a long time. At last I
dared to visit the ominous Papal basement... I knew that it certainly would be "fraught
with serious consequences", but the expectation of danger is one hundred times worse
that the danger itself.
So, I decided to go...

On getting down the narrow stone steps and opening a heavy, sadly-familiar door,
I got into a long damp corridor which smelled of mould and death... There was no
illumination, but I found no difficulty in moving, because I could always orientate
pretty well in the darkness. A lot of small very heavy doors sadly followed one after
another and were lost in the depth of the gloomy corridor... I remembered these grey
walls, as well as I remembered the horror and pain which accompanied me every time
I came back from there, but I ordered myself to be strong, not to think of the past and
just keep going.
Finally the terrible corridor was over... I peered into the darkness and in the end
I discerned the narrow iron door behind which my innocent husband, my poor
Girolamo died so brutally. Terrible moans and screams were usually heard behind it...

But that day, for some reason, there was not a sound to be heard. Moreover, a strange

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