Page 297 - Revelation

Svetlana de Rohan-Levashova. Revelation

dead silence reigned behind all doors... I almost thought that Caraffa had finally come
to his senses! But then I pulled myself up – the Pope was not one of those who calmed
down or suddenly became kinder. The matter was that after he had brutally tortured
his victims until he got what he wanted, he forgot about them, leaving them to the
"mercy" of executioners (like unwanted leftovers!)...

I cautiously came to one of these doors and easily pressed the handle. The door
did not give in. Then I began to grope, hoping to find a bolt. My hand found an
enormous key. I turned it and the heavy door crept inside the torture room with a
grinding sound... I slowly came into the room and found an extinguished torch.
Regrettably, I could not find a fire steel.
– Look a bit more to your left ... – A weak exhausted voice suddenly sounded.

I gave a start. There was somebody in the room! I passed my hand over the left
side of the wall and at last found what I had been looking for... The torch was lit and I
saw large widely open cornflower blue eyes looking at me... An exhausted man tied
with wide iron chains sat on the floor; leaning against the cold stone wall ... I could
not see him well, brought the fire closer and jumped back with surprise. The person
who sat on the dirty straw, covered with his own blood, was... a cardinal! Judging by
his attire, he was of the highest rank, closest to the "holiest" Pope. What made the "holy
father" treat his possible successor so cruelly?! Is it possible that Caraffa treated "his
people" with the same cruelty he used on others?
– How do you feel, Your Grace? Is there anything I can do for you? – I asked,
confusedly looking around.
I was looking at least for a mouthful of water to give it to the unfortunate soul, but
there was no water anywhere.

– Look in the wall... There is a door... They keep their wine there... – The man
whispered, as if eavesdropping on my thoughts.
I found the indicated closet. There was a large bottle smelling of mould and cheap
sour wine. The man did not move. I carefully lifted his head by the chin, trying to make
him drink. The stranger was still young enough – forty to forty-five years old – and
very unusual. He resembled a sad angel tortured by beasts which, for some reason,
call themselves "people"... His countenance was very thin, but very regular and
pleasant. Bright cornflower blue eyes burned with mighty internal force in this strange
face, like two stars... He seemed to me familiar for some reason, only I could not
remember, where and when I could have met him.

The stranger quietly groaned.
– Who are you, Monsignor? How can I help you? – I asked again.
– My name is Giovanni... there is no use for you to know more, Madonna... – The
man pronounced hoarsely. – And who are you? How did you get here?

– Oh, it’s a very long and sad story... – I smiled. – My name is Isidora, and there
is no use for you too to know more, Monsignor...
– Do you know how you can get away from here, Isidora? – The cardinal smiled
in reply. – You got here somehow, didn’t you?

– Unfortunately, nobody can leave this place so simply. – I answered sadly. – My

Back to content

296