"I SEE a large dark room. I say 'large,' so as to say vast surroundings, and of brickwork. But it is an underground room into which the light barely enters through two holes at ground level, and which serve also for admitting air. Very insufficient, moreover, with respect to the quantity of people in the surroundings and the humidity of the room which exudes from the walls made of blocks sort of squared from stone connected with mortar, but without any plaster; and a floor of beaten earth.

I know that it is the Tullianum prison.² My [inner] Director tells me so. I know also, from the same Source, that that crowd jammed into so small a space is made up of Christians imprisoned for their faith and waiting to be martyred. It is a time of persecution, and precisely one of the first persecutions, because I hear talk of Peter and Paul and I know that these were slain under Nero.

I cannot believe with what vividness of detail I 'see' this prison and those gathered here. I could describe the age, physiognomy and clothing of every individual. But then I would never finish. Therefore I limit myself to speaking of those things, points and personages which strike me more.

There are persons of all ages and social conditions. From old men whom it would be merciful to let expire in death, to children of a few years whom it would be just to leave free and playing in their innocent games but who -- poor flowers which will never see the flowers of earth anymore -- languish instead in the unhealthy twilight of this prison. There are the rich with well-kept garments, and the poor with poor garments. Even their language has differences in pronunciation and style, according to what issues from the learned lips of gentlemen, or from the mouths of the common people. Also heard, mixed with the Latin of Rome, are foreign words and pronunciations of the Greeks, the Iberians, Thracians, etc, etc. But if the clothing and speech are different, they have the same spirit guided by charity. They love one another without distinction of race or wealth. They love one another and each one seeks to be of help.

The strongest yield the driest and most comfortable places to the weakest -- if some large stones scattered here and there to make seats and pillows can be called 'comfort.' And they cover the weak with their own garments, remaining without anything else than a tunic for their modesty, using their gowns and mantles to make mattresses and pillows and some covering for the sick who tremble with fever or wounds from tortures already undergone. The healthiest assist those who are sickest, giving them drink with love: a little water poured from a jar into a crude container, moistening in it strips of cloth torn from their own garments to make bandages on dislocated or torn limbs, and on foreheads burning with fever.

And every so often they sing. A soft song which is surely a psalm or many psalms, because they alternate. I do not hear the beautiful song which accompanied the burial of Agnes.³ These are psalms. I recognize them.

One of them begins thus:

'I love, because the Lord listens to the voice of my prayers.' ⁴

Another says:

'O God, my God, for You I watch from first light. My soul thirsts for You, and much more my flesh. In a desert land, impassible and without water'...⁵

A child groans in the semi-darkness. The song pauses.

'Who weeps?' someone asks.

'It is Castulo,' is the answer. 'The fever and burns give him no rest. He is thirsty and cannot drink, because the water burns on his lips seared by the fire.'

'There is a mother here who cannot give milk anymore to her little boy,' says an imposing matron of refined appearance. 'Let Castulo be brought to me. Milk burns less than water.'

'Castulo to Plautina,' someone orders.

One comes forward whom I would judge, from his garments, is either a servant of a Christian family sharing the lot of his owners, or a common workman. He is stocky, brown, robust, with his hair almost shaved off and a short, dark garment tightened at the waist with a cincture. With care he carries in his arms, as on a little stretcher, a poor male child of about 8 years old. The child's garments, though now soiled with earth and stains, are rich, of a fine white wool, and adorned at the neck, on the sleeves and on the bottom hem with a rich Greek embroidery. Even his sandals are rich and beautiful.

Plautina seats herself on a stone which an old man yields to her. Plautina too is clothed all in white wool. I do not recall exactly the names of the Roman garments, but it seems to me this long garment is called a clamys and the mantle a cloak. However I do not guarantee my memory. I know that this garment of Plautina is very beautiful and ample, enfolding her gracefully, and making of her a very beautiful living statue.

She seats herself on a boulder, leaning back on the wall. I distinctly see the large stones which loom over her and against which she stands out with her face of a slight olive complexion, with her large black eyes and raven tresses, and with her white garment.

'Give him to me, Restituto, and may God reward you,'

--she says to the piteous bearer of the little martyr. And she spreads her knees a little to receive, as on a bed, the small child.

When Restituto places him there, I see a wreck that horrifies me. The face of the poor child is one whole burn. It had perhaps been beautiful. Now it is monstrous. No more than a few hairs on the back of his head; in front the skin is naked and eaten by fire. No more forehead, nor cheeks nor nose as we think of them, but a vivid red swelling, gnawed by the blaze as by an acid. In place of eyes, two sores from which rarely flow some tears which must be a torment to his burned flesh. In place of lips, another sore, horrible to see. You could say that they had held him with just his face bent over the flame, because the burns stop beneath his chin.

Plautina opens her tunic and, talking with the love of a true mother, squeezes her round breast full of milk making it drip some drops between the lips of the child who cannot smile, but who caresses her hand to show her his relief. And then, after having given him drink, she makes more milk fall on his poor face to medicate it with this balm -- the blood of a mother become nourishment, and which is the love of a woman with no more sons, for a child with no more mother.

The child does not groan anymore. Given drink, calmed in his agony, rocked by this matron, he dozes off with panting breaths.

Plautina seems like a mother of sorrows by her pose and her expression. She looks at the poor little child and certainly sees in him her own child or children, and tears roll down her cheeks and she throws her head back to keep them from falling on the little one.

The song resumes:

'I have anxiously awaited the Lord and He turned toward me and has heard my cry.' ⁶

'The Lord is my Shepherd, I lack nothing. He has placed me in a place of abundant pastures, He has led me to restoring waters.' ⁷

'Fabio has expired,' says a voice at the back of the underground room. 'Let us pray,'

--and all say the 'Our Father' and another prayer which begins thus:

'Praise be to the Most High Who has had pity on His servants and opened His Kingdom to our unworthiness without asking of our weakness anything else than patience and good will. Praise be to Christ Who has suffered the torture for those whom His Mercy could know were too weak to undergo it, and has not required of them but love and faith. Praise be to the Spirit Who has given His fires for martyrdom to those not called to the consummation of martyrdom, and made them holy with His Holiness. Amen. Maran ata' ⁸ (I do not know if I write it correctly).

'Happy Fabio!' exclaims an old man. 'He already sees Christ!'

'We too will see Him, Felix, and we will go to Him with the double crown of faith and martyrdom. We will be as if reborn, without a shadow of stain, since the sins of our passed life will be washed in our own blood before being washed in the Blood of the Lamb. We have sinned much, we who for long years were pagans, and it is a great grace that the jubilation of martyrdom comes to us to make us new, worthy of the Kingdom.'

'Peace to you, my brothers,'

--thunders a voice it suddenly seems to me I have heard already.

'Paul! Paul! ⁹ Bless us!'

Much movement occurs among the crowd. Only Plautina remains immobile with her pitiful weight on her lap.

'Peace to you,'

repeats the Apostle. And he advances to the center of the entryway.

'Here I am for you with Diomedes and Valente to bring you our Life.'

"And the Pontiff?' ¹⁰ --many ask.

'He sends you all his greeting and his blessing. He is alive, for now, and in safety in the catacombs. The grave-diggers make good watchmen. He would come, but Alexander and Caio Giulio have advised us that he is too well known by the guards. Not always are Rufus and the other Christians on guard. I come, less known and a Roman citizen. Brothers, what news do you give me?'

'Fabio is dead.'

'Castulo has soon the first martyrdom.'

'Sista has just been led to torture.'

'Linus they have transferred with Urban and his children from this place to Mamertino or to Circo, we do not know.'

'Let us pray for them: the living and the dead. May Christ give to all His Peace.'

And Paul -- short, a bit ugly, but a rather striking person -- prays with his arms open in a cross in the middle of the underground room.

He is clothed, as was also a servant, in a short, dark garment, and has a little mantle with a hood which, for praying, is dropped back. Behind him are the two he named [Diamodes and Valente], clothed like him, but much younger.

When the prayer is ended, Paul asks:

'Where is Castulo?'

'In the lap of Plautina, there in the back.'

Paul plows through the crowd and draws near a group. He bends over and observes. He blesses: he blesses the matron and the child. It could be said that the child is awakened at the shouts greeting the Apostle, because he raises a small hand to touch Paul, who then takes his hand between his own and speaks:

'Castulo, do you hear me?'

'Yes,' says the little one, moving his lips with difficulty.'

'Be strong, Castulo. Jesus is with you.'

'Oh! why have you not given Him to me? Now I can't [receive] anymore!'

And a tear descends to poison his wounds.

'Do not weep, Castulo. Can you swallow just a bit? Yes? Well then, I will give you the Body of the Lord. Then I will go to your mama and tell her that Castulo is a flower of Heaven. What should I say to your mama?'

'That I am happy. That I have found a mama. That she gave me her milk. That my eyes do not hurt anymore. (It is not a lie to say it, is that not true? to console my mama?). And that I "see" Paradise and my place and hers better than if I had these eyes still alive. Tell her that the fire does not hurt when the angels are with us, and that I am not afraid. Neither for her nor for myself. The Savior will give us strength.'

'Brave Castulo! I will tell your mama your words. God helps always, O brothers. And you see it. This is a child. He is at an age in which one does not know how to endure the pain of a little hurt. And you see him and hear him. He is in peace. He is ready to undergo all, after having already undergone so much, even to go to Him Whom he loves and Who loves him because Castulo is one of those whom Christ has loved: a child, and he is a hero of the Faith.

Take courage from these little ones O brothers. I am returning from having brought to the cemetery Lucina, the daughter of Fausto and Cecilia. She was only fourteen years old, and you know how she was loved by her family and weak in health. And yet she was a giant before the tyrants. You know that I pass myself off with these as a grave-digger, in order to be able to collect as many bodies as I can to place them in holy ground. I therefore live near the tribunals and I see, as I live near the Circuses and I observe. And it comforts me to think that I also in my hour -- may God make it soon -- will be supported by Him as the saints who have preceded us.

Lucina was tortured with a thousand tortures. Beaten, hung, stretched, squeezed with red-hot pincers. And always she was healed through the working of God. And always she resisted all the threats. The last of the tortures, before execution, was directed to her spirit. The tyrant, seeing her taken by love for Christ, a virgin who had bound herself to the Lord our God, wanted to wound her in this love of hers. And he condemned her to be with a man. But there were one, two, ten who drew near her and ten who perished, struck by Heavenly lightning. Then, unable in any way to break or destroy her lily,¹¹ the tyrant ordered that she be tied and suspended in a seated position and then dropped suddenly upon a pointed wedge which tore up her bowels. The barbarian believed he thus took away her so-loved virginity. But never did her lily flower so much as under that bath of blood, and from her torn bowels it spread itself to be gathered by the angel of God. Now she is in peace.

Courage, brothers. Yesterday I had nourished her with the Heavenly Bread and with the savor of that Bread she went to her last martyrdom. Now I will also give you that Bread, because tomorrow is the day of a superhuman feast for you. The Circus awaits you. And do not fear. In the beasts and in the serpents you will see Heavenly sights since God will accomplish this miracle for you, and the jaws and the coils [of the serpents] will seem to you embraces of love; the roars and hisses, Heavenly Voices, and like Castulo, you will see Paradise which already descends to welcome you into Its bliss.'

The Christians, except Plautina, are all on there knees and sing:

'As the hart pants for the brook, so my soul pants for You. My soul thirsts for God. For the strong and living God. When can I come to you, O Lord? Why are you sad, my soul? Hope in God and it will be given you to praise Him. In the day God sends His grace and in the night he has the song of thanksgiving. The prayer to God is my life. I will say to Him: 'You are my Defense.'¹² Come, let us sing joyfully to the Lord; let us raise shouts of joy to God, our Savior. Let us present ourselves to Him with shouts of jubilation. Because the Lord is the great God. Come, let us prostrate and adore Him Who has created us. Because He is the Lord our God and we the people nurtured by Him, the flock of His guidance.'¹³

While they sing, some Roman soldiers and jailers have entered who also mount guard so that no enemy persons enter.

Paul prepares for the rite.

'You will be our altar," he says to Castulo. "Can you hold the chalice on your breast?'

A linen is stretched on the little body of the child and on the linen rest the chalice and bread.

And I assist at the Mass of the martyrs which is celebrated by Paul and served by the two priests who accompany him. However it is not the Mass of today.¹⁴ It seems to me to have parts which the Mass does not have now, and not to have parts which it now has. It has no Epistle, for example, and after the Blessing: "The Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit bless you" (thus he says it), it has nothing else. However from the Gospel to the Consecration is the same as today. The Gospel read is that of the Beatitudes.¹⁵

I see the linen throb on the breast of Castulo who, by Paul's order, holds the base of the chalice between his fingers so it does not fall. I see also that when Paul says: 'This consecration of the Body...' a trembling smile runs across the festering face of the little boy and then his small head falls suddenly with the heaviness of death which always increases.

Plautina has a sudden start but controls herself. Paul proceeds as if he did not notice anything. But when, at the breaking of the Host, he is ready to bend over the little martyr to give him Communion first with a minuscule fragment, Plautina says:

'He is dead,'

--and Paul stops a moment, giving to the matron the fragment destined for the child, who has remained with his small fingers clasped on the foot of the chalice in a final contraction, and they must loosen them to be able to take the chalice and give it to the others.

Then, with Communion distributed, the Mass is ended. Paul takes off his vestments and replaces these, along with the linen and the chalice and the case of the hosts, in a sack which he carries under his mantle. Then he says:

'Peace to the martyr of Christ. Peace to holy Castulo.'

And all answer: "Peace!"

'Now I will carry him elsewhere. Give me a mantle in which I can wrap him. I will carry him away without waiting for evening. This evening we will come for Fabio. But this boy... I will carry him like a sleeping child. Asleep in the Lord.'

One of the soldiers gives his own red mantle. And they lay the little martyr down and wrap him in it, and Paul takes him in his (left) arm as if he were a father who transports elsewhere his little sleeping son, with his head bowed on his father's shoulder.

'Brothers, peace be with you, and remember me when you are in the Kingdom.'

And he goes out, blessing them.

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 1. Maria Valtorta, I Quaderni dal 1944, Ed., Emilio Pisani, (CEV, 1985, Isola del Liri): 218 ff. Once again no dates are given in this second Vision of the early martyrs, but since the Apostle Paul appears in it, the scene depicted would have had to take place sometime probably before 67 A.D., the year which Tradition gives as the martyrdom of St. Paul. St. Paul's speech in the dungeon indicates this episode also took place in conjunction with a Roman Circus, after the martyrs were tortured just prior to being exposed to the "entertainment" of the Circus.

 2. The Dungeon of the State Prison at Rome.

 3. In a Vision of January 20, 1944, Op. Cit., 89.

 4. Psalm 114 (Vulgate).

 5. Psalm 62 (Vulgate).

 6. Psalm 39:2 (Vulgate)

 7. Psalm 22 (Vulgate)

 8. "Maran ata": An ancient Aramaic or Syriac expression used in the early Church, and meaning either "Our Lord, come!", or "The Lord comes!" --depending on the division of the letters of the two words: "Maran ata" or "Marana ta". St. Paul used it in his First Epistle to the Corinithians (16:22).

 9. "Paul": Obviously this is St. Paul the Apostle, author of the New Testament Epistles.

10. "The Pontiff": probably St. Peter, who would also have still been alive.

11. The "lily" in Christian tradition often symbolizes Chastity or Virginity..

12. Psalm 41 (Vulgate).

13. Psalm 94 (Vulgate).

14. That is, according to the pre-Vatican II Missal in use in Valtorta's time (1944).

15. Matthew 5:1-12.