Maria Valtorta: Notebook 1945-1950 – Chapter 459 – February 20, 1945

Vision of gladiators and martyred Christians in the Rome of the emperors, to understand the kind of courage, determination and faith, one will need to have to face the coming  persecution and Tribulation

“For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and that of the gospel will save it” (Mark 8,35)

Maria Valtorta: “…A time of persecution, one of the greatest persecutions, for the Christians are tortured in large numbers, not taken individually. The place is the cavea of a Circus. In short, it is a kind of room situated under the tiers used as a shelter for gladiators, animal keepers, and all the Circus staff.

[…] In this spacious, but dark room the only light is from a door opening into a corridor which surely leads inside the Circus, and perhaps outside, and from a small window which I would call a low loophole, at the Circus’ ground level, from which the noise of a crowd emerges many, many Christians of all ages are grouped together From children of a very tender age, still in their mothers’ arms two of them, though about two years old, are still sucking at their mother’s depleted breast to the feeble elderly.

And there are also gladiators, already wearing helmets and the corresponding body armor which both defends and does not defend, for it leaves some vital parts still unprotected, such as the throat or sections of the abdomen where the liver and spleen are located. They put this armor on over their bare skin and hold short and long daggers almost in the shape of a chestnut leaf. They are very handsome men, not so much on account of their faces as because of their strapping, harmonious bodies the brisk rippling of their muscles is visible with every movement.

Some have scars from old wounds, while others display no sign of lacerations. They speak to one another, and I note that they must be from countries subject to Rome, surely prisoners of war, for they use only a very hybrid Latin, pronounced in a harsh, guttural manner, when they address the Christians waiting to die who are singing their sweet, sad hymns.

One gladiator, almost two meters in height a real colossus as golden as honey, with clear gray blue eyes which are gentle even in the dark iron shadow cast over his face by the visor of his helmet addresses an old man dressed entirely in white, dignified and austere or, rather, ascetic whom all the Christians venerate with the maximum respect.”

(Gladiator): “White father, if the beasts spare you, I’ll have to slay you. Those are the orders. And I am sorry, since I left an elderly father like you in Pannonia.”

(Priest): “Don’t be grieved, son. You are opening Heaven for me. And in my long life I have never received a more beautiful gift from anyone than the one you are giving me.”

(G.): “In Heaven, too, a place where your God surely exists as in mine our gods exist, and in Rome’s, theirs there is still death and struggle. Do you want to go on suffering because of the gods’ hatred as you suffer here?”

(P.): “My God is the only one. In his Heaven He reigns with love and justice. And whoever arrives there, experiences only eternal rejoicing.”

(G.): “I have heard that from many Christians during this persecution. And I said to a girl who was smiling at me as I brought the dagger down upon her…. And I pretended to kill her, but I didn’t kill her in order to save her, since she was tender and blond like young heather in my forests…. But it was of no use to me… I couldn’t take her away from here, and the next day … that body of milk and roses was given to the snakes…” (The man grows silent with a sad look).

(P.): “What did you say to her, son?” (asks the old man).

(P.): “I said, ‘Do you see? I am not bad. But it is my job. I am a slave of war. If it is true that your God is just, tell Him to remember Albulus that’s what they call me in Rome and to appear with his goodness.’ She said to me, ‘I will.’ But she has been dead for days, and no one has come.”

(P.): “As long as you are not a Christian, God will show Himself to you only in his servants. And how many of them He has brought to you! Every Christian is a servant of God; every martyr, a friend a friend to the point of living in God’s arms.”

(G.): “Oh, many… And I, not I alone, but also Dacius and Illiricus, and others among us, too sad about our fortune, have been caught up by your rejoicing… and would like to share it. You are in chains… We are not. But not even our breath is free. If Caesar wills, they will chain up our breath and kill us. Are you filled with disgust by our talk of God?”

(P.): “It is my only earthly joy, son, and it is a great one. May Jesus, my God and Master, bless you for it. I am a priest, Albulus. I have consumed my life preaching Him and taking many creatures to Him. And I no longer hoped to receive this joy. Listen…”

(MV): “And the old man repeats the life of Jesus to him and the other gladiators who have formed a circle around them, from his birth to his death on the cross, and he outlines the essential requirements of the Faith. He speaks sitting on a rock serving as a bench peaceful, solemn, totally radiant, with his long hair, Mosaic beard, and robe, totally aflame in his gaze and words. He interrupts himself on two occasions alone to bless two groups of Christians brought into the arena to be fed to the crocodiles during the naval games. He then resumes speaking in the ring of sturdy gladiators nearly all are blond, with a rosy complex ion who listen to him with their mouths open. […] He concludes by saying:

(P.): “This is what’s essential to believe in order to receive Baptism and Heaven.”

(MV): “The robust voices of the gladiators ten of them make the low vault boom:

(Gladiators): “We believe. Give us your God.”

(P): “I have nothing to sprinkle you with, not a drop of water or any other liquid, and my time has come. But you will find a way…. No! God is telling me! A liquid is ready for you.”

• “The Christians to the lions! (Orders the guard) All of you.”

(MV): “The old priest at the head and the others behind including the mothers, on whose breasts the children have fallen asleep go into the arena, singing.

What a crowd! What light! What noise! How many colors! It is incredibly packed with people of every extraction. In the section flooded by sunlight there are lower class, noisy folk; in the shaded section are the patricians. Toga after toga, ostrich fans’ jewels, and sarcastic and more subdued conversations. In the center of the shaded section is the imperial podium, with its purple canopy and its balustrade decked with flowers and covered with cloth and its soft seats for the repose of Caesar and the patricians and courtiers who are his guests. Two golden tripods are smoking at the extreme edges of the balcony and emitting rare fragrances. The Christians are pushed towards the sunny area.

[…] In the center of the arena is a […] marble structure from which there rise up to the sky thin, wisp like spurts of water, and on this structure’s platform in the shape of an elongated oval, barely two meters above the ground are small golden statues of gods, and tripods in which incense is burning stand before them. The Christians are then grouped together in the sunlit area.

[…] The lions burst in. The elderly priest is the first to advance, alone, with his arms extended. He speaks:

(P.): “Romans, for the sake of my brothers and sisters and myself, peace and blessing. May Jesus, because of the joy you give us of confessing Him with our blood, give you Light and eternal Life. We pray to Him for this because we are grateful to you for the eternal purple with which you robe us with the… “

(MV): “A lion has leaped forward after having approached, nearly crawling along the ground, and knocks him down, biting his shoulder. His snow-white robe and hair are now completely red.

It is the signal for the beastly attack. The pack of brutes leaps upon the flock of the gentle. With a blow of her paw, a lioness tears one of the sleeping babies away from her mother, and the blow is so fierce that it rips out part of the breast of the mother, who collapses onto the arena and dies, perhaps lacerated right to her heart. The beast, striking blows with her paws and tail, defends her tender meal and crunches it in a flash. A little red stain remains on the sand, the only trace of the martyred baby, as the beast gets up, licking her muzzle.

But there are a lot of Christians and few animals in comparison. And they are perhaps already sated. Rather than devour, they kill for the sake of killing. They knock down, tear throats, rip open bellies, lick a bit, and then move on to another prey.

The people get restless because there is no reaction by the Christians and the brutes are not sufficiently ferocious. They howl:

• (Crowd): “Death to them! Death to them! Death to the superintendent, too! These are not lions, but well-fed dogs. Death to the betrayers of Rome and Caesar!”

(MV): “The emperor gives an order, and the beasts are driven back into their caves. The gladiators are brought in for the coup de grace. The crowd yells out the names of their favorites:

• (Crowd): “Albulus, Illiricus, Datius, Hercules, Polyphemus, Tratius,” (and others, too).

They are not just the gladiators spoken to by the elderly martyr, who is agonizing in the arena, with one lung nearly exposed by a clawing, but others as well who come in from elsewhere. Albulus runs over to the old priest. The people say:

• (Crowd): “Make him suffer! Lift him up for the blow to be seen! Come on, Albulus! “

But Albulus bends over to ask the old man something and, on receiving a sign of consent, calls the companions who previously heard the old priest speak. I cannot manage to understand what they do whether they obtain a blessing or what since their robust bodies form a sort of roof over the old man, lying prostrate. But I do understand when I see that an aged, now trembling hand rises over the group of heads pressed close together and sprinkles them with the blood it has been filled with like a cup. It then falls back down.

The gladiators, sprinkled with that blood, leap to their feet and raise their daggers, shining in the light. They yell out:

• (Gladiators): “Hail, Caesar, Emperor. The victors greet you.”

(MV): “And then, as fast as a lightning bolt, they run to that structure in the middle of the circus, leap upon it, overturn idols and tripods, and trample upon them.

The crowd howls as if crazed. Some would like to defend their favorite gladiator and some call down an atrocious death upon the new Christians, who, for their part, having returned to the arena, stand in a line, serene and magnificent, like statues of giants, with a fresh smile on their fierce faces.

Caesar, […] crowned with flowers and dressed in purple, stands up in the circle of his patricians, all dressed in white. Only some have red frills. The crowd grows silent, waiting for his words. […] He keeps everyone in suspense for a few minutes and then turns his thumb downwards, saying:

• “Let them be killed by their companions.”

(MV): “The unconverted gladiators, who have meanwhile slashed the throats of the barely surviving Christians as methodically as a butcher cuts lambs’ throats, rise up, and with the same automatic coldness and precision they open their companions’ throats at the jugular vein. Like a bundle of ears of grain which the pruning hook cuts down stele by stele, the ten neo-Christians, sprinkled with the blood of the martyred priest, make themselves a robe of eternal purple with their blood and fall with a smile on their backs, gazing at heaven, where their blessed day is dawning.

[…] The vision of the elderly martyred priest and of the last ones he baptized remains in my heart…”

Maria Valtorta: The Notebooks

“These Notebooks belong to a category of mystical literature which the Catholic Church has long been familiar with: that of so-called “private revelations.” A private revelation is not binding for the faith of Christians, but its value is to be measured by its capacity to instruct and inflame souls, spurring them to love God more and apply divine teachings to their everyday lives. In the confidence—and the conviction—that this work superabounds in these inspired qualities, we offer it for the spiritual nourishment of readers. —David Murray