The Colosseum

It is about Rome I still have to speak, Rome the goal of our voyage, there where I believed I would encounter consolation but where I found the cross! It was night when we arrived and as we were all asleep we were awakened by the shouts of the porters crying: “Rome! Rome!” It was not a dream, I was in Rome!¹⁴³

The first day was spent outside the walls and was perhaps the most enjoyable, for the monuments have preserved their stamp of antiquity. In the center of Rome itself one could easily believe one was in Paris, judging by the magnificence of the hotels and stores. This trip through the Roman countryside left an indelible impression upon me. I will not speak of the places we visited, as there are enough guide books describing these fully, but I will speak only of the principal impressions I experienced.

One of my sweetest memories was the one that filled me with delight when I saw the Colosseum. I was finally gazing upon that arena where so many martyrs had shed their blood for Jesus. I was already preparing to kneel down and kiss the soil they had made holy, but what a disappointment! The place was nothing but a heap of ruins, and the pilgrims were expected to be satisfied with simply looking at these. A barrier prevented them from entering the ruins. No one would be tempted to do so. But was it possible to come all the way to Rome and not go down into the Colosseum? For me it was impossible! I no longer heard the guide’s explanations. One thought raced through my mind: get down into the arena! Seeing a workman pass by carrying a stepladder, I was on the verge of asking his advice, and it was good I didn’t as he would have considered me a fool. In the Gospel, we read that Mary Magdalene stayed close to the tomb, and every once in a while she stooped down to peer inside. She finally saw two angels.¹⁴⁴ Like her, while recognizing the impossibility of seeing my desires fulfilled, I continued to look toward the ruins into which I wanted to descend; I didn’t see any angels, but I did see what I was looking for and I cried to Céline: “Come quick! We can get through!” We crossed the barrier where there was an opening, the fallen masonry hardly reaching up the barrier, and we were climbing down over the ruins that rumbled under our feet.

Papa stared at us, surprised at our boldness. He was calling us back, but the two fugitives no longer heard anything. Just as warriors experience an increase in courage in the presence of danger, so our joy increased proportionately to the trouble we met with in attaining the object of our desire. Céline had listened to the guide and remembering that he had pointed out a tiny bit of pavement marked with cross as the place where the martyrs fought, we began looking for it. We soon found it and threw ourselves on our knees on this sacred soil, and our souls were united in the same prayer. My heart was beating hard when my lips touched the dust stained with the blood of the first Christians. I asked for the grace of being a martyr for Jesus and felt that my prayer was answered! All this was accomplished in a very short time; gathering up a few stones, we returned to the fallen walls and began the dangerous ascent. Papa, seeing us so happy, didn’t have the heart to scold us and I could easily see he was proud of our courage. God visibly protected us, for the other pilgrims hadn’t noticed our absence. They were farther away, absorbed in the examination of magnificent arches, the guide calling their attention to "the little CORNICES carrying figures of CUPIDS," and so neither he nor the priests knew anything about the joy that inundated our hearts.