The Prison diary of St Perpetua

Prologue: Under Emperor Septimius Severus, many young Christians were arrested. St Perpetua recorded her experiences in a prison diary, one of the earliest firsthand accounts of Christian martyrdom. She was 22 years old and wrote in her own hand.

Carthage, Roman Africa — March 203 A.D.

“I write these things while the memory is still warm in me, so that you may know how Christ strengthened my heart. I was taken from my home in Carthage, though I had only just given birth to my little son.

The prison was dark and crowded, and the heat pressed on me until I could hardly breathe. My greatest pain was for my baby, who was not with me. When at last the guards allowed me to nurse him, my spirit revived. Holding him made the prison feel like a palace, because God had not abandoned me. While we were still being questioned, my father tried again and again to pull me away from my faith.

I said to him, “Father, do you see this little jar here?” He said he did. I told him, “Can it be called anything other than what it is?” He answered no. So I said, “Neither can I be called anything other than what I am — a Christian.”

At my words, my father threw himself at me as if to tear out my eyes, but he only tormented me and then left, defeated by the enemy’s arguments. For a few days I did not see him, and I thanked God for the relief.

During those days we were baptized, and the Spirit told me to ask nothing from the water except strength to endure suffering. Soon we were taken to prison. I was terrified, for I had never known such darkness. The day was harsh — the heat of the crowd, the rough handling of soldiers, and above all my worry for my infant.

Two deacons, Tertius and Pomponius, arranged by paying a fee that we could spend a few hours in a better part of the prison. When I came out of the inner cell, I nursed my starving baby. I comforted my mother, encouraged my brother and entrusted my son to them. I wasted away because I saw them suffering on my account.

After many days of this, I arranged for my baby to stay with me in prison. Immediately I recovered, and the prison became to me like a palace. I preferred to be there rather than anywhere else.

My brother said to me, “Sister, you are already held in great honor. Ask the Lord for a vision, so you may know whether your suffering will be martyrdom or release.” I knew that I often spoke with the Lord, and that I had already received so many of His gifts, so I answered him with confidence: “Tomorrow, I will tell you.”

I prayed, and this is what was shown to me.

I saw a bronze ladder of astonishing height reaching all the way to heaven. It was narrow, so only one person could climb at a time. On both sides of the ladder were sharp metal tools fixed into it — swords, hooks, knives, spears — so that anyone who climbed carelessly or failed to look upward would be torn, and their flesh would cling to the blades.

Beneath the ladder lay a huge dragon, waiting to frighten those who tried to climb.

Saturus went up first — the same Saturus who later surrendered himself for our sake, because he had strengthened us in the faith. He had not been with us when we were first arrested. He reached the top of the ladder, turned, and said to me, “Perpetua, I am waiting for you. But be careful that the dragon does not bite you.”

I said, “He will not harm me, in the name of Jesus Christ.”

Then, from beneath the ladder, the dragon slowly lifted its head as if afraid of me. As I stepped onto the first rung, I pressed my foot on its head and climbed upward.

At the top I saw an immense garden. In the middle sat a man with white hair, dressed like a shepherd, tall and milking sheep. Around him stood many people dressed in white.

He lifted his head, looked at me, and said, “Welcome, child.” He called me to Himself and gave me a piece of cheese from what He was milking. I received it with both hands and ate it. All those standing around said, “Amen.”

At the sound of His voice, I woke up, still tasting something sweet in my mouth.

I told my brother immediately, and together we understood that suffering was coming — that I would indeed face martyrdom. From that moment, we let go of any hope in this world.

After a few days, word spread that we would be given a hearing. My father came from the city, worn with grief, and climbed up to see me. He tried again to break my resolve.

“Have pity, daughter,” he said. “Have pity on my gray hair. Have pity on your father—if I am still worthy to be called your father. If these hands raised you to this age, if I placed you above your brothers, do not hand me over to the scorn of men.”

He pointed to my family. “Look at your brothers. Look at your mother and your aunt. Look at your son—he cannot live without you. Change your mind. Do not destroy all of us.”

He said these things like a father pleading for his child, kissing my hands, throwing himself at my feet, weeping, and no longer calling me his daughter but his lady. I grieved for him, because he alone in my whole family would not rejoice in my suffering for Christ.

I strengthened him as best I could. “What happens in that courtroom will be what God wills,” I told him. “Know that we are not in our own power, but in God’s.”

He left me, sorrowful. The next day, while we were eating, we were suddenly seized and taken out to be heard. We were brought to the forum, and immediately word spread through the nearby streets. A huge crowd gathered.

We were led up onto the platform. The others were questioned first, and each one confessed their faith. Then they came to me. My father appeared at once, carrying my little son. He pulled me down from the step and begged me, “Have mercy on your child.”

Hilarianus, the procurator who had received authority in place of the deceased proconsul, said to me, “Spare your father’s gray hair. Spare your infant. Offer sacrifice for the welfare of the emperors.”

I answered, “I will not.”

He asked, “Are you a Christian?”

I said, “I am a Christian.”

My father stood near me, trying to pull me down again, and Hilarianus ordered him beaten with a rod. I felt the blow as if it had struck me, and I grieved for his miserable old age.

Then Hilarianus pronounced judgment on all of us and condemned us to the beasts. We went down from the platform cheerful and unafraid.

My baby had been used to nursing from me and staying with me in prison, so I sent word to Pomponius the deacon, asking him to bring my child. But my father refused to give him up.

Yet, as God willed, my son no longer desired the breast, nor did my milk cause me pain. I was freed from the distress of worrying about him.

While we were all praying together, a voice suddenly came to me in the middle of the prayer, and I spoke the name Dinocrates. I was startled, because he had never come to my mind until that moment, and remembering him made me grieve. I understood immediately that I was meant to pray for him, and I began to do so earnestly, groaning before the Lord.

That very night, a vision was shown to me.

I saw Dinocrates coming out of a dark place where many others were gathered. He was burning with heat and terribly thirsty. His clothing was filthy, and his skin was pale. On his face was the wound he had when he died.

Dinocrates had been my brother by blood, seven years old, who died miserably from a disease that consumed his face, so that his death was a horror to everyone. I had prayed for him because of this.

Between us there was a great distance, so that neither of us could approach the other. In that place where he stood, there was a pool full of water, but its rim was higher than the height of the child. Dinocrates stretched himself up as if trying to drink.

I grieved because the pool had water, yet he could not reach it because of the height of the edge. When I awoke, I knew my brother was still suffering, but I trusted that my prayer would help him. I prayed for him every day until we were moved to the military prison, because we were to fight in the games held for the birthday of Geta Caesar.

I prayed for him day and night, groaning and weeping, asking God to grant him relief.

On the day we were kept in the stocks, another vision was shown to me. I saw the same place I had seen before, and Dinocrates was there again — but now his body was clean, and he was dressed well, and he was refreshed. Where the wound had been on his face, I saw only a scar.

The pool I had seen earlier was there too, but now its edge was lowered to the height of his waist. Dinocrates was able to draw water from it without any difficulty. Above the pool was a golden bowl filled with water. Dinocrates approached it and began to drink, and the bowl never emptied.

When he was satisfied, he began to play with the water like a child, full of joy.

I woke up, and I understood that he had been delivered from his suffering.

After a few days, Pudens, the soldier assigned as the officer in charge of the prison, began to treat us with great respect. He recognized that there was a powerful strength at work in us, and he allowed many people to come in so that we could encourage them and they could refresh us in return.

As the day of the games drew near, my father came to me again, worn down by misery. He began tearing out his beard, throwing it to the ground, and falling on his face. He cursed his old age and spoke so many words of grief that anyone who heard him would have been moved. I felt deep sorrow for his unhappy condition.

The day before we were to fight, I saw this vision in the hour of sleep.

Pomponius the deacon came to the door of the prison and knocked urgently. I went out to him and opened the door. He was dressed in a loose white garment and wore many small shoes. He said to me, “Perpetua, we are waiting for you. Come.”

He took my hand, and together we began to walk through rough and twisting places. At last, breathless, we reached the amphitheater. He led me into the middle of the arena and said, “Do not be afraid. I am here with you, and I am working alongside you.” Then he left.

I looked around and saw a huge crowd, astonished. And because I knew I had been condemned to the beasts, I wondered why no animals were being sent against me.

Then an Egyptian man came out against me, ugly in appearance, with helpers beside him, ready to fight me. Young men of noble bearing came to my side as my supporters and helpers.

I was stripped, and I became like a man. My supporters rubbed me with oil, as is done for athletes in the contest. The Egyptian rolled in the dust opposite me.

Then a man of extraordinary height appeared, taller even than the top of the amphitheater. He wore a loose garment, with a purple stripe running down the middle of his chest between two bands, and he had shoes made of gold and silver in many patterns. He carried a rod like a trainer and a green branch with golden apples on it.

He called for silence and said, “If this Egyptian defeats her, he will kill her with the sword. If she defeats him, she will receive this branch.”

He left, and the Egyptian and I approached each other. We began to strike with our fists. He tried to grab my feet, but I kicked him in the face. Then I was lifted into the air, and I struck him as though I were not touching the ground.

When I saw that the fight was dragging on, I clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, and seized his head. He fell on his face, and I stepped on his head.

The crowd shouted, and my supporters sang psalms. I went to the trainer and received the branch. He kissed me and said, “Daughter, peace be with you.”

I walked toward the Gate of Life with glory. Then I woke up.

I understood that I would not be fighting against beasts, but against the devil himself. But I knew that victory had been given to me.

This is what I saw up to the day before the games. As for the events of the games themselves, let whoever wishes, write them.

Saturus says: “We had suffered, and we left the flesh behind. Four angels carried us toward the east, yet their hands did not touch us. We were not lying on our backs or facing upward, but were being lifted gently, as though ascending a soft slope.

“When we were freed from the first world, we saw an immense light. I said to Perpetua—she was at my side—‘This is what the Lord promised us. We have received His promise.’

“As the four angels carried us, a vast space opened before us. It was like a garden, with trees that looked like rose trees and every kind of flower. The trees were tall, like cypress trees, and their leaves fell continually without ceasing.

“In that garden were four other angels, brighter than the rest. When they saw us, they honored us and said to the angels carrying us, ‘Look, here they are, here they are,’ full of wonder. The four angels who carried us were startled and set us down.

“We walked forward on our feet along a wide path toward a stadium. There we found Jocundus, Saturninus and Artaxius, who had been burned alive in the same persecution, and Quintus, who had died as a martyr in prison. We asked the angels where they were.

“The angels said to us, ‘Come first. Enter and greet the Lord.’”

We came near a place whose walls looked as though they were built out of light itself. At the entrance stood four angels. As we went in, they clothed us in white robes.

Inside, we heard a single voice saying, without any pause, “Holy, holy, holy.”

We saw someone seated there who looked like a man with white hair, yet with the face of a youth. We could not see His feet. On His right and left were four elders, and behind them stood many more elders.

We approached with awe and stood before the throne. Four angels lifted us up, and we kissed the One who sat there. From His hand, He touched our faces.

The elders said to us, “Stand.” So we stood and exchanged peace with them. Then the elders said, “Go now, and play.”

I said to Perpetua, “You have what you desired.” She answered, “Thanks be to God — for just as I was joyful in the flesh, I am even more joyful here.”

When we went out from the heavenly hall, we saw Optatus the bishop standing to the right of the doorway and Aspasius the presbyter, a teacher, standing to the left. They were separated from one another and looked sorrowful.

They threw themselves at our feet and said, “Make peace between us, because you have gone ahead of us and left us behind.”

We said to them, “Are you not our bishop, and you our presbyter? How is it that you throw yourselves at our feet?” We were moved with compassion and embraced them.

I began speaking to them in Greek. We led them into the garden and placed them beneath a rose tree.

While we were speaking with them, the angels said to them, “Let them be refreshed. And whatever disagreements you have among yourselves, forgive one another.”

The angels troubled them with these words. Then they said to Optatus, “Correct your people, because they come to you as though returning from the circus, arguing in factions.”

It seemed to us then as though the angels wanted to close the doors.

We began to recognize many brothers and also many martyrs there. All of them were nourished by a fragrance beyond description, which satisfied us completely.

Then I awoke, full of joy.

These are the visions that Perpetua and Saturus received. God granted them not only the strength to endure suffering but also the revelation of what awaited them. Their visions showed clearly the honor prepared for the martyrs and the unity of the saints.

As for Secundulus, he was taken from this world earlier than the rest. He did not face the beasts in the arena, but he died in prison. Yet he did not lose the glory of martyrdom, for he had already confessed Christ with courage, and he departed before the games, spared from the cruelty that awaited the others.

Thus, the Lord honored each of them according to His will: one by early release through death, others by the struggle of the arena, but all by the crown of witness.

Felicitas was also with us — she was eight months pregnant. The laws forbade pregnant women from being executed, so she feared that her martyrdom would be delayed and that she would not go with us to the arena. She prayed earnestly, along with the rest of us, that she might give birth before the games.

Two days before the contest, she went into labor. The pain was severe. As she cried out in agony, one of the guards mocked her and said, “If you suffer so much now, what will you do when you are thrown to the beasts? You said you were not afraid.”

She answered, “Now it is I who suffer. There, another will suffer for me — because I will suffer for Him.”

She gave birth to a daughter. A Christian woman took the child and raised her as her own.

Whoever reads these things, let them remember the martyrs and bless the Lord who chooses the weak of this world to confound the strong. And let them also pray that we may be counted worthy to imitate their faith.

Epilogue

The day of the games dawned, and the martyrs went forward from the prison with joy, as though they were going to heaven itself. Their faces were calm, their steps steady. If anyone trembled, it was the pagans who watched them.

Perpetua walked with shining eyes, as one who was beloved of Christ. Felicitas rejoiced that she had given birth safely, so she could now fight beside her companions. The others were equally glad that they could face the beasts together, bound in the same hope.

They were brought to the gate of the arena. There, as was customary, the men were forced to put on the robes of priests of Saturn, and the women the garments of priestesses of Ceres. But the martyrs resisted. Perpetua said firmly, “We came here of our own free will, so that our freedom might not be violated. We gave up our lives so that we would not be forced to do such things. This is why we came.”

The tribune understood their resolve and ordered that they be allowed to enter the arena simply as they were.

The martyrs thanked God that they had been spared even this final indignity.

The martyrs were brought into the arena. They walked forward as though they were beloved guests, not condemned prisoners. They kissed one another so that they might complete their martyrdom with the peace of Christ.

The men faced the beasts first. As for Perpetua and Felicitas, they were placed opposite a fierce cow — a punishment chosen because of their sex. They were stripped and clothed in nets.

The crowd shuddered when they saw that the two women were nursing mothers. Perpetua was the first to be tossed. She fell on her back. She sat up, adjusted her torn tunic, and gathered her hair, because it was not fitting for a martyr to die with disheveled hair — lest she appear to be mourning.

She looked for Felicitas, who had also been thrown down. Perpetua went to her, lifted her up, and they stood together.

Seeing that the crowd was satisfied, the two women were led back through the Gate of Life.

Saturus was thrown first. He had been the one who had handed himself over voluntarily for our sake, and he was the one who had taught us the faith. A wild boar was set against him, but the animal turned on its keeper instead. Then a bear was released, but it refused to attack him.

Saturus was wounded only when he was brought back to the platform. A leopard was let loose upon him, and with one bite he was covered in blood. The crowd roared at the sight, shouting, “He is washed! He is washed!” — meaning washed in blood, the baptism of martyrdom.

Saturus said to the soldier Pudens, “Farewell. Remember me. Do not let these things disturb you. Strengthen your faith and love one another.” Then he died, pierced by the beasts.

As for Perpetua and Felicitas, they were brought back out for the final execution. The people demanded that they be brought into the open so that the crowd could see them. The two women stood together, steadfast.

Perpetua called out to the gladiator who approached her. His hand trembled, for he was only a youth. Perpetua guided his sword to her throat. She did this so that, as she had been strong in the struggle, she might also be strong in the act of death.

If she had not done this, the young man would not have been able to kill her — for she was so greatly feared by the unclean spirit that dwelled in him.

This is the account of the steadfast martyrs Perpetua and Felicitas, along with their companions. They loved the Lord so greatly that they overcame the fear of death itself. Their courage and visions strengthen the Church even now, for they show how God works in threatened servants and how He honors those who remain faithful.

Meditation on Final Preservation

Perpetua stood with heart aflame; Felicitas' faith, just the same.
Two surrendered saints in every way, earthly souls who would not stay.
Both kept footing toward heaven’s light, to guards of cruelty, hate and spite.
No arena beast, no blade in hand; scares souls who dwell in the Lord’s own hand.

With child in arms, a child just born—neither bowed to fear or scorn.
They chose His cross, they chose His fight and stepped through death into His Light.
To gates with angels soft and warm, and smiling saints with open arms.
Their names now rise as victory’s song, in the Book of Life where they belong.

Sources:

The Martyrdom of Sts Perpetua and Felicity | www.ssfp.org

Perpetua et Felicitatis. TheLatinLibrary.com | CoPilot’s English Paraphrase