A BOY MARTYR

Year 257, Rome

The Catholic Church, in her very cradle, suffered such terrible persecutions at the hands of her enemies that she would have been wiped off the face of the earth—had not the blood of countless Christian martyrs, which flowed through the streets, plazas, and Roman amphitheater, been a fruitful seed that increased the number of believers day by day.

The strength of soul shown by these brave athletes of the faith in the bloody trials to which they were subjected came from the fervor with which they strove daily to receive the Bread of the Strong. And when they were loaded with chains and buried in the foulest, darkest dungeons, they found no other comfort or relief except in the sweetness of the Holy Eucharist. But bringing them this divine consolation was a dangerous and difficult task, especially for the priests, who were hunted with hellish hatred by the fierce enemies of Christianity.

In the year 257, some Christians imprisoned in the Mamertine prison of Rome were about to suffer martyrdom. They longed to receive the august Sacrament, but the vigilance of the guards and lictors was so intense that it was almost impossible to bring them this heavenly aid.

However, in the Catacombs, the consecrated Bread already rested on the Holy Altar. The priest, turning to the crowd of faithful, searched with his eyes for someone to entrust with such a dangerous yet glorious mission for the glory of God. Then Tarcisius, a boy barely ten years old, stepped forward, knelt before the altar steps, and extended his arms in a gesture of readiness to receive the Divine Gift.

There he was… beautiful like an angel, without opening his lips, his eyes fixed on the minister of God, as if saying:

"Here I am, Father, entrust me with this perilous mission—please, entrust it to me…"

— “My son,” said the deeply moved priest, “you are too young.”

But the boy remained unmoved, still kneeling, awaiting the longed-for grace.

The priest insisted:

— “Don’t you see how little you are? And you want me to entrust to you the Treasure of Heaven?”

— “Oh yes, my father! Precisely because I am so small, no one will suspect me, and I’ll be able to safely reach the martyrs. For God’s sake, Father, do not deny me this grace!”

As he spoke, his face lit up, and sweet tears ran down his cheeks.

Tarcisius renewed his plea with such fervor that the priest, finally overcome, could no longer resist his request.

So he took the Most Holy Sacrament, wrapped it reverently in a white cloth, placed it in a small bag, and handed it to Tarcisius, saying:

— “My son, never forget that I am entrusting to your hands the Treasure of Heaven. Avoid public or crowded places, and remember that holy things must not be given to dogs, nor precious pearls to unclean animals.”

Bathed in heavenly joy, Tarcisius hid the sacred Treasure in his chest, covered it with his tunic, crossed his arms over it, and exclaimed:

“I would die a thousand deaths before letting it be taken from me.”

He immediately left the catacombs with his beloved Jesus.

To reach the Mamertine prison, he needed only to cross a square. He was considering how to do it without drawing attention when a group of boys spotted him and approached:

— “Hey, Tarcisius!” they shouted. “You around here? Come play with us and complete the group!”

One of them grabbed his arm and tried to pull him into the group.

— “I can’t play, Petilius,” cried the boy. “I can’t because I’m running on an urgent errand!”

Tarcisius tried to escape, but seeing that they were holding him tightly, he pleaded with a sorrowful voice to be let go. Failing to break free, he began to sob, pressing his arms even tighter against his chest.

Then another said:

— “Like it or not, you’ll play with us today! But first let’s see what you’re hiding so carefully on your chest.”

And immediately he reached out to snatch the sacred Mystery.

— “Oh no, not that! Never, never!” cried the boy, lifting his eyes to heaven for help.

— “We want to see it!” shouted the others. “We must know what secret you’re hiding!”

They threw themselves on him, trying to pull his arms apart. But Tarcisius resisted with all his strength. During the struggle, a large crowd of onlookers gathered.

Among them was a cruel enemy of Christians who, recognizing Tarcisius, cried out with diabolical rage:

— “That boy is a Christian! He’s carrying the Mysteries to the martyrs!”

Upon hearing this, the crowd shouted in unison:

— “We want to see the Mysteries! We want to see the Mysteries!”

Then fists, blows, and stones rained down on the poor Tarcisius. But he did not yield to their violent assault. Blood poured from his mouth, his limbs were battered, until at last, drained of strength, he collapsed to the ground half-dead—still clutching the priceless Treasure to his chest.

The attackers believed they had triumphed, when suddenly a strong Christian soldier named Quadratus appeared. With powerful arms, he scattered the mob and remained alone with the undefeated child. Kneeling beside the innocent victim, deeply moved, he asked:

— “What is this, Tarcisius? Are you suffering much? Be strong…”

Then the boy opened his dying eyes, smiled like an angel, and said in a barely audible voice:

— “Oh Quadratus… here I am… no, they couldn’t take the holy Mysteries… I carry them in my chest… save them…”

The soldier lifted the little martyr in his arms as one who carried not only a martyr, but the very King of Martyrs. The boy rested his head on the soldier’s strong shoulders and still pressed with his hands the Treasure he had been entrusted with.

The return to the Catacombs was long, but the warrior quickened his pace, and in a short time, arrived at the altar.

All the faithful gathered there surrounded the dying hero of the Eucharist. The priest could not hold back his tears when he found the sacred deposit intact within Tarcisius’ breast. As he gently pried open the stiff arms of the holy boy, Tarcisius gave him one last look of joy and passed away.

The Church commemorates his holy death on August 15.

His relics were buried in the Cemetery of Saint Callixtus and were later transferred to Paris, to the Orphanage of Saint Vincent de Paul.

Acts of the Martyrs