VALENTINES.
Their Origin--Degeneration--Immoral Influence--Incitement to
Dishonesty.
Who Saint Valentine was, is not much to the purpose in this place. We
will give him credit for having been, however, a very excellent and
highly respectable individual. We must therefore utterly protest
against the custom which has obtained of late years, making him the
tutelary Saint of innumerable silly lovers, mean mischief-makers, and
vulgar letter-writers generally.
Unfortunately for the reputation of this inoffensive Bishop, the day
noted in the calendar as sacred to his blessed memory, happens to be
that on which, according to the auld-wives' legends of Merrie England,
there is a universal marrying and giving in marriage among the
feathered tribes. The Fourteenth of February seems rather bleak for a
grand wedding festival at which any birds but snow birds are expected
to attend; but we suppose we must respect the tradition. It seems
early too for imitative lads and lasses, who should wait until the
warm spring approaches;
"When the South-wind in May days,
With a net of shining haze,
Silvers the horizon wall,
And with softness touches all--
Tints the human countenance
With a color of romance;"
and when all nature is bathed afresh in light and love, and inspired
with new life.
But, says a French writer, the divine faculty which distinguishes man
from the brutes, is the capacity to drink when he is not thirsty, and
to make love at all seasons of the year. Whether this "divine faculty"
is a God-gift, or a perversion and abuse, the legitimate fruit of the
sad tree of knowledge of good and evil, we will not stop to discuss.
Man has it in full exercise; and however the birds may grumble at
being obliged to hurry up their matrimonial cakes under the very beard
and brow of winter, Cupid will be found--like the classical
clothes-brusher and job-waiter--"_nunquam non paratus_"--always ready
at your service.
The probability is that the human custom of choosing mates about this
time, is more ancient than the notion touching the pairing of birds,
and that the latter is a mere fable, suggested by the former. Some
commentator on Shakspeare has traced it back "to a pagan custom of the
same kind during the Lupercalia feasts of Pan and Juno, celebrated in
the month of February by the Romans. We are further told that, the
anniversary of St. Valentine happening in this month, the pious
promoters of Christianity placed this custom under his patronage in
order to indicate the notion of its pagan origin." Unhappy St.
Valentine! But we must remember that formerly there was something
sweet and poetical in the choosing of mates. Now we are thrilled with
tender emotions when poor Ophelia sings her
"Good morrow to St. Valentine's-day."
But somehow, romance dies out in our material age; and beautiful
superstitions give place either to cold practical knowledge, or
degenerate into farcical caricatures. What a difference between the
rapturous and bashful exchange of vows pledged by the youth and
maidens in good old times, before reading and writing came in fashion,
and the celebrated Valentine composed by the younger Mr. Weller! The
vulgarization of the custom has been gradual. Instead of the
song-singing invitations to love, under cold windows,
"All in the morning betime,"
lovers began, in the course of human progress, to indite gentle
missives to their sweethearts, and to receive autograph replies. This
improved method was eagerly adopted by all such as dared not give
verbal utterance to their sweet passion, as well as by those who had
private malice to vent, and sneaking insults to offer. Then arose the
manufacture and merchandise of Valentines, which has of late become so
important a branch of industry.
From early in February until late in March, our toy shops and
periodical and fancy "depots" appear to traffic mainly in these
exceptionable articles. Their windows flame with the vulgar trash. On
every corner "Valentines!" "Valentines!" stare us in the face. Some
are very choice and costly; we see now and then one inlaid in a rich
casket, and prized at twenty-five or even fifty dollars. Others are
made of fine fancy paper, adorned with flowers in water colors, or
prettily filigreed; with a scroll in the center for the verses
expressive of the sender's sentiments.
But the softer heads that indulge in these expensive trifles, are
comparatively few. A cheaper luxury satisfies our economical
sentimentalists. All kinds of coarsely ornamented note-paper, and
large square awkward envelopes, find their ready patrons. Every taste
is suited, from the sickliest fastidiousness, to the most clownish
ambition for flashy colors and tawdry designs.
In opposition to the sentimental Valentines, we have the gross
caricatures which have done more than anything else of this kind to
disgust the common sense and good taste of community. It would seem
that only the most vulgar minds could be attracted by these; yet the
large traffic in them shows that vulgarity is an extensive element in
the popular character. No matter how indelicate and disgusting one of
these specimens of low invention may be, some fool will be found to
purchase it, and send it to another individual whom he either wishes
to insult or expects to amuse.
In this way all sorts of printed immoralities obtain circulation. In
this way cowards take revenge for imaginary slights or dignified
rejections. In this way, for about two or three weeks in each year,
some altogether harmless and well-meaning people have been subjected
to gross annoyances and serious taxes for postage. Thanks to the
law-makers, the advance pay requisition will hereafter put a stop to
that species of petty swindling.
Year after year the same foolish figures and senseless mottos are
forwarded from the same simpletons to the same victims. We know a
musician who for three successive seasons has received that witched
caricature, representing a shape--
"If shape it could be called that shape had none,--"
all nose and moustache, blowing a trombone considerably larger than
himself.
Our dentist usually enjoys a visit from a caricature suited to _his_
profession--a tooth-drawer with his little head in a vast chasm
representing a young lady's mouth. He has learned to expect it; he
good-naturedly looks for it, about Valentine's day; and merely opening
it when it comes, to see that it is the right one, he quietly tosses
it into the fire.
This Valentine sending is a custom like that of a certain drunken
revel once popular in Denmark,--"More honored in the breach than in
the observance." It is ignored by good society. And as for the
victimized, it is a mark of common sense to bestow every Valentine
into the grate, unopened, as soon as received.
It is estimated that not less than half a million of these worse than
worthless missives pass through the post-offices annually. The cost to
the parties purchasing them, forms an aggregate of about $200,000.
Over and above this expense is the postage, which is sometimes double,
triple, or even four or five times the ordinary rates of single
letter postage. Formerly many were unpaid, and often persons to whom
they were addressed, indignantly refused to take them from the office.
Thus were the mails not only uselessly encumbered with the vile trash,
but quantities of the "rejected addresses" were subjected to the
formality of visiting the Dead Letter Office, where they finally met
with that destruction they so clearly merited. This abuse of the
post-office privileges is unworthy of any nation above the capacity of
monkeys.
The immoralities circulated and encouraged by Valentines cannot be
estimated. Statistics would fail to arrive at the amount of vice
engendered by this pernicious breed. One of the worst evils that owe
their origin to this cause, is the temptation laid in the way of
post-office clerks. A Valentine is often the first provocation to
crime. Numerous instances have come under the observation of the
writer, in which persons convicted of robbing the mails, trace back
their transgressions to no more serious a fault than that of peeping
into one of these silly missives. They are often carelessly sealed,
and easily opened by third parties without discovery.
Imagine a young man intrusted with the care of a village post-office.
He is interested in Miss A. He believes she encourages his sentiments.
He hopes her proud father will some day encourage him as an eligible
suitor for his daughter's hand. Still he is subject to desponding and
jealous doubts. And when, one evening in the middle of February, a
Valentine addressed to his paragon strikes his eye as he is assorting
the mails, an indescribable pang shoots through his heart. He wonders
who sent it. Tom Bellows is at first suspected, but the hand-writing
differs from Tom's. "Can it be Robert Cartwright?" says the distressed
clerk. "He is partial to Miss A., and she seems pleased with him. What
can he be writing to her?"
Such thoughts perplex the young man's brain. The Valentine is not
taken from the office that evening; and when all is quiet, he draws it
once more out of the box, and again examines the superscription. It
is certainly Cartwright's writing. "O dear!" sighs the clerk, "how
easy I could open it, and nobody know it!" Aching with curiosity, but
calling moral principle and self-denial to his aid, he returns the
missive to the box, and goes to bed. But sleep is out of the question.
He is awake, thinking about the Valentine, and those supposed to be
immediately interested therein. "I wonder if I _could_ open it!" he
says to himself. "I've half a mind to try."
He gets up, strikes a light, and a moment later the Valentine is in
his hand. "If it comes open," says he, "I'll seal it again without
reading it. I only want to see if it can be done without having it
show afterwards." Instantly he starts back. The Valentine is open!
Really, he did not mean to do it; it came open so much easier than he
expected! Although it is night, and he is alone, he cannot help
looking over his shoulder to assure himself that the grim individual
watching him, exists only in his imagination. "Well," thinks he, "it's
done, and who knows it? What's the harm, as long as I'm going to seal
it up again?--and after all, I don't see that it will be much worse
just to see if there is any name to it, provided I don't read the
rest."
Thus excusing himself, he profanes the sacred interior of the missive,
and finds the suspicious signature--"Robert." Trembling at the
temptation to read more, he hastily folds the sheet, and returns it to
the envelope. But the next moment it is out again, and he is reading
with flushed cheek and burning eye, the tender words that Robert C.
has written to Miss A.
"All this hath a little dashed his spirits;" and he returns to bed
feverish and restless. In spite of his reason, which keeps saying
stoutly, "what's the harm? nobody will know it," he suffers greatly in
conscience. But the Valentine is taken from the office, and the
profanation of its mystery remains unsuspected. And in a few days
another Valentine appears, addressed to Robert Cartwright. The
hand-writing, although disguised, is alarmingly like Miss A.'s. By
this time the clerk's jealousy has eaten up his conscience.
"There's no more harm in opening two than in opening one," whispers
the devil in his ear.
"I believe you," says the clerk; "but I may yet be found out."
"No danger," says the devil; "only be careful."
He is too ready to adopt the suggestion. He is excusable, he thinks,
under the circumstances. The Valentine is accordingly opened and read.
Deliberation and forethought add gravity to the offence. The clerk has
unconsciously blunted his moral perceptions, and weakened his moral
strength; and he is now prepared to open regular letters passing
through his hands. At first it is jealousy and rivalry that tempt his
curiosity. Then other matters of interest entice him, until one day he
discovers, in no little consternation, that he has thrust his fingers
into a nest of bank-notes!
"Well, after all," says he, "Mr. B. is rich; he won't mind the loss;
it's only a trifle with him. While to me, the sum is considerable. If
I don't keep up appearances with Bob Cartwright, I might as well be
out of the world. I've a right to live; and destroying this letter and
appropriating its _contents_, is just nothing at all, if I don't get
found out. But I'm safe enough--I'm the very last person to be
suspected."
The career of this young man need not be traced further.
Nor need the subject of Valentines be pursued. We have written enough
to show that they are the offspring of weak sentimentalism or foolish
buffoonery; an encumbrance to the mails, an annoyance to those who
receive them, a tax to all parties, and a temptation to post-office
clerks; and withal, imbecilities and immoralities which all worthy
citizens should take every occasion to discountenance, and banish from
civilized society.