_St. Valentine._ _St. Maro_, A. D. 433. _St. Abraames_, A. D. 422.
_St. Augentius_, 5th Cent. _St. Conran_, Bishop of Orkney.
_St. Valentine._
Of this saint, so celebrated among young persons, little is known,
except that he was a priest of Rome, and martyred there about 270.
It was a custom with the ancient Roman youth to draw the names of girls
in honour of their goddess Februata-Juno on the 15th of February, in
exchange for which certain Roman catholic pastors substituted the names
of saints in billets given the day before, namely, on the 14th of
February.
[Illustration]
Where _can_ the postman be, I say?
He ought to _fly_--on such a day!
Of _all_ days in the year, you know,
It’s monstrous rude to be so _slow_:
The fellow’s so _exceeding_ stupid--
Hark!--_there_ he is!--oh! the _dear_ CUPID!
Two hundred thousand letters beyond the usual daily average, annually
pass through the twopenny post-office in London on St. Valentine’s Day.
“Two hundred thousand twopences,” said an old gentleman as he read this
in a March newspaper, “are four hundred thousand pence,”--and he was
going to cast up the amount--“Why, papa,” said his daughter, “that’s
just the number of young folks there must be in love with each
other--that’s the way to reckon.” “Ah, my child, that’s _not_ the way
to reckon; you have taken something into the _account_ that has no
_business_ there: all Valentine-writers are not in love, nor are all
lovers Valentine-writers; and remember, my dear girl, that as smiles on
the face sometimes conceal cruel dispositions, so there are some who
write Valentines, and trifle with hearts for the mere pleasure of
inflicting pain.” “I will show you what I mean,” said the old
gentleman, and taking a paper from a drawer, he held up this
exemplification:
[Illustration]
Just then an unmarried gentleman, “of a _certain_ age,” entered the
room. On becoming acquainted with the topic, he drew from his pocket a
small packet, and said, with a merry smile, “Here was _my_ Valentine.”
It contained a rib of some small animal completely enveloped with white
satin ribbon, ornamented by a true lover’s knot at each end, and another
in the middle. Father and daughter both had a laugh at the “old
bachelor,” and he, laughing with them, put into the young lady’s hand
the poetical address that accompanied his _rib_:
Go contemplate this lovely sign!
Haste thee away to reason’s shrine,
And listen to her voice;
No more illusive shades pursue,
To happiness this gives the clue,
Make but a prudent choice.
’Till Adam had a partner given,
Much as fair Eden bloom’d like heaven,
His bliss was incomplete;
No social friend those joys to share,
Gave the gay scene a vacant air!
She came--’twas all replete.
And could not genuine Paradise,
The most extensive wish suffice,
Its guiltless lord possest?
No--not without a kindred mate;
How then in this degen’rate state,
Can man, alone be blest?
But now the Muse withdraws her aid;
Enough, thy folly to upbraid;
Enough to make thee wise:
No more of pensive hours complain,
No more, that all life’s joys are vain,
If thou this hint despise.
Feb. 13, 182--.
_A Friend._
“Well now, this is capital!” exclaimed the laughing lass. “After _such_
a Valentine, you _must_ take the hint, my dear sir, it’s really a shame
that so good-natured a man should remain a bachelor. I recollect, that
when I could only just run about, you used to be _so_ kind to me;
besides, how you dandled and played with me! and since then, how you
have read to me and instructed me till I grew up! Such a man is the very
man to be married: you are every way domestic, and it’s _settled_; you
_must_ get married.”--“Well, then, will _you_ have me?” he inquired,
with a cheerful laugh. “_I_ have you? No! Why, you are too old; but not
too old to find a wife: there are many ladies whom we know, of your age,
wholly disengaged; but you don’t pay them any _particular_ attention.”
Her father interposed; and the gentleman she addressed playfully said,
“It is a little hard, indeed, that I should have these fine compliments
and severe reproaches at the same time: however,” taking her by the
hand, “you will understand, that it _is_ possible I _may_ have paid
_particular_ attention to a lady at an age when the affections are
warmer; I did; and I reconciled myself to rejection by courting my books
and the pleasures of solitude--
Hast thou been ever waking
From slumbers soft and light,
And heard sweet music breaking
The stillness of the night;
When all thy soul was blending
With that delightful strain,
And night her silence lending
To rivet fancy’s chain;
Then on a sudden pausing,
Those strains have ceas’d to play
A painful absence causing
Of bliss that died away!
So from my soul has vanish’d
The dream of youthful days;
So Hope and Love are banish’d,
And _Truth_ her pow’r displays.”
* * * * *
The origin of so pleasant a day, the first pleasant day in the year,
whether its season be regarded, or the mode of its celebration, requires
some little investigation; nor must some of its past and present usages
be unrecorded here.
_St. Valentine’s Morning._
Hark! through the sacred silence of the night
Loud chanticleer doth sound his clarion shrill,
Hailing with song the first pale gleam of light
Which floats the dark brow of yon eastern hill.
Bright star of morn, oh! leave not yet the wave
To deck the dewy frontlet of the day;
Nor thou, Aurora, quit Tithonus’ cave,
Nor drive retiring darkness yet away.
Ere these my rustic hands a garland twine,
Ere yet my tongue endite a single song,
For her I mean to hail my Valentine,
Sweet maiden, fairest of the virgin throng.
_Dodsley’s Miscell._
Attend we upon ELIA. Hark, how triumphantly that noble herald of the
college of kindness proclaims the day!
“Hail to thy returning festival, old Bishop Valentine! Great is thy name
in the rubric, thou venerable arch-flamen of Hymen! Immortal Go-between!
who and what manner of person art thou? Art thou but a name, typifying
the restless principle which impels poor humans to seek perfection in
union? or wert thou indeed a mortal prelate, with thy tippet and thy
rochet, thy apron on, and decent lawn sleeves? Mysterious personage!
like unto thee, assuredly, there is no other mitred father in the
calendar.--Thou comest attended with thousands and ten thousands of
little Loves, and the air is
Brush’d with the hiss of rustling wings;
singing Cupids are thy choristers, and thy precentors; and instead of
the crosier, the mystical arrow is borne before thee.
“In other words, this is the day on which those charming little
missives, ycleped Valentines, cross and intercross each other at every
street and turning. The weary and all for-spent twopenny postman sinks
beneath a load of delicate embarrassments, not his own. It is scarcely
credible to what an extent this ephemeral courtship is carried on in
this loving town, to the great enrichment of porters, and detriment of
knockers and bell-wires. In these little visual interpretations, no
emblem is so common as the _heart_,--that little three-cornered exponent
of all our hopes and fears,--the bestuck and bleeding heart; it is
twisted and tortured into more allegories and affectations than an
opera-hat. What authority we have in history or mythology for placing
the head-quarters and metropolis of god Cupid in this anatomical seat
rather than in any other, is not very clear; but we have got it, and it
will serve as well as any other thing. Else we might easily imagine,
upon some other system which might have prevailed for any thing which
our pathology knows to the contrary, a lover addressing his mistress,
in perfect simplicity of feeling, ‘Madam, my _liver_ and fortune are
entirely at your disposal;’ or putting a delicate question, ‘Amanda,
have you a _midriff_ to bestow?’ But custom has settled these things,
and awarded the seat of sentiment to the aforesaid triangle, while its
less fortunate neighbours wait at animal and anatomical distance.
“Not many sounds in life, and I include all urban and all rural sounds,
exceed in interest a _knock at the door_. It ‘gives a very echo to the
throne where Hope is seated.’ But its issues seldom answer to this
oracle within. It is so seldom that just the person we want to see
comes. But of all the clamorous visitations, the welcomest in
expectation is the sound that ushers in, or seems to usher in, a
Valentine. As the raven himself was hoarse that announced the fatal
entrance of Duncan, so the knock of the postman on this day is light,
airy, confident, and befitting one that ‘bringeth good tidings.’ It is
less mechanical than on other days; you will say, ‘That is not the post,
I am sure.’ Visions of Love, of Cupids, of Hymens, and all those
delightful, eternal common-places, which ‘having been, will always be;’
which no schoolboy nor schoolman can write away; having their
irreversible throne in the fancy and affections; what are your
transports, when the happy maiden, opening with careful finger, careful
not to break the emblematic seal, bursts upon the sight of some
well-designed allegory, some type, some youthful fancy, not without
verses--
Lovers all,
A madrigal,
or some such device, not over abundant in sense--young Love disclaims
it,--and not quite silly--something between wind and water, a chorus
where the sheep might almost join the shepherd, as they did, or as I
apprehend they did, in Arcadia.
“All Valentines are not foolish, and I shall not easily forget thine, my
kind friend (if I may have leave to call you so) E. B.--E. B. lived
opposite a young maiden, whom he had often seen, unseen, from his
parlour window in C----e-street. She was all joyousness and innocence,
and just of an age to enjoy receiving a Valentine, and just of a temper
to bear the disappointment of missing one with good humour. E. B. is an
artist of no common powers; in the fancy parts of designing, perhaps
inferior to none; his name is known at the bottom of many a
well-executed vignette in the way of his profession, but no further; for
E. B. is modest, and the world meets nobody half-way. E. B. meditated
how he could repay this young maiden for many a favour which she had
done him unknown; for, when a kindly face greets us, though but passing
by, and never knows us again, nor we it, we should feel it as an
obligation; and E. B. did. This good artist set himself at work to
please the damsel. It was just before Valentine’s day three years since.
He wrought unseen, and unsuspected, a wondrous work. We need not say it
was on the finest gilt paper with borders--full, not of common hearts
and heartless allegory, but all the prettiest stories of love from Ovid,
and older poets than Ovid (for E. B. is a scholar.) There was Pyramus
and Thisbe, and be sure Dido was not forgot, nor Hero and Leander, and
swans more than sang in Cayster, with mottoes and fanciful devices, such
as beseemed,--a work in short of magic. Iris dipt the woof. This on
Valentine’s eve he commended to the all-swallowing indiscriminate
orifice--(O, ignoble trust!)--of the common post; but the humble medium
did its duty, and from his watchful stand, the next morning, he saw the
cheerful messenger knock, and by and by the precious charge delivered.
He saw, unseen, the happy girl unfold the Valentine, dance about, clap
her hands, as one after one the pretty emblems unfolded themselves. She
danced about, not with light love, or foolish expectations, for she had
no lover; or, if she had, none she knew that could have created those
bright images which delighted her. It was more like some fairy present;
a God-send, as our familiarly pious ancestors termed a benefit received,
where the benefactor was unknown. It would do her no harm. It would do
her good for ever after. It is good to love the unknown. I only give
this as a specimen of E. B., and his modest way of doing a concealed
kindness.
“Good morrow to my Valentine, sings poor Ophelia; and no better wish,
but with better auspices, we wish to all faithful lovers, who are not
too wise to despise old legends, but are content to rank themselves
humble diocesans with old Bishop Valentine, and his true church.”
* * * * *
Mr. Douce, whose attainments include more erudition concerning the
origin and progress of English customs than any other antiquarian
possesses, must be referred to upon this occasion. He observes, in his
“Illustrations of Shakspeare,” concerning St. Valentine’s day, that “it
was the practice in ancient Rome, during a great part of the month of
February, to celebrate the Lupercalia, which were feasts in honour of
Pan and Juno, whence the latter deity was named Februata, Februalis, and
Februlla. On this occasion, amidst a variety of ceremonies, the names of
young women were put into a box, from which they were drawn by the men
as chance directed. The pastors of the early christian church, who by
every possible means endeavoured to eradicate the vestiges of pagan
superstitions, and chiefly by some commutations of their forms,
substituted, in the present instance, the names of particular saints
instead of those of the women, and as the festival of the Lupercalia had
commenced about the middle of February, they appear to have chosen St.
Valentine’s day for celebrating the new feast, because it occurred
nearly at the same time. This is, in part, the opinion of a learned and
rational compiler of the ‘Lives of the Saints,’ the Rev. Alban Butler.
It should seem, however, that it was utterly impossible to extirpate
altogether any ceremony to which the common people had been much
accustomed: a fact which it were easy to prove in tracing the origin of
various other popular superstitions. And accordingly the outline of the
ancient ceremonies was preserved, but modified by some adaptation to the
christian system. It is reasonable to suppose that the above practice of
choosing mates would gradually become reciprocal in the sexes; and that
all persons so chosen would be called Valentines, from the day on which
the ceremony took place.”
Leaving intermediary facts to the curious inquirer, we come immediately
to a few circumstances and sayings from grave authors and gay poets
respecting this festival, as it is observed in our own country. It is
recorded as a rural tradition, that on St. Valentine’s day each bird of
the air chooses its mate; and hence it is presumed, that our homely
ancestors, in their lusty youth, adopted a practice which we still find
peculiar to a season when nature bursts its imprisonments for the
coming pleasures of the cheerful spring. Lydgate, the monk of Bury, who
died in 1440, and is described by Warton to have been “not only the poet
of his monastery, but of the world in general,” has a poem in praise of
queene Catherine, consort to Henry V., wherein he says:
Seynte _Valentine_. Of custome yeere by yeere
Men have an usaunce, in this regioun,
To loke and serche Cupides kalendere,
And chose theyr choyse, by grete affeccioun;
Such as ben _move_ with Cupides mocioun,
Takyng theyre choyse as theyr sort doth falle:
But I love oon whiche excellith alle.
Chaucer imagines “Nature the vicare of the Almightie Lord,” to address
the happiest of living things at this season, the birds, thus:
Foules, take hede of my sentence I pray,
And for your own ease in fordring of your need,
As fast as I may speak I will me speed:
Ye know well, how on St. Valentine’s day
By my statute and through my governaunce,
Ye doe chese your Makes, and after flie away
With hem as I _move_ you with pleasaunce.
* * * * *
Saint Valentine, thou art full high on loft,
Which drivest away the long nightès black,
Thus singen smallè foules for thy sake,
Will have they causè for to gladden oft,
Since each of them recovered hath his Make:
Full blissful may they sing, when they awake.
Our young readers are informed, that the word “make” in Chaucer, now
obsolete, signified mate.
Jago, a poet, who, if he has not soared to greatness, has at least
attained to the easy versification of agreeable, and sometimes higher
feelings, has left us a few stanzas, which harmonize with the
suppositions of Chaucer:
_St. Valentine’s Day._
The tuneful choir in amorous strains
Accost their feathered loves;
While each fond mate, with equal pains,
The tender suit approves.
With cheerful hop from spray to spray
They sport along the meads;
In social bliss together stray,
Where love or fancy leads.
Through Spring’s gay scenes each happy pair
Their fluttering joys pursue;
Its various charms and produce share,
For ever kind and true.
Their sprightly notes from every shade
Their mutual loves proclaim;
Till Winter’s chilling blasts invade,
And damp th’ enlivening flame.
Then all the jocund scene declines,
Nor woods nor meads delight;
The drooping tribe in secret pines,
And mourns th’ unwelcome sight.
Go, blissful warblers! timely wise,
Th’ instructive moral tell;
Nor thou their meaning lays despise,
My charming Annabelle!
Old John Dunton’s “British Apollo” sings a question and answer:
Why, Valentine’s a day to choose
A mistress, and our freedom lose?
May I my reason interpose,
The question with an answer close?
To imitate we have a mind,
And couple like the winged kind.
Further on, in the same miscellany, is another question and answer:
“_Question._ In _chusing_ valentines (according to custom) is not the
party chusing (be it man or woman) to make a present to the party
chosen?
“_Answer._ We think it more proper to say, _drawing_ of valentines,
since the most customary way is for each to take his or her _lot_. And
chance cannot be termed choice. According to this method, the
obligations are equal, and therefore it was formerly the custom mutually
to present, but now it is customary only for the gentlemen.”
This _drawing_ of valentines is remarked in Poor Robin’s Almanac for
1676, under St. Valentine’s day:
“Now Andrew, Antho-
ny, and William,
For Valentines _draw_
Prue, Kate, Jilian.”
Misson, a learned traveller, who died in England about 1721, describes
the amusing practices of his time:--“On the eve of the 14th of February,
St. Valentine’s day, the young folks in England and Scotland, by a very
ancient custom, celebrate a little festival. An equal number of maids
and bachelors get together, each writes their true or some feigned name
upon separate billets, which they roll up, and draw by way of lots, the
maids taking the men’s billets, and the men the maids’; so that each of
the young men lights upon a girl that he calls his valentine, and each
of the girls upon a young man which she calls hers. By this means each
has two valentines: but the man sticks faster to the valentine that is
fallen to him, than to the valentine to whom he is fallen. Fortune
having thus divided the company into so many couples, the valentines
give balls and treats to their mistresses, wear their billets several
days upon their bosoms or sleeves, and this little sport often ends in
love. This ceremony is practised differently in different counties, and
according to the freedom or severity of madam Valentine. There is
another kind of valentine, which is the first young man or woman that
chance throws in your way in the street, or elsewhere, on that day.”
In some places, at this time, and more particularly in London, the lad’s
valentine is the first lass he sees in the morning, who is not an inmate
of the house; the lass’s valentine is the first youth she sees. Gay
mentions this usage on St. Valentine’s day: he makes a rustic housewife
remind her good man,--
I early rose just at the break of day,
Before the sun had chas’d the stars away;
A field I went, amid the morning dew
To milk my kine, (for so should house-wives do,)
Thee first I spied, and the first swain we see
In spite of Fortune shall our _true-love_ be.
So also in the “Connoisseur” there is mention of the same usage preceded
by certain mysterious ceremonies the night before; one of these being
almost certain to ensure an indigestion is therefore likely to occasion
a dream favourable to the dreamer’s waking wishes.--“Last Friday was
Valentine’s day, and, the night before, I got five bay-leaves, and
pinned four of them to the four corners of my pillow, and the fifth to
the middle; and then, if I dreamt of my sweetheart, Betty said we should
be married before the year was out. But to make it more sure, I boiled
an egg hard, and took out the yolk, and filled it with salt; and when I
went to bed, ate it, shell and all, without speaking or drinking after
it. We also wrote our lovers’ names upon bits of paper, and rolled them
up in clay, and put them into water: and the first that rose up was to
be our valentine. Would you think it, Mr. Blossom was my man. I lay
a-bed and shut my eyes all the morning, till he came to our house; for I
would not have seen another man before him for all the world.”
Shakspeare bears witness to the custom of looking for your valentine, or
desiring to be one, through poor Ophelia’s singing
Good morrow! ’tis St. Valentine’s day
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your valentine!
Sylvanus Urban, in 1779, was informed by Kitty Curious, that on St.
Valentine’s day in that year, at a little obscure village in Kent, she
found an odd kind of sport. The girls from five or six to eighteen years
old were assembled in a crowd, burning an uncouth effigy which they
called a “holly boy,” and which they had stolen from the boys; while in
another part of the village the boys were burning what they called an
“ivy girl,” which they had stolen from the girls. The ceremony of each
burning was accompanied by acclamations, huzzas, and other noise. Kitty
inquired the meaning of this from the oldest people in the place, but
she could learn no more than that it had always been a sport at that
season.
A correspondent communicates to the _Every-Day Book_ a singular custom,
which prevailed many years since in the west of England. Three single
young men went out together before daylight on St. Valentine’s day, with
a clapnet to catch an old owl and two sparrows in a neighbouring barn.
If they were successful, and could bring the birds to the inn without
injury before the females of the house had risen, they were rewarded by
the hostess with three pots of purl in honour of St. Valentine, and
enjoyed the privilege of demanding at any other house in the
neighbourhood a similar boon. This was done, says our correspondent, as
an emblem that the owl being the bird of wisdom, could influence the
feathered race to enter the net of love as mates on that day, whereon
both single lads and maidens should be reminded that happiness could
alone be secured by an early union.
On this ancient festival, it was formerly the custom for men to make
presents to the women. In Scotland these valentine gifts were
reciprocal, as indeed they are still in some parts.