The Origins of St. Valentine's Day
"To-morrow is St. Valentine's Day, All in the morning betime, And I a maid at your window To be your Valentine."
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
“St. Valentine’s Day” from The Year’s Festivals by Helen Philbrook Patten, 1903.
Nature, the Vicar of the Almighty Lord
That hot, cold, hevie, light, moist and drie
Hath knit, by even number of accord,
In easie voice, began to speak and say,
Foules, take hede of my sentence I pray,
And for your own ease, in fordring of your nede,
As fast as I may speak, I will me spede.
Ye know well, how on St. Valentine's Day,
By my statute, and through my governance
Ye doe chese your mates, and after fly away
With hem, as I pricke you with pleasaunce."
— Chaucer.
"Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say
Birds chuse their mates, and couple too, this day:
But by their flight I never can divine,
When I shall couple with my valentine."
— Hereick.
St. Valentine’s Day
"To-morrow is St. Valentine's Day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window
To be your Valentine."
Images from text.
Thus sings Polonius' mad daughter as the ghost of former St. Valentine Days flits through the vacant chambers of her mind. She has caught just an instant's consciousness of what her words really mean; then it escapes her, leaving only an impression that, somehow, to-day is the day set apart for all true lovers, when they may devote themselves to each other by right, in the name of the good saint.
With us the day of St. Valentine means hardly more than it did to Ophelia, but there is still left an influence which has been given to it, by the many generations of young lovers, who have made the day their own, and who have surrounded it with an atmosphere distinctly amorous. In these days we get but a breath of this; just a suggestion of lavender or a wave of musk that still hovers around the old, yellow, crumpled love-missives that have survived the years, and that our great-grandmothers received and blushingly opened, and read with palpitating hearts.
It seems strange that this plain little valentine of two hundred years ago should have caused a tremor; the paper is coarse and brownish, not an attempt at ornamentation, with just a few lines of crude verse written in a stiff, conventional hand. But after all, it was written from the full heart of some seventeenth century grandfather with much feeling and in dead earnest.
Another valentine shows just a little more freedom, and gives evidence of a more recent date. This is a circle of paper which has been folded and cut into fanciful designs.
There is an angular, lacy edge, and four hearts cut with points toward the centre, and radiating between the hearts are some very prettily written things, four flattering sentiments that would please even the demurest maiden.
Then there are others more courageously done. There are hearts drawn, modest little ones, to be sure, and very unsymmetrical, but unmistakably hearts, with a few deformed doves flying about, some carrying in their bills scrolls and ribbons with little sentiments written upon them, while others sit upon nothing, and suggest—at least, the artist intended to suggest—billing and cooing.
With specimens of the valentines which have been circulated for hundreds of years, one needs no calendar to tell the relative date. With time grew boldness of thought and elaborateness of execution. After the heart and dove valentines came those decorated with larger hearts outlined in red ink, and not only outlined but done in solid, gory colors all bestuck with arrows. The verses attached also grew in fervor, and when an ardent lover failed to find expression for his feelings in proper original verse, he had recourse to "The Young Man's Valentine Writer," a book of verses suited to all sorts and conditions of men and women, where one could find any or all of his sentiments elaborately expressed.
The first book of this kind was printed in 1797, but before that time a young fellow was sometimes hard put to write his ideas to suit himself and his lady fair. The lover of 1775 was more concerned with the thought than with the subtilty of expression, when his pent-up feelings burst forth with, "O my love, my dear love pretty! How I love you!" illustrated with a great red heart spitted upon an arrow.
For him who preferred to write in verse it was a fortunate thing that heart and dart rhymed so perfectly. They were just the words he needed, and were always useful, no matter how much other material he had at hand.
"A loving heart" always went well with "A poisoned dart." Then, "Cupid's dart" and "My poor heart" made a very pretty rhyme. As a little relief, art was sometimes ingeniously used with either heart or dart. But whatever the combination it must be said that the result was very bad art, mangled heart, and pointless dart; but what matter so long as the "beautious fair" was touched, and consented to be her admirer's valentine for life?
When those useful little books of verses came out, then was valentine writing made easy for even the most unpoetical; and cobblers, butchers, bakers, and shoemakers could make use of trade terms to advantage. Here are some specimens taken from an old book printed in England in 1812, called the "Cabinet of Love; or, Cupid's Repository of Choice Valentines."
This is for a young lady who evidently thinks it the twenty-ninth instead of the fourteenth of February, as she is proposing in true leap year fashion:
"Kind youth, allow a youthful maid
To send these trembling lines,
And speak the secrets of her heart
On day of Valentine.
Long has she felt Love's tender flame,
And long the same concealed;
Trusting, by time or fortune's aid,
That flame might be revealed.
And oh! how happy I would be
If freed my heart from pain,
And for my heart you would, in truth,
Return me yours again."
From a baker :
"In these hard times it truly may be said
That half a loaf's much better than no bread;
Then surely, pretty dear, you glad may be
Since sure of loaves enough, to marry me."
From a butcher:
"My nice little lamb,
Your lover I am;
I've money and got a good trade.
My shop it is neat,
My house is complete:
All ready for you, my sweet maid.
"On dainties so fine
Each day we will dine
And act as you please, your will shall
be mine.
So your answer I pray,
And hope you'll say aye,
And bless with your heart your true
Valentine."
This is for those who like the play of heart, dart, and dart, heart:
"Dear girl, I'm up to ears in love!
The fact a thousand follies prove:
Yes, yes, I feel the dart.
Well, now I'm wounded, give the cure,
Thou'rt not a cruel girl, I'm sure,
So try to ease my heart.
"O, far from me those lightnings dart :
On others bid thy beauty shine;
Beyond the hopes of this sad heart
I view that peerless form to pine."
The thought is somewhat confused, but the rhyme is there, and would do for a young lady who was in no way critical.
Here we have the variation of art and heart, in the lines to a coquette:
"Whilst ev'ry shepherd sings her praise,
'Tis mine of Betsy to complain:
Made a poor pris'ner while I gaze,
I feel in ev'ry smile a chain.
"And are you then a thing of art,
Seducing all and loving none?
And have I strove to gain a heart
Which ev'ry shepherd thinks his own? "
This form for a shoemaker's valentine is given with its answer:
"A piece of charming kid you are
As e'er mine eyes did see,
No calf-skin smooth that e'er I saw
Can be compared with thee.
"You are my all, do not refuse
To let us tack together;
But let us join, my Valentine,
Like sole and upper leather.”
ANSWER
"My merry friend,
You've gained your end;
My heart is truly thine:
I do not choose
For to refuse
A constant Valentine."
This seems unfair to the young lady, who might decline to accept the cobbler; there should have been a verse for her. Now she must refuse to answer, resort to plain prose, or accept him in spite of herself, by using the prepared answer because there is no other.
The use of these little manuals was necessarily short-lived. They served a purpose for a time, then people looked about for something more original.
For many years after the manufactured valentine came into' vogue, valentine sending was at its height. Everybody could have one for a price, from the plain little sheet, with its wood-cut and single sentiment, to wonderfully frilled and furbelowed lace paper affairs, which unfolded many times, with a fresh love-message surprising you at every turn.
There was no necessity for the simple, home-made expressions of esteem; yet, in those gaudy machine-made ones, was lost that bit of personal essence which must have been infused into those made by the young men and maidens who had so much of themselves to express.
What comparison could possibly be drawn between these ready-to-wear kind, and the heartfelt emotions so laboriously expressed by the immortal Sam Weller, written on a sheet of gilt-edge letter-paper, with a hard-nibbed pen warranted not to splutter. Dickens portrays his painstaking efforts very vividly, as he draws up the table in front of the fire, spreads his paper out carefully, squares his elbows, dips the pen in the ink, and prepares to pour out the sentiments of his soul to Mary, Housemaid at Mr. Nupkin's, Mayor's, Ipswich, Suffolk.
The appearance on the scene, an hour and a half later, of the elder Mr. Weller, somewhat embarrassed poor "Samivel," but he explained that he was writing a " walentine," and offered to read it. Weller, Sr., admitted to being horrified, but under the soothing influence of his pipe, ordered his son to "fire away." Thus encouraged, this is what he read, supplemented with many suggestions and corrections from his parent; and a good bit of hard studying to make out his own intentions through the numerous blots:
"Lovely — "
This was more than his father could stand without some stimulant, so the waiting-maid was called and received the order, "A double glass o' the inwariable, my dear." Again Sam began, with a very theatrical air:
"Lovely creetur I feel myself ashamed and completely circumscribed in a dressin' of you, for you are a nice gal and nothin' but it," which having been approved by his parent as " a wery pretty sentiment," Sam continued:
"Afore I see you I thought all women was alike, but now I find what a reg'lar soft-headed inkred'lous turnip I must ha' been, for there ain't nobody like you though I like you better than nothin' at all."
Sam stopped long enough to remark that he thought best to make that rather strong, and, having received a nod of approval, resumed:
"So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary my dear, as the gen’l’m'n in difficulties did wen he walked out of a Sunday, to tell you that the first and only time I see you, your likeness was took on my heart in much quicker time and brighter colors than ever a likeness was took by the profeel macheen (wich p'r'aps you may have heard on, Mary my dear), altho' it does finish a portrait and put the frame and glass on complete with a hook at the end to hang it up by, and all in two' seconds and a quarter.”
"Except of me, Mary my dear, as your walentine, and think over what I've said. My dear Mary, I will now conclude," and after much controversy over what the signature should be, he compromised by signing himself "Your love sick, Pickwick."
It is strange that a day so distinctly marked in its character should have so vague an origin. Archbishop Wheatly connects the celebration of the day directly with St. Valentine, and says that "he was a man of most admirable parts, and was so famous for his love and charity that the custom of choosing valentines upon his festival took its form from thence." Another says that the martyred priest of Rome seems to have had nothing at all to do with the matter of observances which originated in obscurity like many other ceremonial days. Yet another speaks of St. Valentine as an austere saint, and cannot reconcile the festive observance of this day with such a character. Some other one, who seems to know all about it, has given us a story of the banishment of the saint and his connection with St. Valentine's Day.
There ruled in the palace at Rome the Emperor Claudius. He was called Claudius the Cruel. Near the palace, in a great Greek temple, there stood a high priest. This priest, whose name was Valentine, was popular with the whole city, and so great was his popularity that his church was crowded, and around the altars and fires knelt all the wise people of Rome. Plebeians and patricians, young and old, rich and poor, ignorant and wise, all went to learn of Valentine and be blessed by him.
In the midst of this popularity there arose wars outside of Rome, and the emperor called his citizens forth to battle.
But the wars continued year after year, and many were loath to go. The married ones did not want to leave their families, and those who were engaged to be married openly demurred at the thought of going away from their sweethearts.
On hearing this the emperor became very angry, and sent forth a decree that, from that time on, there should be no more marriages. Not only should there be no weddings, but those who were engaged to be married should break their engagements.
At this the young girls died of love, and the young men went to their work by day with a moody expression of countenance and with heavy hearts. Of what use to draw water and hew stone, and bake the vases in the potteries, if there could be no marriages?
When the good priest Valentine heard of this he was very sad. One day, quite secretly, he united a couple standing under the sacred altars. Then others came to him, and quietly he wedded them. And still others, and others, until the marriage business in old Rome was as good as it was before the decree went forth forbidding all weddings.
At last the news reached the palace, and the emperor, hearing it, was exceedingly wroth. "Go take that man Valentine," said he, "and cast him into a dungeon. I will have no man in Rome who refuses to obey my commands."
The emperor's counsellors pleaded with him in vain. "Be careful," said they, " for Valentine has many and powerful friends, and there may be trouble if they should rise up against you."
But Claudius would not listen, and Valentine was dragged from the altar while in the very act of uniting a couple, and taken to prison.
There he languished and died, for not all the efforts of his friends could free him.
But each year, on the anniversary of his birth, the people met and honored his name. They talked about him, his life, his work, and his good deeds. Many were married on this night, for they said: "In that way we shall best keep his memory green."
This is a very pretty theory, and appeals to those who like to have the origin in keeping with the celebration of the day but the probable origin of St. Valentine's Day is the ancient feast in honor of Pan and Juno, held by the early Romans during the month of February.
The Christian leaders persuaded their converts to allow them to substitute St. Valentine for pagan Pan and Juno, and the date of the saint's death, the fourteenth of February, as the day of celebration.
The new name and date did not disturb the people so long as the festivities remained the same, and until a few years ago the sentiment, though changing its expression according to the age and nationality of the people, was as strong as in the early Christian times,
A favorite St. Valentine custom of two hundred years ago was the drawing from a kind of lottery, when the names of the young men and women of the company were taken from a box. The maiden whose name was drawn, was to be the valentine of the young man who drew it for that day.
Sometimes they remained each other's valentine for life, for there was a certain superstitious regard for this chance selection; and though not altogether binding, every influence of association tended to make it so. Whoever was first looked upon by one of the opposite sex, was considered bound, for the day, at least, to be that person's valentine, and all the superstitions of the age helped on the cause of real and would-be lovers.
Gay tells us of one country maiden whose head was filled with this idea, yet she did not neglect her milking:
"Last Valentine, the day when birds of kind
Their paramours with mutual chirpings find,
I early rose, just at the break of day,
Before the sun had chased the stars away;
Afield I went, amid the morning dew,
To milk my kine (for so should housewives do).
Thee first I spied—and the first swain we see
In spite of Fortune shall our true love be."
Another young lady thought it no sin to help fortune in favoring her, for in an old magazine of more than a hundred years ago, The Connoisseur, of 1754, we find this confession of heroic self-mortification.
"Last Friday was St. Valentine's Day, and the night before I got five bay leaves and pinned four on the 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 abed 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."
In Western Europe there is a custom for the fourteenth of February, when it is considered not indelicate for a maiden to pay addresses to any man whom she might particularly favor.
It is quite certain that these Valentine's Day ceremonies, pointing so obviously to one result, existed in those days when all the daughters of the family were supposed to marry, and no other career was even thought of.
It was quite possible and well understood that one must take advantage of all the favors which St. Valentine had to bestow, for did he not hold the fate of lovers in his hand?
Mr. Pepys writes in his diary on St. Valentine's Day in 1667: "This morning came up to my wife's bedside little Will Mercer to be her valentine, and brought her name written upon blue paper in gold letters, done by himself, very pretty; and we were both well pleased with it. But I am also this year my wife's valentine; and it will cost me five pounds; but that I must have laid out if we had not been valentines." On another fourteenth of February he writes: "Up, being called up by Mercer, who came to be my valentine, and I did give her a guinny in gold for her valentine gift.”
"There comes Roger Pepys betimes, and comes to my wife, for her to be his valentine. I was also, by agreement; and this year I find it is likely to' cost four or five pounds in a ring for her, which she desires."
From this little glimpse into his private life, we see that for Mr. Pepys, St. Valentine's Day was not without its financial burden, though he seems to have met his obligations cheerfully.
In the essays of Elia, Charles Lamb touches this day of universal love in his delicately humorous way:
"Hail to thy returning festival, old Bishop Valentine! Great 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 apron on, and decent lawn sleeves?”
“Mysterious personage! like unto thee, assuredly there was no other mitred father in the calendar. Thou comest attended with thousands and tens of thousands of little loves, and the air is 'Brushed with the kiss of nestling wings.' “
"This is the day on which those charming little missives called valentines cross and intercross each other at every turning.”
"Not many sounds in life exceed in interest the 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 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 a valentine.
"When letters cease to be written (but not till then), when love shall be no more— then shall this amorous and holy-day darken and grow common; then shall it be a mere vulgar root (now how full of rare and sweet flowers!) in the wilderness of clays—a garden in the deserts of time. Valentines pervade all space, like light."
However we may observe the day of St. Valentine, its character has been stamped by the generations who entered into its celebration sincerely, joyously, spontaneously; and however indifferent we may be, we cannot escape that influence which is the inheritance of years gone by, when swains became gallants, and the humblest maiden was made happy with a devoted valentine for at least a day.
If we do not resort to the simple primitive expressions of our fancy used by our forefathers, we certainly have sentiments to express which we may do as delicately as we choose; and it will do us no harm to partake of the old-time fragrance, though we celebrate only with musing on what has been.
Yet, in spite of the hopeful prophecy of Elia, it is true that now, almost everywhere, St. Valentine's Day is (outwardly, at least) a much degenerated festival. Though it still has its fascination for children and a few older people, it cannot be said that the day is honored with much celebration. Those highly colored caricatures and burlesque verses, miscalled comic valentines, which carry hideousness and unkindness, are not to be considered for a moment in the St. Valentine idea of loving thought, truthfully expressed. These so-called valentines are a product of modern commercialism without regard for sentiment or legend, and are sent only by those who fail to grasp even a shadow of the real meaning and intention of this saint's day.
Elia said, "I love to keep all festivals, to taste all feast offerings," and he entered into the full thought and spirit of the occasion when he wrote his first valentine, which was certainly written with no other idea than to give pleasure, and is dedicated to that "fair siren with a low, melodious voice."
"Why is the rose of the East so fond
Of the bird on the near palm-tree?
Tis because he sings like the murmurings
Of the river that runs so bright and free.”
"And why doth the paradise creature sing
To the silent and clear blue air,
When many a sound from the woods around
Doth speak like a spell to entice him there?”
" 'Tis because the blush of his love is rich,
And richer grow his glances gay:
'Tis because the flower which fills the hour
With beauty, would pine were he away.”
"Yet what is the red of the rose to thine
And what is the nightingale's soft love-eye?
Thy glance is as bright as the clear star light
And the blush of thy cheek hath a deeper dye.”
“Therefore, and because of thy reed-rich song
May vie with the best of the Muses mine,
Do I, a poet (though none may know it),
Choose thee, fair girl, for my Valentine."
Patten, Helen Philbrook. The Year's Festivals. Dana Estes & Company, 1903.
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