Wednesday, February 12, 2003
It amuses me that the
It amuses me that the obviously pagan, cherub-ridden holiday of amorous conquest is named after a saint of the Catholic Church. It would be like renaming Halloween “St. Casper’s Day.” So I’ve done the research and come up with a few theories why we are still celebrating a festival that started pagan, went Catholic, and then got bought out by Hallmark.
From a random site I found, I learn that “Under the rule of Emperor Claudius II Rome was involved in many bloody and unpopular campaigns. Claudius the Cruel was having a difficult time getting soldiers to join his military leagues. He believed that the reason was that roman men did not want to leave their loves or families. As a result, Claudius cancelled all marriages and engagements in Rome. The good Saint Valentine was a priest at Rome in the days of Claudius II. He and Saint Marius aided the Christian martyrs and secretly married couples, and for this kind deed Saint Valentine was apprehended and dragged before the Prefect of Rome, who condemned him to be beaten to death with clubs and to have his head cut off. He suffered martyrdom on the 14th day of February, about the year 270.
“At that time it was the custom in Rome ... to celebrate in the month of February the Lupercalia, feasts in honor of a heathen god. On these occasions, amidst a variety of pagan ceremonies, the names of young women were placed in a box, from which they were drawn by the men as chance directed. The pastors of the early Christian Church in Rome endeavored to do away with the pagan element in these feasts by substituting the names of saints for those of maidens. [I’m sure that was super popular.] And as the Lupercalia began about the middle of February, the pastors appear to have chosen Saint Valentine’s Day for the celebration of this new feast. So it seems that the custom of young men choosing maidens for valentines, or saints as patrons for the coming year, arose in this way.”
Warms the heart, doesn’t it? Beheadings, random couplings, and churchly co-opting of pagan festivals. (Of course the story leaves out what happened to Marius, but that leaves open the possibility of a sequel. Like “The Mummy,” but with togas.) But that’s only a secular analysis. For the parochial viewpoint I visited the website of the Catholic Encyclopedia, which identifies (more or less) three Saints Valentine, and then posits: “The popular customs associated with Saint Valentine’s Day undoubtedly had their origin in a conventional belief generally received in England and France during the Middle Ages, that on 14 February, i.e. half way through the second month of the year, the birds began to pair.” This is backed up with quotes from ornithological enthusiasts including none other than Geoffery Chaucer and John Gower, who is identified as having written the first valentine poems, as well as having resided in the priory of St Mary Overy. That’s right, the Overy Priory. In other words, the dude lived in PMS. A house built of love, undoubtedly.
This information was helpful to me because I was having trouble sleeping, but it was not really an answer to my question. Therefore, I will instead publish two poems written by the Glickfish and myself in 1981, when we were callow youths enduring an unusually bad semester of high school English and the vicissitudes of the hormonal fiesta we called the 11th grade:
Le Fromage D’Amour
An instrument of love I be,
my mind oft lost in reverie,
and often lengthy pauses take
neglecting all for mem’ry’s sake.
I trip and fall within my mind
as teardrops bring back thoughts unkind,
of lonely nights and desperate days -
and yet, my passion never sways.
But gone you are, it must be true,
for weeks before, my spirit flew
but when it flew too high it crashed,
and now my hopes are fully clashed.
This is the time to end it all -
you filthy slut, you never call!
The Ways of Kurds
My world, it ran a straight, true course
till in you rode on your white horse
and swept me off my dainty feet
with gestures strong and phrases sweet
and promised me your wonderland
with tales tall and stories grand.
I took you deep into my heart,
and deeper in my deepest part.
All I asked was that you take
me through your life, so I could slake
your lusts for life, and lively lusts -
I’d love you so, I’d help you much.
Protection, though, you lacked, alas;
I’m pregnant - stick it up your ass!
I intend to cook fish, eat sugary treats, drink sweet wine, and cavort in the privacy of the ‘hut on Saint Beheaded’s day. No peeking! And for those of you still beating those spurned lovers away with the severed head of a pagan priest, may I suggest these instead. They come in flavors. Now that’s a trick I’ve got to learn.
