St. Valentine as depicted in the Basilica di Santa Maria in Cosmedin, Rome. This modern icon includes an inscription in English in the text he is holding. |
So
just what do we know about this St.
Valentine whose feast day is the
occasion of all of today’s romantic
hoopla? Absolutely nothing, nada,
zilch. A Valentine was evidently venerated in the very early Latin Church and likely a martyr.
The name appears in the rolls
of the Martyrologium Hieronymianum which was compiled from older and
mostly lost local documents between
460 and 544. In 496 when Pope Gelasius I was regularizing the calendar of Saint feast days he assigned Valentin February 14 and
listed him among the saints, “whose names are justly reverenced among men, but
whose acts are known only to God.” In
other words at that early date, the Church knew nothing about his life.
Legends grew up about
possibly two Saints Valentine who were celebrated on the February date,
martyred, and buried somewhere along the Via
Flaminia outside of Rome or
perhaps they were the same man. Later hagiographers elaborated on those sketchy oral traditions. He has been identified as a 3rd Century Bishop of Interamna—modern Terni.
He has also been identified as Roman priest of about the same
period.
An elaborate story about the Bishop has him held under house arrest by a certain Judge
Asterius with whom he discussed his faith.
Asterius challenged Valentine to show the power of God by healing his blind
daughter, a miracle the Bishop
promptly performed. In gratitude
Asterius, his entire family, and
his large household including slaves were all baptized. He also smashed
all of the idols in his villa
and released all of his Christian prisoners. Although the Bishop was off the hook with Asterius, he later fell afoul of other Roman officials,
perhaps while visiting Rome itself, was tortured,
refused to denounce the Faith, and was then executed in some suitably
grizzly manner.
Other tails spoke of the Roman priest among whose crimes may have been marrying either/or Christians or soldiers who were forbidden to wed during their lengthy
period of enlistment. He also may
have personally tried to convert the
Emperor Claudius Gothicus (Claudius II) who ordered his
execution. Or so the stories went. And perhaps the priest executed by Claudius was
also the Bishop of Interamna…or not.
St. Valentine losing his head for God in a Medieval French illuminated manuscript. |
Even if they were not sure who they were
venerating, Valentine was one of the more popular saints in the early Middle Ages and his feast was widely celebrated. He was associated
with love as the Patron of Affianced
Couples. That romantic connection
may have been as much due to his feast being fixed the day before the pagan Roman festival of Lupercalia which
was noteworthy for its sexual
excesses. As we saw in an earlier
post this year on Groundhog
Day/Candlemas Pope Gelasius also
fixed the date of the Feast of the
Candles near Lupercalia. Both
Christian feasts were supposedly helpful in luring stubborn pagans to the Church.
In the Age of Chivalry he became identified with courtly love. Marriage
between the feudal nobility and
their knights was expected to be dynastic and business relationship meant to cement
alliance, preserve or enhance wealth
(estates and land) and produce children and heirs with
prestigious blood lines. Romance or love between the parties of the arranged marriages was neither expected
nor encouraged. For the excitement of love the noble young man or dashing knight was
permitted to turn his attention to some lady
of his court or some other lord and she was allowed to return his admiration. The lady might
be a maiden but more frequently was
the dutiful wife of another. The gentleman
could woo her with poetry, dedicate his victories in battle or tournament often
by carrying some token given to him
by her, to perform routine acts of gallantry,
defend her honor against all who
would sully it, and slay any dragons that might annoy her.
In return she was supposed to inspire
him to greatness and demurely adore him.
Theoretically this love was pure and chaste with the lady reserving her body for the production
of her husband’s heirs. In reality, of
course, things were messier. Husbands often had their own courtly love
interests. Sometimes everyone whistled and hummed ignoring what was plainly
going on and tacitly accepting it. Other time jealousy or mere possessiveness
reared its ugly head—thin the nasty
Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot triangle. More than one blood feud, war, or spousal murder was the result.
Either way, bards composed ballads some of which became folk songs and other which became literary epics.
All of this happened under the apparent
approving eye and protection of good ol’ St. Valentine, whoever he was. None of it, however, applied serfs, peasants, and other commoners who were supposed to be slaves of carnal desire and indiscriminate
rutting barely restrained by church
marriages and expected to be fertile
and breed in sufficient numbers
as to insure a steady supply of field drudges and expendable levies of ground
troops. Also their wives and daughters were expected to be available
for the less noble urges of
their overlords.
Courtly love and St. Valentine took a hit
with Renaissance, Reformation, and
the rise of the absolute monarchs and
the nation state. Those reliable killjoys the English
Puritans did their best to stamp out
such nonsense as did Protestant Reformers in German, the Low Countries, and elsewhere
in Europe. Even in the Catholic Italian states, the, you should pardon the expression, throbbing heart of Valentine veneration things got dialed down for a while.
That changed with the rise of the Romantics and Victorians. They ate up tales of courtly love and expanding on them in French poetry, Wagnerian opera, and in the insatiable
appetite for Arthurian tales and
Sir Walter Scott novels in
England. Young girls swooned over knights in shining armor and boys
dreamed of winning fair damsels by
daring do.
St. Valentine’s fortunes also rose. The custom
among the better classes of
exchanging elaborate handmade Valentines
took hold and spread to the rising
middle classes who followed the lead of their betters. By the late 19th Century the development of inexpensive color lithography made commercial valentines available to the masses.
It turned out shop girls
and ordinary clerks could dream of
romance, too.
St. Valentine was almost never depicted on early commercially printed cards but the pagan God Cupid was almost ubiquitous. |
The discovery of the commercial potential of St. Valentine’s
Day and its promotion by the greeting
card industry, florists, candy
makers, jewelers, restaurants and entertainment
venues is a story in itself. Suffice
it to say that Valentine’s Day has become a very big deal and the second
biggest gift giving occasion in the United
States. It has also become an emotional test both embraced and dreaded by couples and lonely singles.
What of the Saint himself? Well, he seems to have become crowded out of his feast day. In the U.S. at least almost no one even calls
it St. Valentine’s Day anymore.
Although the Anglican Communion and Lutherans
as well as some Orthodox Churches include
St. Valentine’s Day in their calendars, he was dropped by the Catholic Church from the General Roman Calendar in 1969 because so little was known about
him that his very existence might be called into questions. He was not, however, completely erased from
the roster of Saints like other popular
but probably apocryphal figures like
St. Christopher and St. George the Dragon Slayer. Local Bishops have the option of keeping
his Feast Day on February 14. That was a
tribute to his mythic power.
It should not have been a surprise.
In 1960 a St. Valentine’s
Church was built to serve the athletes
in the Rome Olympic Village. When the Games were over the Church became the home of a new parish in the Eternal City. It is one of
the most churches in the city with a vibrant
membership including many young
adults and is frequently sought out by tourists.
Proving you just can’t keep an old Saint down or the romance he
invokes.
Bravo....
ReplyDelete