The Willow Glen Resident When Cupid Attacks: A historical reading of the origins of Valentine's Day illuminates some brutal truths about the nature of romance. True romance: otherwise known as the Valentine's Day massacre Beheading, bloodshed are the only certainties in the web of truth and lies of Valentine's Day By Mary Spicuzza Assaulted by the barrage of love that is printed, packaged and sold during the month of February, many frantic folks are exhausted by the time Valentine's Day finally rolls around. Victims of the multi-billion dollar romance industry, we've spent hours hunting for that perfect card or scrambling for dinner reservations. Yet if more poor souls drowning in this circus of cherubic cupids and hot pink hearts took a moment to reflect on the bizarre and bloody origins of Valentine's Day, they may find some solace. Or at least comfort in knowing they're not alone--confusion and heartache on Feb. 14 is a centuries-old tradition. The legend, as told to my plaid-jumper-clad Catholic grade school class, traces that pre-Hallmark event to a priest named Valentine--or the Latin version, Valentinus--who lived in third century Rome, during the reign of Emperor Claudius Gothicus. During his brief two-year reign, from 268-270 C.E., Claudius earned a reputation for slaughtering Gothic invaders. In his free time, the busy emperor persecuted Christians refusing to worship the official Roman gods. Emperor Claudius, learning that popular Valentinus was a priest and healer, ordered one of his top minions to keep him out of trouble. While keeping Valentinus under house arrest, the soldier brought his beautiful, bright and blind young daughter Julia to visit him in hopes that she might be cured. Valentinus and Julia met numerous times and developed an intense relationship. As he worked to cure her blindness, he taught her mathematics, literature and Christ's love. Wise Valentinus was known as a chaste man--suggesting a proper Valentine's Day would be a celebration of abstinence, much like a day-long "True Love Waits" rally. Still some tales hint that Valentinus and Julia's relationship proceeded beyond mere teacher-student devotion. The trouble started when Emperor Claudius learned that the girl and her entire family had been converted to Christianity. He sent his soldiers, who swiftly smashed Valentinus' herbal tinctures and tossed him in the death-row dungeon. Valentinus continued to see Julia even after he was thrown in the clink, and some accounts say that he passed the rest of his long days cutting paper into intricate shapes to stave off madness. Legend says that as soldiers led Valentinus off to meet his fate on the morning of February 14, he pleaded for a pen and scribbled a quick note to little Julia--who despite the long hours with her loving Valentinus was still completely blind. Just as Valentinus' head was lopped off on the Via Flaminia, the busiest road of the Roman Empire, Julia took Valentinus' note from her father's hands and looked at the world for the first time through her own eyes. Her sight miraculously restored, she read Valentinus' proclamation of love, signed, "From Your Valentine." This tale of the first Valentine's Day love letter is, quite appropriately, the source of a centuries-long battle among scholars and religious historians. The confusion undoubtedly lies in just how unlucky--or devoted--those named Valentine have been throughout the ages. Of the 12 Saint Valentines recorded in the Benedictine Monks of Saint Augustine's Abbey Book of Saints, all but three met their end as martyrs. Nearly every one had his head lopped off, except for the poor female martyr Saint Valentina--of course the only noted virgin of the bunch--who was burned in a group sacrifice. Most accounts of the cursed Feb. 14 mention another martyr named Valentinus, a bishop from Terni, who was beheaded that day along the Flaminian Way. Scholars still spar over whether the two saints were truly one man. Some believe one Valentinus was imprisoned in two towns, others say his corpse got so much mileage after his untimely end that in different towns, cults sprang up in his honor. Several accounts say that young Julia was truly a blind little boy; others argue that the entire story was fabricated centuries later for theatrical entertainment. Another camp argues that Valentinus was killed for marrying young couples despite the Emperor's ban on marriage, though that seems to be completely fabricated to up the day's romance factor. Basically, when it comes to Valentine's Day, truth falls last on the priority list. Both February martyrs have been honored as saints, whereas the Gnostic Valentinus, born a century earlier, was excommunicated by the church. Because his rational teachings fused Christianity with the logical teachings of Plato, he offended the church and was exiled to the isle of Cyprus. It was this rational heretic Valentinus who wrote, "And the heart seems to me to be treated somewhat like an inn, for that it has holes and ruts in it, and is oft filled with dung by men who live filthily in it, and take no care of the place since it belongs to others." The Catholic Encyclopedia devotes its section on this Valentinus to "All the Poor Souls in Purgatory," as if to acknowledge all of the warped relationships it could have prevented had it let this voice of reason speak. Just like the life of this symbol of love known as Saint Valentinus, the saint's (or saints') post-mortem period is also wrapped in confusion. After being bludgeoned, beheaded and dragged along the Flaminian Way, it's no surprise Valentinus' remains were scattered. Both the Church of St. Praxedus in Rome and a basilica in Terni display what is said to be Valentine's remains. Some accounts say his head was purchased by British royalty as a good-luck charm, others that a group of English monks stole it. Regardless, Valentine's head makes appearances in 12th-century Britain, where it's credited with curing the blind, epileptics, the insane and sufferers willing to kiss the decaying relic. In the tradition of Roman Catholic imperialism, Saint Valentine's name was used to take over the Feb. 15 pagan Festival of Lupercalia. This frisky day consisted of nearly naked boys slaughtering goats and running through the streets playfully whipping young girls and boys with freshly made goat-skin thongs. During the Middle Ages, Geoffrey Chaucer came along and worsened the confusion around Valentine's Day. He wrote, "For this was sent on Synt Valentyne's Day/Whan every foul cometh ther to chose his mate." It may be a romantic notion, but most historians agree that birds really picked their mates in May, on the feast day of another martyred Valentine. The romantic Chaucer, willing to stretch the truth to inflict young lovers with early cases of spring fever, entrenched V-Day even deeper in lies and misunderstandings. This messy tale of Saint Valentinus, though it doesn't fit that tidy Hallmark image, teaches modern sufferers that we're not alone. Whether spent listening to Mr. Wrong babble endlessly about himself over a plate of cold linguini, or sitting alone devouring copious amounts of chocolate truffles, Feb. 14 is the bleakest of holidays. Compared to Julia and her bludgeoned, beheaded Saint Valentinus, the dreaded Valentine's Day seems to have improved through the centuries. And folks probably have a better chance of finding Mr. or Ms. Right than they do of uncovering the truth about the ill-fated martyr known as Saint Valentine. [ Back to Contents Page | Willow Glen Resident Home Page | Archives ] This article appeared in the Willow Glen Resident, February 10, 1999. ©1999 Metro Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.