A skeptic Valentine
As for me I think I am in serious danger of falling flat on my face here, you see I’ve never been the romantic type. I’m the one who encouraged my brother and his former girlfriend many years ago on Valentine’s day to fake a wedding proposal to get a free meal at a fancy restaurant (which they did by the way and a bottle of expensive champagne!) So I’m probably not the best person to praise the nuances of this day.
My husband doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body (I’ve written before about the rule I have about vetoing inappropriate gifts, so he generally avoids giving me anything). I’ve never received flowers of any description other than the potted variety which usually die a long a cruel death when I forget to water them.
With the risk of sounding like a Valentine ‘Scrooge’ I need to find something to redeem myself on the theme of romantic love which infuses this day for so many people.
On my search for inspiration I found myself ready every possible romantic phrase possible and I got distracted by reading about the Valentines Day mob massacre in 1920’s Chicago (fascinating reading if anyone is interested) but didn’t find anything worthwhile, apart for an inexplicable desire to watch the Untouchables starring Sean Connery and Kevin Costner.
Googling San Valentino
Inadvertently I have become somewhat of an expert on the enigmatic character of St Valentine, thanks to our friends at Google and Wikipedia. Here is what everyone should know about this early Christian Saint:
Saint Valentine’s Day or the Feast of Saint Valentine, is an official feast day in the Anglican, Lutheran, Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic Churches. While Saint Valentine the Presbyter of Rome is celebrated on July 6 and Hieromartyr Valentine (Bishop of Interamna, Terni in Umbria central Italy) is celebrated on July 30.
The Catholic Encyclopedia and other sources speak of three Saint Valentines. One was a Roman priest, another the bishop of Interamna (modern Terni) both buried along the Via Flaminia outside of Rome. The third was said to be a saint who suffered on the same day with a number of companions in the Roman province of Africa, for whom nothing else is known.
While under house arrest of Judge Asterius, Valentinus (the Roman pronunciation of his name) evangelized about the life and miracles of Jesus. The judge asked Valentinus to cure his blind adopted daughter and laying his hands on her eyes and the child’s vision was restored. The judge was baptized into the Catholic church together with his family and household servants and freed all Christians he had imprisoned.
Valentinus was arrested again for converting Romans to Christianity and was sent to the prefect of Rome, the emperor Claudius himself. The emperor took a liking to him until the Saint asked Claudius to embrace Christianity. Claudius demanded Valentinus renounce his faith or else he would be beaten with clubs and beheaded the saint refused and was executed outside the Flaminian Gate February 14, 269.
The flower-crowned skull of St. Valentine is exhibited in the Basilica of Santa Maria in Cosmedin, Rome. In 1836, some relics that were exhumed from the catacombs of Saint Hippolytus on the Via Tiburtina, then near (rather than inside) Rome, were identified with St Valentine; placed in a casket, and transported in a procession to the high altar for a special Mass dedicated to young people and all those in love.
In 1836, Fr. John Spratt, an Irish priest and famous preacher, was given many tokens of esteem following a sermon in Rome. One gift from Pope Gregory XVI were the remains of St. Valentine and “a small vessel tinged with his blood.” The Reliquary was placed in Whitefriar Street Church in Dublin, Ireland, and has remained there until this day.
One legend says, while awaiting his execution, Valentinus restored the sight of his jailer’s blind daughter. Another legend says, on the eve of his death, he penned a farewell note to the jailer’s daughter, signing it, “From your Valentine.”
The historical character of St. Valentine was most probably a martyred Priest, he is the Patron Saint of couples, bee keepers, engaged couples, epilepsy, fainting, greetings, happy marriages, love, lovers travelers and young people. The Saint is depicted in art often surrounded with birds and roses.
The first representation of Saint Valentine appeared in a The Nuremberg Chronicle, an illustrated book printed in 1493. Alongside a woodcut portrait of him, text states that he was martyred during the reign of Claudius the Goth [Claudius II].
Under the rule of Claudius, Rome was involved in many unpopular and bloody campaigns. The emperor had to maintain a strong army, but was having a difficult time getting soldiers to join his military leagues. Claudius believed Roman men were unwilling to join the army because of their strong attachment to their wives and families.
To get rid of the problem, Claudius banned all marriages and engagements in Rome. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret.
The love of my life …
Putting aside cheesy sentimentalism, religious Saints relics and my own cynicism I must confess I have been in love for a long time.
Growing up as the grand-daughter to Italians who migrated to Australia gave me that sentimental-romanticized-bitter-sweet kind of love which is in every migrants heart for their long-lost homeland.
It was more than that, Italy become an obsession.
I remember being distinguished as an Italian at school by teachers and schoolmates. At first I didn’t know what it meant to be ‘Italian’ but I saw the superficial differences. I knew for example, other children didn’t call their grandparents Nonno and Nonna, they didn’t know the tastes of olives, artichokes, olive oil, prosciutto, mortadella, or eat crusty Italian bread for breakfast.
Being a strong individualist from an early age I enjoyed being different, being a part of something special not everyone could experience. I understood quickly the knowledge of another culture was a unique advantage which made life more interesting. Above all I loved my family and if being Italian meant being part of my family, then I loved being Italian too.
I was fifteen when I first spent six weeks in Italy with my family. We stayed with my mother’s aunts and cousins, we did a tour around the boot, found my father’s relatives in the Abruzzo region across from Rome on the Adriatic coast and spent the remaining weeks in Sicily.
After that trip I had a small taste of what the words ‘Italy’ and ‘Italian’ meant. Italy was loud, confusing, tiring, chaotic and puzzling, but I loved its history, language, style, inventiveness and cuisine. I still didn’t completely understand what it meant to be Italian but I had a stronger desire to comprehend and explore Italy. I resolved to learn the language and travel through Italy’s culture and history.
The rest is the long and sordid love story I tell on my blog every day.
Made up of the tastes, sights, smells, sounds and touch of Italy.
Which pulls me in deeper each day.