| 14 February 2006 The Lupercal I think the snow is going to melt today, and I should be on the road to New Jersey. The two thoughts have a relationship, or a sequence, if tenuous, so bear with me. There is nothing on my calendar because I am not supposed to be here; that would give me the opportunity to watch the snow melt, and yearn for the coming warmth. It is Valentine's Day, after all, and I could turn my attention to that. Unfortunately, doing something about it, beyond the flowers and expression of sweet sentiments, would involve a large airplane. It isn't going to happen. They say that half a hundred tons of chocolate will trade hands today in this country alone, which is a bit disquieting, considering where they have been. With the flowers will come nice bottles and steaks carved in the shape of hearts. I hadn't seen that before, until last Saturday when I saw them in their white Styrofoam packages, heaped high in a reefer unit the Commissary had dragged to a prominent position by the front door. I wondered, as I passed, if they had grown the cows that way. I have always viewed Valentine's Day with a little trepidation. It is not one of those dates that comes easy to the mind, and it is out there as a landmine to blow up on the unsuspecting, should an error of omission occur. Or maybe it is just the whole idea of the month of February, which I try to blank out altogether. But a day falling smack in the middle of the shortest month is a tough one to remember, since it is the time we pause, thinking the warmth will return if we hold our breath long enough. We celebrate the notion of romantic love on this day, the spiritual and lofty side of the stormy human relationship. That is derived from the Christian holiday, which hi-jacked the Lupercal, which the Romans celebrated on the 15th of the Month. It was a culmination of weeks honoring the ancestors and celebrating fertility with the coming of Spring. I view my failure to drive to New Jersey in the slush as part of that great tradition. The Lupercalia was a time of purification and religious celebration. “Luper” is the root word that refers to lupus, or the she-wolf that suckled the founders of Rome, Romulus and Remus Celebrations included animal sacrifice at the grotto known as Lupercal, and young men would smear the blood on their faces and race around the Palatine Hill, which formed the city limits as originally proclaimed on the founding of the eternal city. Young women who pressed close to observe the race were sometimes touched by thongs flayed from the bloody skin of the sacrificial goat, which were thought to enhance fertility. Part of the festivities included a lottery. The names of young women were placed in a ceremonial box, and the young men drew names to determine who would be intimate companions through the coming year. Red is the color of blood, and is the color of the Day, even as it is now. The Romans did not have the same view of romance as we do these days. They were practical and matter of fact, and enjoyed the life of the flesh in its myriad possibilities. Marriage was partly a matter of business and political alliance, and dalliance was not stigmatized as it was with the coming of the new God and the new Church. Which is not to say that there were no consequences from Juno when Jupiter strayed from her bed. But at least they talked about it. With the suppression of the old Gods, the pagan festival needed to be re-crafted. A Christian martyr named Valentine was advanced as the patron saint, and Pope Gelasius ordered a change in the lottery. Instead of the names of young women, the box would contain the names of saints. Both men and women were encouraged to draw from the box, with the point being to emulate the saintly characteristics of that particular holy person for the rest of the year. At the time of the change, my ancestors were still painting themselves blue and worshipping trees, so we did not have to deal with the general dissatisfaction of the young Romans. But the new religion was marching North toward my people, and perhaps it is some vague hereditary memory that makes me suspicious of all zealots. The notion of chaste and pure love had to wait until the Nobility had enough time to get bored, and it took until the end of the last Millennium to get to where we are now. So the day being what it is, I think I need to look for either a goat to sacrifice, or an airline ticket. Copyright 2006 Vic Socotra |