Valentine Season

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Chapbooks, romance, Valentines

Over the course of the blog we seem to have been mildly obsessed with identifying would-be lovers, beautifying ourselves for them and secretly communicating with them. But as valentine season approaches it might be time to start thinking about how to actually win their favour!

If the amount of 19^th century chapbooks on valentines writing is anything to go by, a sentimental verse is just the thing. So too apparently is a massively over-adorned and fussy card. Valentine’s Day was celebrated with gusto in Victorian times and the popularity of card giving, meant the festival became a highly lucrative industry. Cards started to be produced commercially in the tens of thousands; they were adorned with lace, feathers, glass, dried flowers, mirrors and ribbons. They were embossed and in the case of our examples 3D [1] [2].  

There was also a market in verses. For those unable to compose their own were aided by a whole trade of sentimental verse production. This had started in 1797 with The Young Man’s Valentine Writer. Though printers had begun to produce cards with messages, writing aids were still the vogue in the late 1800’s and these we have a wealth of [2]. Verses were tailored to suit ‘all ranks and conditions of lovers, and would-be lovers’. Varying dispositions, circumstances, trades, humours and ages were all covered. The books we hold have example poems from gentlemen, ladies, cooks and housemaids, tailors, drovers, sailors, doctors, blacksmiths, even from a person with bad teeth and creepily from an intruder … All however are brilliantly cheesy:

 From an engineer:

Wilt thou vouchsafe to smile, my dear

On your subsequious engineer?

My heart is burning, without doubt,

No engine can the flame put out.

Verse books also provided answers to those receiving cards from the above groups, and were both favourable and unfavourable.

 From a fishmonger:

Thy skin is a whiting, thy eyes

As bright as the scales of my fish

My turtle, my sole, thee I prize,

Accede then, I pray to my wish.

Favourable answer:

Ah me! You’ve caught me in your net,

And from your bait I can’t get free

Well then remember don’t forget

You are the valentine for me.

Unfavourable answer:

Sir, as a flounder, I am flat

And have been so through all my life

So flatly tell you – worthless sprat

I never will become your wife.

Some tried to discourage and ward off and were, I feel, a little harsh. 

From a lady to an anti-reformer:

A sordid griping tyrant you are known,

No generous feeling’s by you ever shown …

Enslaved by vice, for plunder still you pine

Rather I’d die than be your valentine.

And of course there were tricky puzzles to crack

To a lady: Fles sih evol resim eht tel,

                      Tra erusaert ym uoht,

So if you’re feeling a little lost for words this Valentine’s rush down to Rare Books, request a chapbook, and tell that special some one … a poem that they may find a little weird … Just beware of the reply.

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The rules of engagement

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games, romance

From time to time, Tower Project cataloguers come across games which the Library received on legal deposit. This is less exciting than it sounds: their appeal can be somewhat … impenetrable, and their rules are often fiendishly complicated (or just baffling). I was thrilled, therefore, when I discovered Maricourt, a board game which suffers from none of these problems. A kind of snakes-and-ladders of courtship and engagement, it’s straightforward to play, and provides an insight into how a romance might have progressed – or, at least, might have been expected to progress – at the turn of the century.

The game, which consists of a 100-square board and cards, is played in teams: a lady and a gentleman pair up against another couple, and they take it in turns to throw the dice and move their counters forward. Some of the squares describe states of being (“approval”, “contempt”, “ill will”), and others describe the process by which they are reached: so, if you land on “wealth leads to admiration” (how very cynical!) you can advance to “admiration”; but if you land on “jealousy leads to despair”, you have to go back to “despair” (and take to drink, apparently). Woe betide anyone who indulges in flirtation: if you land on that square, you have to go back to the start of the board. There are also squares which reward you with a card if you land on them (“carriages: take card”, “Papa’s consent: take card”), which can be redeemed if you land on the corresponding “carriages required”; if you land on it without the card, you have to return to “carriages: take card”. The first team to reach square 100, and the church, wins.

Alas, the counters and cards have not survived with the board, so I’ve been thwarted in my desire to play the game. Curses. I’ll have to content myself with admiring the pictures …

    

Find your perfect match

Tags

Moustache, physiognomy, romance

J. M. Barrie: what does his moustache say about him?

Looking to meet that special someone? Don’t waste your time trying to work out whether a person is right for you by talking to them – it turns out there’s an easier and quicker way. A few weeks ago, we learned of the preponderance of moustaches amongst late Victorian and Edwardian men. Not only were moustaches very common, but it would appear that the ability to ‘read’ them may have helped ladies find their one true love, as, according to J. R. Hughes, “phrenologist and physiognomist” and author of Marriage not a failure!, or, Sweethearts, and how to choose the right one, facial hair reveals the soul within:      

The colour of a man’s whiskers, or moustache, are more indicative of character than the hair on his head.      

Intriguing. Hughes goes on to provide a handy guide on how to use this as a basis for finding a life partner.      

Auburn whiskered men should marry ladies with brown or dark brown hair, and not ladies with fair or auburn hair.      

Red or bright auburn young ladies should marry very dark brown or black, and ladies with very dark brown or black should marry auburn or fair.      

Spare a thought for anyone whose hair colour doesn’t fall into such tidy categories. Still, it seems straightforward enough, until you go on to read that actually, it’s also vitally important that your beloved has the correct eye colour as well. Apparently, the blue-eyed are affable and credulous; those with hazel eyes have a “frolicsome turn of mind”; a person with grey eyes is “a plain, plodding, downright drudge” (this seems a bit harsh, but then, I’m not a trained physiognomist); and then there are the red-eyed (no, I’ve no idea either), who are “selfish, deceitful and proud, furious in anger, fertile in the invention of plots, and indefatigable in resolution to bring them to bear”. My goodness. Anyway, again, Hughes records which eye colour is appropriate to look for in a spouse:    

Blue eyes should not marry blue. The same may be said of each other colour.      

A grey eye should marry a very dark coloured eye … A hazel eye should marry blue, or a very dark coloured eye, but not a grey.      

This is about the point at which it all gets far too complicated; if I’m going to follow this (surely foolproof) method of finding a husband, I’ll have to carry round a compatibility chart with me.   

Of course, there’s always the possibility that you’ll meet a man without any facial hair. Alas, Hughes offers no advice on what to do if you find yourself in such a predicament. Still, as the saying goes, “kissing a man without a moustache is like eating an egg without salt”, so such a man would probably not be worth your concern …