If you thought Valentine’s Day was just about roses and chocolate, think again—there are 10 bizarre facts lurking beneath the romance, thanks to the ancient Roman celebration of Lupercalia, the original Valentine’s Day.
10 Bizarre Facts Overview
10 The Murdering Of The Cute Puppies
When the Romans kicked off the first day of Lupercalia, they didn’t start with a simple toast. Instead, a pair of goats and a tiny, wiggling puppy were hauled into the cavernous Lupercal cave, where a cadre of cloaked priests performed a ritual slaughter. The rules were oddly specific about the canine: it had to be a newborn puppy, not a full‑grown dog, because the ceremony demanded the innocence of a newborn animal.
Even the most diligent historians admit that the ancient Romans themselves were baffled by the puppy‑killing requirement. The surviving accounts were penned centuries after the tradition began, at a time when Lupercalia had already become a rote rite. By then, the participants were merely copying what their ancestors had done, without any clear idea why a helpless pup had to die.
Plutarch, the famous Greek biographer, argued that the Romans might have pilfered the practice from the Greeks. He noted that the Greeks possessed a term—periskulakismoi—which translates to “purification by puppy.” Some modern scholars even render the term as “pupprification,” a tongue‑in‑cheek nod to the gruesome ritual.
Nevertheless, the true motive remains elusive. Plutarch offered a second, more whimsical theory: perhaps the priests were simply annoyed by the puppies’ incessant barking, which might have disturbed the solemnity of the ceremony. He speculated that the dogs were “annoying” the Luperci, the priestly class, and that the killings were a form of venting that irritation.
Regardless of the reason, the ritual persisted for centuries, becoming a staple of the festival even as its original meaning faded into obscurity. The ancient Romans kept the tradition alive, blind to its origins, simply because it was part of their cultural inheritance.
9 The Feigning Of Laughter Of The Blood‑Soaked Boys
After the sacrificial puppies and goats were put to death, the ceremony took a decidedly eerie turn. Two aristocratic boys—chosen for their noble lineage—were ushered into the same cavern, where priests gently pressed the tips of their ceremonial knives against the boys’ foreheads, allowing a few drops of blood to stain their hair. The priests then dipped wool in fresh milk and anointed the boys’ heads, creating a stark, surreal contrast of crimson and white.
What followed was perhaps the most unsettling part of the rite: the blood‑stained, milk‑slicked youths were instructed to force a laugh—an artificial giggle that rang through the dim cavern. The Romans claimed this was a purification act, a symbolic cleansing of the community, yet even contemporary observers admitted they could not grasp why the priests forced children to feign mirth under such macabre circumstances.
Once the forced laughter subsided, the ceremony moved to its climax. The priests fashioned leather thongs from the skins of the slain goats, while the two boys, now stripped of all clothing, prepared for the next phase of the festival, which involved a chaotic, public display of the thongs.
8 The Streaking Of The Thong‑Carrying Men
Plutarch records that, during Lupercalia, “many of the noble youth and of the magistrates run up and down through the city naked, striking those they meet with shaggy thongs.” These participants, drawn from the upper echelons of Roman society, were first anointed with oil—a privilege denied to the lower classes—before they sprinted through the streets, brandishing leather thongs.
The purpose of the thongs, known as februare, was decidedly fertility‑focused. The men targeted women, who would theatrically flee, yet secretly hoped to be struck. The Romans believed that a gentle lash from a thong could boost a woman’s reproductive potency, turning the public spectacle into a covert matchmaking ritual.
Even famed figures such as Mark Antony took part, shedding their garments, coating themselves in oil, and dashing through the streets with the thongs. The sheer spectacle of aristocrats baring themselves and whipping the populace became a hallmark of the day, a vivid reminder that the entire month of February derived its name—from the very thongs that symbolized the festival’s magical potency.
7 The Eating Of The Entrails On A Stick
Lupercalia’s banquet was, by all accounts, far from a lavish feast. Ancient poets dismissed the spread as “scanty,” a description that matches modern readers’ expectations of a rather austere menu. Priests skewered the entrails of the sacrificed goats on willow spits, roasting them over open flames before handing the grimy portions to the assembled crowd.
In addition to the goat offal, Vestal virgins contributed a simple, almost ritualistic side dish: salt cakes, essentially ancient pancakes baked on hot stones. These modest fare items—tiny bits of goat entrails and plain salt cakes—formed the core of the Lupercalian banquet.
Given the unappealing nature of the food, the Romans compensated by flooding the celebration with copious amounts of wine and other alcoholic libations. By the day’s end, participants were often so intoxicated that the line between ritual and revelry blurred, leaving a lasting impression of a holiday that mixed the sacred with the decidedly inebriated.
6 The Hooking Up Of The Swingers
In certain Roman districts, the fertility rites of Lupercalia were taken a step further. Young women eager to conceive would inscribe their names on clay tablets and deposit them in a communal jar. Meanwhile, eligible men would draw a name at random, pairing themselves with a stranger for the duration of the festival.
Although the historical record is patchy, the prevailing interpretation is that these pairings were more than a fleeting flirtation. The selected man’s primary aim was to help the woman achieve pregnancy, turning the random draw into a purposeful, albeit brief, union. Some scholars argue the partnership lasted only through the festival, while others suggest the couples remained intimate for an entire year.
5 The Airing Of Grievances
Lupercalia featured its own bawdy soundtrack. While the exact lyrics have been lost to antiquity, surviving accounts describe the songs as unapologetically licentious and obscene. By the fifth century AD, participants would burst into vulgar verses that detailed every scandalous deed committed by their neighbours—infidelities, brothel visits, and other moral transgressions.
The purpose of these ribald chants was ostensibly to shame the guilty into better behaviour. However, the Pope of the era noted that the songs often seemed more celebratory than condemnatory, turning public shaming into a communal festivity that reveled in scandal.
These songs, full of explicit references and colorful insults, underscore how Lupercalia blended moral instruction with unrestrained revelry, creating a uniquely Roman form of public catharsis.
4 The Celebration Of The Horny God
Every great festival needs a mythic tale, and Lupercalia was no exception. The poet Ovid recounts a raucous story involving the rustic god Faunus and the mighty hero Hercules. Faunus, smitten by Hercules’ lover, declared his desire to claim her, prompting a nocturnal escapade that quickly went awry.
Faunus sneaked into the woman’s bedroom, unaware that she had draped Hercules’ garments over herself for warmth. Mistaking the cloth for the woman herself, Faunus began to grope the fabric, only to feel a sudden, cold coil—an unexpected snake—that made him recoil in horror.
Hercules awoke, confronted the intruder, and the scene erupted into laughter. Ovid notes that both the hero and the Lydian maiden burst into mirth at the absurdity, turning what could have been a violent assault into a comedic tableau.
In the aftermath, Roman celebrants ran naked through the streets, honoring Faunus’s failed advance. Ovid famously wrote that the god “hates clothes that trick the eye,” a line that justified the custom of disrobing during the rites, linking the nakedness to the divine narrative.
3 The Uncertainty Over Whom You Are Worshiping
Even though Lupercalia’s name suggests a clear deity, the Romans themselves were unsure which god they were truly honoring. The festival was conducted by a priestly order known as the Luperci, who performed rites in the Lupercal cave, assuming they served a god named Lupercus.
In reality, the Luperci possessed no concrete knowledge of Lupercus’s attributes or portfolio. Their cult was ancient, rooted in agrarian worship, and the details of its origin had been lost to the passage of time. All they could point to was a solitary statue of a naked male figure clad only in a goatskin girdle, which they presumed represented the elusive deity.
Beyond the statue, the only clue was an association with farming and fertility, inferred from the statue’s attire. Yet, the Romans never uncovered a definitive myth or set of virtues for Lupercus, meaning the entire cult persisted on tradition alone, without a clear theological foundation.
2 The Crowning Of Julius Caesar
A pivotal moment in Roman history unfolded amid the raucous celebrations of Lupercalia. While the festival’s revelers sprinted naked through the streets, Mark Antony approached Julius Caesar, wreath in hand, and offered him the imperial throne.
Antony was not merely a spectator; he was one of the oiled, thong‑wielding runners, striding confidently toward Caesar while clutching a shaggy leather thong in one hand and a laurel crown in the other. This dramatic, unclothed presentation added a theatrical flourish to the political overture.
Thus, the historic crowning of Caesar took place against the backdrop of a festival that celebrated fertility, chaos, and communal excess—an unlikely stage for the rise of one of Rome’s most infamous leaders.
1 The Killing Of People Named Valentine
The final Lupercalia celebration occurred at the close of the fifth century, a time when Christianity had begun to dominate the Roman Empire. Pope Gelasius formally terminated the pagan rites, condemning the festival as a blood‑soaked celebration of sexuality that clashed with Christian morals.
Even before the papal edict, many of the more scandalous elements of Lupercalia—such as the naked running—had already faded. When the Pope demanded that the remaining participants actually perform the infamous streaking, none complied, signaling the end of the public spectacle.
Faced with the loss of their beloved holiday, the Roman populace gradually shifted toward a new celebration. Although Pope Gelasius replaced Lupercalia with the “Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary,” over time the day evolved into what we now know as St. Valentine’s Day, named after two martyrs who both died on February 14.
Over the ensuing 1,500 years, the customs transformed dramatically: lovers exchanged handwritten notes instead of drawing names from jars, and the brutal thongs gave way to bouquets of flowers. Yet the core of the holiday—a focus on love, fertility, and partnership—traces its roots back to the chaotic, blood‑stained rites of ancient Lupercalia.