Shock of the old: nine shrivelled hearts to celebrate the day of love

Hey lovebirds, it’s Valentine’s Day. You’d like a Shock of the Old featuring love stories through the ages that retain the power to move and inspire us? Counteroffer: how about some shrivelled hearts?

While it took centuries for science to grasp what the heart did, the association with emotion was established in antiquity. Sappho described her “mad heart” convulsed with love in the seventh century BC and both Plato and Aristotle emphasised its importance. In ancient Egypt the heart was considered the most important organ, “the spiritual seat of intelligence, emotion and memory”. It was the only one left in the body during mummification and key to the afterlife, a sort of spiritual Excel spreadsheet recording your good and bad deeds. If you had been naughty, your heart would be “immediately consumed by the monster Ammit”.

In ancient Rome, the heart-shaped leaves of the silphium plant (used as a contraceptive), were commemorated on coins, but today’s “heart” shape was not associated with the actual lumpy organ back then. That seems to be medieval: in a manuscript from the 1250s, a man holds his “vaguely pine-cone-shaped heart” (that’s how Galen described hearts as looking and the misconception stuck) out to his beloved; by the 1344 Romance of Alexander, there was one that looked like today’s Hallmark heart (an unimpressed woman holds it, a gift from a weedy man with a bowl cut).

Since then, we have internalised the idea that hearts are a big, romantic deal, and at various times people have decided to take them out as a funerary practice. This was particularly popular in medieval times. Although the practice was temporarily banned by Boniface VIII in 1299, the external heart storage model never really went away. It’s been adopted at various times, for crowned heads, spiritual leaders and cultural colossi. Saint Vincent and Anastasius church in Rome, for instance, is home to the hearts of an excessive 22 popes; the last British king to have his heart buried separately was George II in 1760 and extremely metal Mary Shelley kept what may or may not have been Percy’s heart wrapped in pages of his poem Adonais. As recently as 1928, Thomas Hardy’s heart was buried separate from his body (we’ll return to this).

Would the ancient Egyptians have approved? Absolutely not. Do I have sinister photos? You bet.

Photograph: Tom Honan/PA

Who would nick a saint’s heart? Loads of people stole relics back when they were wildly prized and valuable, but this heart-heist is startlingly modern, dating from 2012, when the heart of Saint Laurence O’Toole, patron saint of Dublin, was pinched from Christ Church, in the city. “It’s completely bizarre,” a spokesperson said. “They didn’t touch anything else.” The heart was returned six years later, in opaque circumstances; the Irish Examiner claimed the thieves thought the heart was “cursed” because people they knew kept having heart attacks.

Richard the Lionheart Photograph: Philippe Charlier/Musée départemental des Antiquités

Crusader King Richard I’s (lion) heart was separated from his body after he died during “a minor siege … against a rebellious baron” near Limoges and brought to Rouen cathedral. It was rediscovered in a lead box helpfully labelled “Here is the heart of Richard King of England” in Latin in 1838 and the “brown-whitish powder” inside was analysed in 2013. “We found that the heart was deposed in linen, associated with myrtle, daisy, mint, frankincense, creosote, mercury and, possibly, lime,” the researchers noted, describing the embalming as “inspired by biblical spices”, which sounds horribly menu-like.

Crusader tomb Photograph: Marcus Roberts Images/Stockimo/Alamy

Speaking of crusaders, there’s also this guy in St Giles church in Bredon, Worcestershire, and his cartoonish tomb, arms reaching out from under his shield holding a heart-shaped reliquary reportedly containing his actual heart. Prominent crusaders who died sometimes had their hearts removed and sent home and if you’re anything like me and wondering, “By whom?”, wonder no longer: “It is thought that hearts were removed by those deemed apt for such a chore and these included butchers and cooks.”

Robert the Bruce Photograph: PA Images/Alamy

When Robert the Bruce died in 1329, apparently, “His heart was removed and taken on the Crusades by the Black Douglas (Sir James), who, just before he was killed in Moorish Spain, hurled it at the enemy.” It was reportedly “recovered” (I would have appreciated more detail on how you get a heart back from someone your dead comrade just chucked it at), then buried in Melrose Abbey in the Scottish Borders. In 1996, a team of archaeologists investigated this elegant lead casket found there and concluded it was “reasonable to assume” it did indeed contain Robert’s heart.

Francesco Erizzo Photograph: Emma Beddington

The significance of this cool heart-shaped tile in Saint Mark’s Basilica in enclosing a doge’s hat and a hedgehog was, according to Jan Morris, only discovered during restoration works when the slab was lifted and “beneath it was found a small box containing a shrivelled human organ.” It was the heart of Doge Francesco Erizzo, who “willed that his innermost being should be buried as close as possible to the patron saint of the Venetians”. The hedgehog was a family symbol because riccio – hedgehog – sounds a bit like Erizzo. Cute.

Louis XVII Photograph: François Guillot/AFP/Getty Images

Louis XVI’s 10-year-old son, Louis XVII, died of peritonitis in 1795 after three years in prison, but the atmosphere of revolutionary paranoia and confusion nourished persistent rumours he had been swapped for another child. During his autopsy, a Dr Pelletan surreptitiously removed his heart as a souvenir, preserving it in alcohol. When the monarchy was restored, Pelletan tried to give it back to various Bourbons, but, understandably suspicious of people offering organs of dubious provenance, they declined. On Pelletan’s death, the heart was left to the Archbishop of Paris and finally reached the Bourbons in 1895, ending up in this “cardiotaph” (excellent word) in Saint-Denis Basilica. DNA analysis published in 2001 was finally able to prove it was Louis XVII’s.

Marie of Romania Photograph: Daniel Mihăilescu/AFP/Getty Images

The list of places Marie, the last queen of Romania’s heart has been since it was separated – at her request – from her body is absolutely exhausting: Balchik on the Black Sea, then Bran Castle, Bran Castle Museum, the Natural History Museum and finally Peles Castle north of Bucharest. That organ – pictured here on its extremely ceremonial way to what may still not prove to be its final resting place – is a frequent flyer.

Chopin Photograph: NurPhoto/Getty Images

Frédéric Chopin feared being buried alive, so asked for his heart to be removed, which it was on his death in 1849, before being smuggled into Warsaw, possibly preserved in cognac. In 2014 it was examined by “13 people sworn to secrecy”, including the archbishop of Warsaw and scientists, one of whom said: “The spirit of this night was very sublime.” I’m not sure how sublime subsequently describing the heart as “massively enlarged and floppy” was, but the statement formed part of the observations allowing the team to conclude that he probably died of TB.

Thomas Hardy Photograph: Matthew Lambley/Alamy

Investigation of Thomas Hardy’s heart and its final resting place reveals the horrifying headline “Village cat ate Thomas Hardy’s heart”. But did it? Having conducted a deep dive, like the ghoul I am, I can tell you that Hardy’s heart was removed (at his wife’s request, so part of him could stay in Stinford churchyard as he wished ) and placed in a biscuit tin. The biscuit tin was decorated with cats and “the lid fits snugly and firmly (far too firmly for even the most ravenous and dexterous feline to open)”. Also, the only cat in the vicinity was probably Hardy’s own, Cobweb. That’s neither here nor there – any cat would eat its master’s heart in, well, a heartbeat – but an enjoyable detail.