In an old book called “The Ladies Dictionary,” speaking of kissing in Scotland, the author says: “But kissing and drinking are now both grown to a greater custom among us than in those days with the Romans.” And to what extent kissing was carried on in Rome, Martial has stated in his “Epigrams.” “Every neighbor,” he says, “every hairy-faced farmer presses on you with a strongly scented kiss. Here the weaver assails you, there the fuller and the cobbler, who has just been kissing leather; here the owner of the filthy beard, and a one-eyed gentleman; there one with bleared eyes, and fellows whose mouths are defiled with all manner of abominations.”
In England the custom of universal kissing seems to have gone out about the time of the Restoration. Its abandonment in England might have formed part of that French code of politeness which Charles II introduced on his return. Returning to our first thought as to the origin of Kissing, we may use the very safe phrase that “its origin is involved in mystery,” and agree with the poet that
When we dwell on the lips of the love we adore, Not a pleasure in nature is missing May that man lie in Heaven—he deserves it I’m sure Who was first the inventor of kissing.
How Adam kissed Eve has been described in “Paradise Lost:”
—— he, in delight Both of her beauty and submissive charms, Smiled with superior love, as Jupiter On Juno smiles, when he impregns the clouds That shed May flowers: and pressed her matron lip With kisses pure.
Though we may be unfortunate in tracing back the origin of this pleasing custom, let us see if we have better luck in an attempt to answer the question, “What is a kiss?”
First, we will go to the dictionary where we learn that a kiss, a smack, or a buss, is “a salute made by touching with the lips pressed closely together and suddenly parting them.”
Dr. Stormouth says that the word kiss seems to have had its origin in the practice of feudal times of expressing homage to a superior by kissing the hand, foot or some part of the body or, in his absence, some object belonging to him, as a gate or a lock.
One poet calls kisses “the fragrant breath of summer flowers.” This is a very happy conceit that is not always found to be true, for how fragrant kisses are depends very much on the breath of the principals engaged. Coleridge calls them “nectar breathing.” Shakespeare speaks of them as “seals of love,” and Sidney tells us they tie souls together. An old poet asks: