THE SAXONS: BETROTHAL.
Oats have been defined by Dr. Johnson as a grain serving to nourish
horses in England and men in Scotland; and in spite of this
contemptuous definition, its name, to us Caledonian born, must always
awaken pleasant recollections of the porridge and bannocks of our
childhood. It is, however, a new experience to find a country where
this often unappreciated grain occupies a still prouder position,
and where its name is associated with memories yet more pregnant and
tender; for autumn, not spring, is the season of Saxon love, and oats,
not myrtle, are here emblematic of courtship and betrothal.
In proportion as the waving surface of the green oat-fields begins to
assume a golden tint, so also does curiosity awaken and gossip grow
rife in the village. Well-informed people may have hinted before that
such and such a youth had been seen more than once stepping in at
the gate of the big red house in the long street, and more than one
chatterer had been ready to identify the speckled carnations which on
Sundays adorned the hat of some youthful Conrad or Thomas, as having
been grown in the garden of a certain Anna or Maria; but after all
these had been but mere conjectures, for nothing positive can be known
as yet, and ill-natured people were apt to console themselves with the
reflection that St. Catherine’s Day was yet a long way off, and that
“there is many a slip ’twixt cup and lip.”
But now the great day which is to dispel all doubt and put an end
to conjecture is approaching—that day which will destroy so many
illusions and fulfil so few; for now the sun has given the final touch
to the ripening grain, and soon the golden sheaves are lying piled
together on the clean-shorn stubble-field, only waiting to be carted
away. Then one evening when the sun is sinking low on the horizon, and
no breath of air is there to lift the white powdery dust from off the
hedge-rows, the sound of a drum is heard in the village street, and a
voice proclaims aloud that “to-morrow the oats are to be fetched home.”
Like wildfire the news has spread throughout the village; the cry is
taken up and repeated with various intonations of hope, curiosity,
anticipation, or triumph, “To-morrow the oats will be fetched.”
A stranger probably fails to perceive anything particularly thrilling
about this intelligence, having no reason to suppose the garnering of
oats to be in any way more interesting than the carting of potatoes or
wheat; and, no doubt, to the majority of land-owners the thought of
to-morrow’s work is chiefly connected with dry prosaic details, such as
repairing the harness and oiling the cart-wheels. But there are others
in the village on whom the announcement has had an electrifying effect,
and for whom the words are synonymous with love and wedding-bells. Five
or six of the young village swains, or maybe as many as eight or ten,
spend that evening in a state of pleasurable bustle and excitement,
busying themselves in cleaning and decking out the cart for the morrow,
furbishing up the best harness, grooming the work-horses till their
coats are made to shine like satin, and plaiting up their manes with
bright-colored ribbons.
Early next morning the sound of harness-bells and the loud cracking
of whips cause all curious folk to rush to their doors; and as every
one is curious, the whole population is soon assembled in the street to
gaze at the sight of young Hans N——, attired in his bravest clothes
and wearing in his cap a monstrous bouquet, riding postilion fashion on
the left-hand horse, and cracking his whip with ostentatious triumph,
while behind, on the gayly decorated cart, is seated a blushing maiden,
who lowers her eyes in confusion at thus seeing herself the object of
general attention—at least this is what she is supposed to do, for
every well-brought-up girl ought surely to blush and hang her head
in graceful embarrassment when she first appears in the character
of a bride; and although no formal proposal has yet taken place,
by consenting to assist the young man to bring in his oats she has
virtually confessed her willingness to become his wife.
Her appearance on this occasion will doubtless cause much envy and
disappointment among her less fortunate companions, who gaze out
furtively through the chinks of the wooden boarding at the spectacle
of a triumph they had perhaps hoped for themselves. “So it is the
red-haired Susanna after all, and not the miller’s Agnes, as every one
made sure,” the gossips are saying. “And who has young Martin got on
his cart, I wonder? May I never spin flax again if it is not that saucy
wench, the black-eyed Lisi, who was all but promised to small-pox Peter
of the green corner house”—and so on, and so on, in endless variety,
as the decorated carts go by in procession, each one giving rise to
manifold remarks and comments, and not one of them failing to leave
disappointment and heart-burning in its rear.
This custom of the maiden helping the young man to bring in his oats,
and thereby signifying her willingness to marry him, is prevalent
only in a certain district to the north of Transylvania called the
_Haferland_, or country of oats—a broad expanse of country covered
at harvest-time by a billowy sea of golden grain, the whole fortune
of the land-owners. In other parts various other betrothal customs
are prevalent, as for instance in Neppendorf, a large village close
to Hermanstadt, inhabited partly by Saxons, partly by Austrians, or
Ländlers, as they call themselves. This latter race is of far more
recent introduction in the country than the Saxons, having only come
hither (last century) in the time of Maria Theresa, who had summoned
them to replenish some of the Saxon colonies in danger of becoming
extinct. If it is strange to note how rigidly the Saxons have kept
themselves from mingling with the surrounding Magyars and Roumanians,
it is yet more curious to see how these two German races have existed
side by side for over a hundred years without amalgamating; and
this for no sort of antagonistic reason, for they live together in
perfect harmony, attending the same church, and conforming to the same
regulations, but each people preserving its own individual costume and
customs. The Saxons and the Ländlers have each their different parts of
the church assigned to them; no Saxon woman would ever think of donning
the fur cap of a Ländler matron, while as little would the latter
exchange her tight-fitting fur coat for the wide hanging mantle worn by
the other.
[Illustration: SAXON BETROTHED COUPLE.]
Until quite lately unions have very seldom taken place between members
of these different races. Only within the last twenty years or so have
some of the Saxon youths awoke to the consciousness that the Austrian
girls make better and more active housewives than their own phlegmatic
countrywomen, and have consequently sought them in marriage. Even then,
when both parties are willing, many a projected union makes shipwreck
upon the stiff-neckedness of the two _paterfamilias_, who neither of
them will concede anything to the other. Thus, for instance, when the
Saxon father of the bridegroom demands that his future daughter-in-law
should adopt Saxon attire when she becomes the wife of his son, the
Ländler father will probably take offence and withdraw his consent
at the last moment; not a cap nor a jacket, not even a pin or an
inch of ribbon, will either of the two concede to the wishes of the
young people. Thus many hopeful alliances are nipped in the bud, and
those which have been accomplished are almost invariably based on the
understanding that each party retains its own attire, and that the
daughters born of such union follow the mother, the sons the father, in
the matter of costume.
Among the Ländlers the marriage proposal takes place in a way which
deserves to be mentioned. The youth who has secretly cast his eye on
the girl he fain would make his wife prepares a new silver thaler
(about 2_s._ 6_d._) by winding round it a piece of bright-colored
ribbon, and wrapping the whole in a clean sheet of white letter-paper.
With this coin in his pocket he repairs to the next village dance,
and takes the opportunity of slipping it unobserved into the girl’s
hand while they are dancing. By no word or look does she betray any
consciousness of his actions, and only when back at home she produces
the gift, and acquaints her parents with what has taken place. A family
council is then held as to the merits of the suitor, and the expediency
of accepting or rejecting the proposal. Should the latter be decided
upon, the maiden must take an early opportunity of intrusting the
silver coin to a near relation of the young man, who in receiving it
back is thereby informed that he has nothing further to hope in that
direction; but if three days have elapsed without his thaler returning
to him, he is entitled to regard this as encouragement, and may
commence to visit in the house of his sweetheart on the footing of an
official wooer.
In cases of rejection, it is considered a point of honor on the part
of all concerned that no word should betray the state of the case to
the outer world—a delicate reticence one is surprised to meet with in
these simple people.
This giving of the silver coin is probably a remnant of the old custom
of “buying the bride,” and in many villages it is customary still to
talk of the _brautkaufen_.
In some places it is usual for the lad who is courting to adorn
the window of his fair one with a flowering branch of hawthorn at
Pentecost, and at Christmas to fasten a sprig of mistletoe or a
fir-branch to the gable-end of her house.
To return, however, to the land of oats, where, after the harvest has
been successfully garnered, the bridegroom proceeds to make fast the
matter, or, in other words, officially to demand the girl’s hand of her
parents.
It is not consistent with village etiquette that the bridegroom _in
spe_ should apply directly to the father of his intended, but he
must depute some near relation or intimate friend to bring forward
his request. The girl’s parents, on their side, likewise appoint a
representative to transmit the answer. These two ambassadors are called
the _wortmacher_ (word-makers)—sometimes also the _hochzeitsväter_
(wedding-fathers). Much talking and speechifying are required correctly
to transact a wedding from beginning to end, and a fluent and eloquent
wortmacher is a much-prized individual.
Each village has its own set formulas for each of the like
occasions—long-winded pompous speeches, rigorously adhered to, and
admitting neither of alteration nor curtailment. The following fragment
of one of these speeches will give a correct notion of the general
style of Saxon oration. It is the hochzeitsvater who, in the name of
the young man’s parents, speaks as follows:
“A good-morning to you herewith, dear neighbors, and I further wish to
hear that you have rested softly this night, and been enabled to rise
in health and strength. And if such be the case I shall be rejoiced to
hear the same, and shall thank the Almighty for his mercies towards
you; and should your health and the peace of your household not be as
good as might be desired in every respect, so at least will I thank the
Almighty that he has made your lot to be endurable, and beg him further
in future only to send you so much trouble and affliction as you are
enabled patiently to bear at a time.
“Furthermore, I crave your forgiveness that I have made bold to enter
your house thus early this morning, and trust that my presence therein
may in no way inconvenience you, but that I may always comport myself
with honor and propriety, so that you may in nowise be ashamed of me,
and that you may be pleased to listen to the few words I have come
hither to say.
“God the Almighty having instituted the holy state of matrimony in
order to provide for the propagation of the human race, it is not
unknown to me, dearest neighbor, that many years ago you were pleased
to enter this holy state, taking to yourself a beloved wife, with
whom ever since you have lived in peace and happiness; and that,
furthermore, the Almighty, not wishing to leave you alone in your
union, was pleased to bless you, not only with temporal goods and
riches, but likewise with numerous offspring, with dearly beloved
children, to be your joy and solace. And among these beloved children
is a daughter, who has prospered and grown up in the fear of the Lord
to be a comely and virtuous maiden.
“And as likewise it may not be unknown to you that years ago we too
thought fit to enter the holy state of matrimony, and that the Lord was
pleased to bless our union, not with temporal goods and riches, but
with numerous offspring, with various beloved children, among whom is a
son, who has grown up, not in a garden of roses, but in care and toil,
and in the fear of the Lord.
“And now this same son, having grown to be a man, has likewise
bethought himself of entering the holy state of matrimony; and he has
prayed the Lord to guide him wisely in his choice, and to give him a
virtuous and God-fearing companion.
“Therefore he has been led over mountains and valleys, through forests
and rivers, over rocks and precipices, until he came to your house and
cast his eyes on the virtuous maiden your daughter. And the Lord has
been pleased to touch his heart with a mighty love for her, so that he
has been moved to ask you to give her hand to him in holy wedlock.”
Probably the young couple have grown up in sight of each other, the
garden of the one father very likely adjoining the pigsty of the other;
but the formula must be adhered to notwithstanding, and neither rocks
nor precipices omitted from the programme; and even though the parents
of the bride be a byword in the village for their noisy domestic
quarrels, yet the little fiction of conjugal happiness must be kept
up all the same, with a truly magnificent sacrifice of veracity to
etiquette worthy of any Court journal discussing a royal alliance.
And in point of fact a disinterested love-match between Saxon peasants
is about as rare a thing as a genuine courtship between reigning
princes. Most often it is a simple business contract arranged between
the family heads, who each of them hopes to reap advantage from the
bargain.
When the answer has been a consent, then the compact is sealed by a
feast called the _brautvertrinken_ (drinking the bride), to which are
invited only the nearest relations on either side, the places of honor
at the head of the table being given to the two ambassadors who have
transacted the business. A second banquet, of a more solemn nature, is
held some four weeks later, when rings have been exchanged in presence
of the pastor. The state of the weather at the moment the rings are
exchanged is regarded as prophetic for the married life of the young
couple, according as it may be fair or stormy.
Putting the ring on his bride’s finger, the young man says,
“I give thee here my ring so true;
God grant thou may it never rue!”