THE SAXONS: MARRIAGE.
The 25th of November, feast of St. Catherine,[14] is in many districts
the day selected for tying all these matrimonial knots. When this is
not the case, then the weddings take place in Carnival, oftenest in the
week following the Sunday when the gospel of the marriage at Cana has
been read in church; and Wednesday is considered the most lucky day for
the purpose.
The preparations for the great day occupy the best part of a week
in every house which counts either a bride or bridegroom among its
inmates. There are loaves and cakes of various sorts and shapes to
be baked, fowls and pigs to be slaughtered; in wealthier houses
even the sacrifice of a calf or an ox is considered necessary for
the wedding-feast; and when this is the case the tongue is carefully
removed, and, placed upon the best china plate, with a few laurel
leaves by way of decoration, is carried to the parsonage as the
customary offering to the reverend Herr Vater.
The other needful provisions for the banquet are collected in the
following simple manner: On the afternoon of the Sunday preceding the
wedding, six young men belonging to the Brotherhood are despatched
by the Alt-knecht from house to house, where, striking a resounding
knock on each door, they make the village street re-echo with their
cry, “Bringt rahm!” (bring cream). This is a summons which none may
refuse, all those who belong to that neighborhood being bound to send
contributions in the shape of milk, cream, eggs, butter, lard, or
bacon, to those wedding-houses within their quarter; and every gift,
even the smallest one of a couple of eggs, is received with thanks, and
the messenger rewarded by a glass of wine.
Next day the women of both families assemble to bake the wedding-feast,
the future mother-in-law of the bride keeping a sharp lookout on the
girl, to note whether she acquits herself creditably of her household
duties. This day is in fact a sort of final examination the bride has
to pass through in order to prove herself worthy of her new dignity;
so woe to the maiden who is dilatory in mixing the dough or awkward at
kneading the loaves.
While this is going on the young men have been to the forest to fetch
firing-wood, for it is a necessary condition that the wood for heating
the oven where the wedding-loaves are baked should be brought in
expressly for the occasion, even though there be small wood in plenty
lying ready for use in the shed.
The cart is gayly decorated with flowers and streamers, and the wood
brought home with much noise and merriment, much in the old English
style of bringing in the yule-log. On their return from the forest,
the gate of the court-yard is found to be closed; or else a rope, from
which are suspended straw bunches and bundles, is stretched across the
entrance. The women now advance, with much clatter of pots and pans,
and pretend to defend the yard against the besiegers; but the men tear
down the rope, and drive in triumphantly, each one catching at a straw
bundle in passing. Some of these are found to contain cakes or apples,
others only broken crockery or egg-shells.
The young men sit up late splitting the logs into suitable size for
burning. Their duties further consist in lighting the fire, drawing
water from the well, and putting it to boil on the hearth. Thus they
work till into the small hours of the morning, now and then refreshing
themselves with a hearty draught of home-made wine. When all is
prepared, it is then the turn of the men to take some rest, and they
wake the girls with an old song running somewhat as follows:
“All in the early morning gray,
A lass would rise at break of day.
Arise, arise,
Fair lass, arise,
And ope your eyes,
For darkness flies,
And your true-love he comes to-day.
“So, lassie, would you early fill
Your pitcher at the running rill,
Awake, awake,
Fair maid, awake,
Your pitcher take,
For dawn doth break,
And come to-day your true-love will.”
Another song of equally ancient origin is sung the evening before the
marriage, when the bride takes leave of her friends and relations.[15]
“I walked beside the old church wall;
My love stood there, but weeping all.
I greeted her, and thus she spake:
‘My heart is sore, dear love, alack!
I must depart, I must be gone;
When to return, God knows alone!
When to return?—when the black crow
Bears on his wing plumes white as snow.
“‘I set two roses in my father’s land—
O father, dearest father, give me once more thy hand!
I set two roses in my mother’s land—
O mother, dearest mother, give me again thy hand!
I must depart, I must be gone;
When to return, God knows alone!
When to return?—when the black crow
Bears on his wing plumes white as snow.
“‘I set two roses in my brother’s land—
O brother, dearest brother, give me again thy hand!
I set two roses in my sister’s land—
O sister, dearest sister, give me again thy hand!
I must away, I must be gone;
When to return, God knows alone!
When to return?—when the black crow
Bears on his wing plumes white as snow.
“‘I set again two roses under a bush of yew—
O comrades, dearest comrades, I say my last adieu!
No roses shall I set more in this my native land—
O parents, brother, sister, comrades, give me once more your hand!
I must away, I must be gone;
When to return, God knows alone!
When to return?—when the black crow
Bears on his wing plumes white as snow.
“‘And when I came to the dark fir-tree,[16]
An iron kettle my father gave me;
And when I came unto the willow,
My mother gave a cap and a pillow.
Woe’s me! ’tis only those who part
Can tell how parting tears the heart!
“‘And when unto the bridge I came,
I turned me round and looked back again;
I saw no mother nor father more,
And I bitterly wept, for my heart was sore.
Woe’s me! ’tis only those who part
Can tell how parting tears the heart!
“‘And when I came before the gate,
The bolt was drawn, and I must wait;
And when I came to the wooden bench,
They said, “She’s but a peevish wench!”
Woe’s me! ’tis only those who part
Can tell how parting tears the heart!
“‘And when I came to the strangers’ hearth,
They whispered, “She is little worth;”
And when I came before the bed,
I sighed, “Would I were yet a maid!”
Woe’s me! ’tis only those who part
Can tell how parting tears the heart!
“‘My house is built of goodly stone,
But in its walls I feel so lone!
A mantle of finest cloth I wear,
But ’neath it an aching heart I bear.
Loud howls the wind, wild drives the snow,
Parting, oh, parting is bitterest woe!
On the belfry tower is a trumpet shrill,
But down the kirkyard the dead lie still.’”
Very precise are the formalities to be observed in inviting the
wedding-guests. A member of the bride’s family is deputed as _einlader_
(inviter), and, invested with a brightly painted staff as insignia of
his office, he goes the round of the friends and relations to be asked.
It is customary to invite all kinsfolk within the sixth degree of
relationship, though many of these are not expected to comply with the
summons, the invitations in such cases being simply a matter of form,
politely tendered on the one side and graciously received on the other,
but not meant to be taken literally, as being but honorary invitations.
Unless particular arrangements have been made to the contrary, it
is imperative that the invitations, in order to be valid, should
be repeated with all due formalities, as often as three times, the
slightest divergence from this rule being severely judged and commented
upon; and mortal offence has often been taken by a guest who bitterly
complains that he was only twice invited. In some villages it is,
moreover, customary to invite anew for each one of the separate
meals which take place during the three or four days of the wedding
festivities.
Early on the wedding morning the bridegroom despatches his _wortmann_
with the _morgengabe_ (morning gift) to the bride. This consists in a
pair of new shoes, to which are sometimes added other small articles,
such as handkerchiefs, ribbons, a cap, apples, nuts, cakes, etc. An
ancient superstition requires that the young matron should carefully
treasure up these shoes if she would assure herself of kind treatment
on the part of her husband, who “will not begin to beat her till the
wedding-shoes are worn out.” The ambassador, in delivering over the
gifts to the _wortmann_ of the other party, speaks as follows:
“Good-morning to you, Herr Wortmann, and to all worthy friends here
assembled. The friends on our side have charged me to wish you all
a very good morning. I have further come hither to remind you of
the laudable custom of our fathers and grandfathers, who bethought
themselves of presenting their brides with a small morning gift. So in
the same way our young master the bridegroom, not wishing to neglect
this goodly patriarchal custom, has likewise sent me here with a
trifling offering to his bride, trusting that this small gift may be
agreeable and pleasing to you.”
The bride, on her side, sends to the bridegroom a new linen shirt,
spun, woven, sewed, and embroidered by her own hands. This shirt he
wears but twice—once on his wedding-day for going to church, the
second time when he is carried to the grave.
Before proceeding to church the men assemble at the house of the
bridegroom, and the women at that of the bride. The young people only
accompany the bridal pair to church, the elder members of both families
remaining at home until the third invitation has been delivered, after
which all proceed together to the house of the bride, where the first
day’s festivities are held.
In some villages it is customary for the young couple returning from
church to the house of the bridegroom to have their two right hands
tied together before stepping over the threshold. A glass of wine and
a piece of bread are given to them ere they enter, of which they must
both partake together, the bridegroom then throwing the glass away over
the house-roof.
There is much speechifying and drinking of healths, and various meals
are served up at intervals of three or four hours, each guest being
provided with a covered jug, which must always be kept replenished with
wine.
It is usual for each guest to bring a small gift as contribution to the
newly set-up household of the young couple, and these are deposited on
a table decked for the purpose in the centre of the court-yard, or,
if the weather be unfavorable, inside the house—bride and bridegroom
standing on either side to receive the gifts. First it is the
bridegroom’s father, who, approaching the table, deposits thereon a new
shining ploughshare, as symbol that his son must earn his bread by the
sweat of his brow; then the mother advances with a new pillow adorned
with bows of colored ribbon, and silver head-pins stuck at the four
corners. These gay ornaments are meant to represent the pleasures and
joys of matrimony, but two long streamers of black ribbon, which hang
down to the ground on either side, are placed there likewise to remind
the young couple of the crosses and misfortunes which must inevitably
fall to their share. The other relations of the bridegroom follow in
due precedence, each with a gift. Sometimes it is a piece of homespun
linen, a colored handkerchief, or some such article of dress or
decoration; sometimes a roll of sheet-iron, a packet of nails, a knife
and fork, or a farming or gardening implement, each one laying down his
or her gift with the words, “May it be pleasing to you.”
Then follow the kinsfolk of the bride with similar offerings, her
father presenting her with a copper caldron or kettle, her mother with
a second pillow decorated in the same manner as the first one.
Playful allusions are not unfrequently concealed in these gifts—a
doll’s cradle, or a young puppy-dog wrapped in swaddling-clothes, often
figuring among the presents ranged on the table.
Various games and dances fill up the pauses between the meals—songs
and speeches, often of a somewhat coarse and cynical nature, forming
part of the usual programme. Among the games occasionally enacted at
Saxon peasant weddings there is one which deserves a special mention,
affording, as it does, a curious proof of the tenacity of old pagan
rites and customs transmitted by verbal tradition from one generation
to the other. This is the _rössel-tanz_, or dance of the horses,
evidently founded on an ancient Scandinavian legend, to be found in
Snorri’s “Edda.” In this tale the gods Thor and Loki came at nightfall
to a peasant’s house in a carriage drawn by two goats or rams, and
asked for a night’s lodging. Thor killed the two rams, and with the
peasant and his family consumed the flesh for supper. The bones were
then ordered to be thrown in a heap on to the hides of the animals; but
one of the peasant’s sons had, in eating, broken open a bone in order
to suck the marrow within, and next morning, when the god commanded
the goats to get up, one of them limped on the hind-leg because of the
broken bone, on seeing which Thor was in a great rage, and threatened
to destroy the peasant and his whole family, but finally allowed
himself to be pacified, and accepted the two sons as hostages.
In the peasant drama here alluded to, the gods Thor and Loki are
replaced by a colonel and a lieutenant-colonel, while instead of two
goats there are two horses and one goat; also, the two sons of the
peasant are here designated as Wallachians. Everything is, of course,
much distorted and changed, but yet all the principal features of the
drama are clearly to be recognized—the killing of the goat and its
subsequent resurrection, the colonel’s rage, and the transferment
of the two Wallachians into his service, all being part of the
performance.
At midnight, or sometimes later, when the guests are about to depart,
there prevails in some villages a custom which goes by the name of _den
borten abtanzen_, dancing down the bride’s crown. This head-covering,
which I have already described, is the sign of her maidenhood, which
she must lay aside now that she has become a wife, and it is danced
off in the following manner: All the married women present, except
the very oldest and most decrepit, join hands—two of them, appointed
as brideswomen, taking the bride between them. Thus forming a wide
circle, they dance backward and forward round and round the room,
sometimes forming a knot in the centre, sometimes far apart, till
suddenly, either by accident or on purpose, the chain is broken
through at one place, which is the signal for all to rush out into
the court-yard, still holding hands. From some dark corner there now
springs unexpectedly a stealthy robber, one of the bridesmen, who has
been lying there in ambush to rob the bride of her crown. Sometimes
she is defended by two brothers or relations, who, dealing out blows
with twisted up handkerchiefs or towels, endeavor to keep the thief
at a distance; but the struggle always ends with the loss of the
head-dress, which the young matron bewails with many tears and sobs.
The brideswomen now solemnly invest her with her new head-gear, which
consists of a snowy cap and veil, held together by silver or jewelled
pins, sometimes of considerable value. This head-dress, which fits
close to the face, concealing all the hair, has a nun-like effect, but
is not unbecoming to fresh young faces.
Sometimes, after the bride is invested in her matronly head-gear, she,
along with two other married women (in some villages old, in others
young), is concealed behind a curtain or sheet, and the husband is
made to guess which is his wife, all three trying to mislead him by
grotesque gestures from beneath the sheet.
On the morning after the wedding bridesmen and brideswomen early repair
to the room of the newly married couple, presenting them with a cake
in which hairs of cows and buffaloes, swine’s bristles, feathers, and
egg-shells are baked. Both husband and wife must at least swallow a
bite of this unsavory compound, to insure the welfare of cattle and
poultry during their married life.[17]
After the morning meal the young wife goes to church to be blessed
by the priest, escorted by the two brideswomen, walking one on either
side. While she is praying within, her husband meanwhile waits at the
church-door, but no sooner does she reappear at the threshold than the
young couple are surrounded by a group of masked figures, who playfully
endeavor to separate the wife from her husband. If they succeed in
so doing, then he must win her back in a hand-to-hand fight with his
adversaries, or else give money as ransom. It is considered a bad omen
for the married life of the young couple if they be separated on this
occasion; therefore the young husband takes his stand close against
the church-door, to be ready to clutch his wife as soon as she steps
outside—for greater precaution, often holding her round the waist
with both hands during the dance which immediately ensues in front of
the church, and at which the newly married couple merely assist as
spectators.
As several couples are usually married at the same time, it is
customary for each separate wedding-party to bring its own band of
music, and dance thus independently of the others. On the occasion of a
triple wedding I once witnessed, it was very amusing to watch the three
wedding-parties coming down the street, each accelerating its pace
till it came to be a sort of race between them up to the church-door,
in order to secure the best dancing-place. The ground being rough
and slanting, there was only one spot where anything like a flat
dancing-floor could be obtained; and the winning party at once securing
this enviable position, the others had to put up with an inclined
plane, with a few hillocks obstructing their ball-room _parquet_.
The eight to ten couples belonging to each wedding-party are enclosed
in a ring of by-standers, each rival band of music playing away with
heroic disregard for the scorched ears of the audience. “Walser!” calls
out the first group; “Polka!” roars the second—for it is a point of
honor that each party display a noble independence in taking its own
line of action; and if, out of mere coincidence, two of the bands
happen to strike up the self-same tune, one of them will be sure to
change abruptly to something totally different, as soon as aware of the
unfortunate mistake—the caterwauling effect produced by this system
baffling all description. “This is nothing at all,” said the pastor,
from whose garden I was overlooking the scene, laughing at the dismay
with which I endeavored to stop my ears. “Sometimes we have eight or
ten weddings at a time, each with its own fiddlers—that is something
worth hearing indeed!”
The rest of this second day is spent much in the same way as the former
one, only this time it is at the house of the bridegroom’s parents.
In some places it is usual on this day for the young couple,
accompanied by the wedding-party, to drive back to the house of the
bride’s parents in order to fetch her _truhe_—viz., the painted wooden
coffer in which her trousseau has been stored. The young wife remains
sitting on the cart, while her husband goes in and fetches the coffer.
Then he returns once more, and addresses the following speech to his
mother-in-law: “It is not unknown to me, dearest mother, that you have
prepared various articles, at the toil of your hands, for your dearest
child, for which may you be heartily thanked; and may God in future
continue to bless your labor, and give you health and strength to
accomplish the same.
“But as it has become known to me that the coffer containing your dear
child’s effects has got a lock, and as to every lock there must needs
be a key, so have I come to beg you to give me this key, in order that
we may be enabled to take what we require from out the coffer.”[18]
Among the customs attached to this first day of wedded life is that of
breaking the distaff. If the young matron can succeed in doing so at
one stroke across her knee, she will be sure to have strong and healthy
sons born of her wedlock; if not, then she has but girls to expect.
The third day is called the finishing-up day, each family assembling
its own friends and relations to consume the provisions remaining over
from the former banquets, and at the same time to wash up the cooking
utensils and crockery, restoring whatever has been borrowed from
neighbors in the shape of plates, jugs, etc.—the newly married couple
joining the entertainment, now at the one, now at the other house.
This day is the close of the wedding festivities, which have kept both
families in a state of bustle and turmoil for fully a week. Everything
now returns to every-day order and regularity, the young couple usually
taking up their abode in a small back room of the house of the young
man’s parents, putting off till the following spring the important
business of building their own house. Dancing and feasting are now at
an end, and henceforth the earnest of life begins, though it is usual
to say that “only after they have licked a stone of salt together” can
a proper understanding exist between husband and wife.
FOOTNOTES:
[14] St. Catherine is throughout Germany the patroness of old
maids—likewise in France, “coiffer la Sainte Catherine.”
[15] Out of the several slightly different versions of this song to be
found in different districts I have selected those verses which seemed
most intelligible.
[16] Two fir-trees were often planted before Saxon peasant houses.
[17] So in the Altmark the newly married couple used to be served with
a soup composed of cattle-fodder, hay, beans, oats, etc., to cause the
farm animals to thrive.
[18] In Sweden the mother takes her seat on the coffer containing her
daughter’s effects, and refuses to part with it till the son-in-law has
ransomed it with money.