A Description of a Russian Wedding in Edgeley, North Dakota.
Originally published in the Aberdeen (SD) Daily News, July 24, 1889.
The grandest occasion in which I participated was the wedding of Michael Roloff, one of the most respected of the Russian kings [chiefs or leaders of the community]. Michael is fifty-five years of age, and the father of nine sons and four daughters. He unfortunately lost his wife in May, and a month’s solitude induced him to make advances to a demure widow who owned an adjoining section. I arrived on the morning of the wedding, and was received with marked courtesy. Wagon after wagon arrived laden with whole families, neighbors for many miles in all directions determining to do justice to the occasion.
Now as Michael’s house is no larger than his fellow’s, accommodations for so vast a crowd were exceedingly limited. The house was accordingly vacated and the visitors, in default of chairs or benches, seated themselves upon the smooth prairie, with the sun radiating a temperature of 105 degrees and calmly awaited the ceremonies. They spoke softly among themselves in a not unmusical gibberish, and maintained the utmost gravity. At last they mustered about 200 strong and the hour arrived which was to make my friend Roloff a happy man again. Suddenly a short, fat and jolly faced priest arose and extended his hands. The 200 heads at once bowed as low as their owners’ posture would permit, and the priest began a kind of chanting prayer that lasted at least twenty minutes. Amidst the silence which followed, Michael led forward his bride. The priest kissed the man and patted the woman’s head with the indescribable gentleness that is peculiar to his class. At this the assemblage burst forth into a loud wailing hymn. A man at my side drew from beneath his coat a yellow clarinet, of antiquated pattern, and its piercing tones, added to the tumult of noise, obliged me to stop my ears to relieve the agony I endured. A second prayer followed, of almost interminable length, and then the ceremony proper began. I shall not attempt to describe it. Sufficient be it to affirm that it consumed the greater part of three hours and was of the most solemn character. Verily, when a Russian is married he is firmly tied. As another thunderous hymn announced the close of the ceremonies, I found that the guests has [sic] been detained a little longer than four and one-half hours. The king’s four daughters now appeared, arms laden with huge loaves, which were cast promiscuously amid the crowd, who seized and devoured them with well-earned hunger. Platters of an oddly compounded cake, but half cooked, followed, and pails of black coffee with a tin dipper in each were constantly circulated, until gallons of it had been consumed. The newly married pair scrambled with the rest for their portions and ate greedily. When all were satisfied, the men formed in one long row, the women in another. Before their door stood the bride and groom. The men advanced one by one to Michael and, kissing his cheek, passed on to their vehicles. The women saluted the bride in a like manner and joined their husbands or fathers. Then, with a prolonged shout of farewell, the whip was applied and horses and teams started in every direction across the prairie to their destination. [sic] Thus ended the most novel wedding it has ever been my lot to witness. The ceremonies had consumed nearly the entire day, and if King Roloff was half as tired as I was at its conclusion, he won’t care to marry many times in one short lifetime.
Supposyville’s Good Idea
Supposyville for two weeks from
This day must use shank’s mare;
For ’tis vacation time, sweethearts,
For all the horses there!
By twos and twos they marched ’em off
To just the finest hill—
The greenest and the fairest one
In all Supposyville.
With shady trees and purling brooks
And sweetest clover, here
They’re left to rest and roll and graze
And exercise, my dear.
And they can all go barefoot, too—
Just like you girls and boys—
And run around and neigh and play
And make no end of noise.
No one to wake ’em up at dawn,
No “get ups!” and no “whoas!”
To bother them for two long weeks
And, best of all—no clothes.
No collars and no harnesses,
No saddles, bits, or reins,
No heavy loads down dusty roads,
No brushing tangled manes.
Aho! no combing out of tails,
No scrubbing and no currying;
No orders to be carried out,
No waiting ’round or worrying.
And so they won’t be lonely
Or homesick, the Queen and King
Go trudging up there every night
And –m! –m! the things they bring!
The King’s own riding horse is first
To see ’em and he runs
To meet them, followed by the rest,
The big and little ones.
And how they crowd around the two
To eat the apples red,
The carrots and the sugar lumps
Before they go to bed.
“It isn’t fair for them to work
Forever, and the walking
Is good for us old lazy bones,”
The King said. “No use talking.”
And pshaw! you ought to see, sweethearts,
How fit and fine and spry
They look when it is over. ’Tis
A plan we ought to try.
Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.
