“Here come some of the wedding parties,” said Birger; “there seem to be plenty of happy couples in Soberud this year. Well! there is nothing like fashion,—in this, as in other things, one fool makes many. Look at that leading boat!—that one, I mean, just pulling round the point of the island!—there is a crowned bride in her! Holy Gefjon, Mother of Maids! such a sight as that is rare in Norway! I should think the chances were that she got some one to pull her crown off her head before the day was over. She does not seem much afraid, either, and an uncommonly pretty girl, too, which makes it all the more wonderful. Well! well! ‘a virtuous woman is a crown to her husband;’ I hope he will appreciate his blessings as he ought, such blessings as that do not fall to the lot of many in this country.”
“What do you mean by that, Birger?” said the Parson, getting up, and shading his eyes with his hands as he looked out on the lake.
“Ah, you may well shade your eyes before beauty and innocence,” said Birger; “you do not often see them combined, in this country.”
“Well, the fact is this,” said he, dropping his bantering tone, “what you commonly call virtue—that is to say, chastity,—is a very rare article indeed, I am sorry to say, either in Norway or Sweden; the manners of the people do not tend to foster it. Their promiscuous way of living in the winter, and the sœter life in summer, makes it absolutely necessary for a girl either to have a very great respect for herself, or to be forbiddingly ugly; and whatever the case may have been in earlier and better times, certain it is that beauty is now much more common among us than self-respect. Then, again, the laws which prevail in Sweden, and the customs, which the Udal tenures in Norway make as stringent as laws, forbid any to marry who are not householders (whence your word husband, which simply means huus bonde—a peasant with a house), and at the same time forbid the erection of more than a specified number of houses on any land. All this renders early marriages almost impossible. The result may easily be imagined. And to make this the more certain, our wise laws enact that a woman, having any number of children by any number of fathers, who at any time of her life shall marry any one whatever, by the simple act of marriage affiliates all the children she may ever have had on her unhappy husband; and wherever the Udal law prevails, he is obliged to share his land equally among them. The consequence of this is, that unchastity is no sort of disgrace. It is the commonest thing in the world for a noble to live with a woman all his life, under promise of marriage to be performed on his death-bed, and the woman is all the while received much like the Morganatic bride of a German prince. Frederika Bremer, herself as exemplary a woman as ever lived, has made the plot of one of her novels to hinge on a man living in such a manner, and dying suddenly, without being able to perform his promise. She does not attach the shadow of disgrace to any one, except the relatives of the deceased, who refused to acknowledge the woman merely on account of this ‘unfortunate accident,’ as she calls it. And so it is. Had she written otherwise, she would have been out of costume; there is no disgrace in the matter. I do not mean to say that this girl is not proud of her crown—of course she is, just as I am proud of this blue and yellow ribbon of mine,” pointing to the Order of the Sword with which he had decorated his uniform-coat for the occasion; “but look how she is kissing that girl in green, who has just landed from that other boat,—that is another bride who cannot claim the distinction; she no more thinks her disgraced, than I should think a brother officer disgraced to whom his gracious Majesty had not been pleased to give the same distinction that he has to me.”
“There seem to be plenty of brides,” said the Parson, “for there is another green lady, of damaged fame; she seems to be a rich one, by the number of her fiddlers before, and followers after.”
“They generally have one wedding-day for the district,” said Birger, “and a good plan too; it diminishes the expense when they all have their festivities together, and diminishes the drunkenness very considerably, both on the day and on its anniversaries, for the whole district get drunk together at once, and get it over, instead of inviting one another to help them to on their several wedding-days.”
“But what are the ‘crowns?’” said the Parson.
“An ancient custom, by which they challenge any imputation on their fair fame; any one who has anything to say against the chastity of the wearer, is privileged to pull off the crown and to drive the lady out of the church, only the accuser is bound to prove his allegations.”
“It seems a pretty expensive affair, at least, to judge of it at this distance.”
“O yes, far too expensive to be the property of any individual; they hire it for the occasion, and, I will be bound, pay five or six dollars for the pleasure of wearing that and the rest of the costume. Just look at her as she comes into the light; that dress of black bombazine, with the short sleeves and white mittens, is probably her own,—very likely it was her mother’s before her, only fresh dyed for the occasion; but that gay apron, with the ribbons, and beads, and the silver chains and necklaces, I should think were hired; the dollars round her neck are her dowry in all probability, and, consequently, her own; so is the muff, and the handkerchiefs of various colours that hang from it; and possibly, also, those yellow kid gloves. But look at the crown itself! why it is silver gilt!—and that scarf, which hangs down from the spray on the top of it, is covered with satin lappets, three-quarters long! now do you think a peasant would buy that? A green bridal, you see, is a much more modest affair; they wear their silver chains over their green bodices like the others, but on their heads, instead of the crown, they have the ordinary wimple of married women, made of fine white linen, and above it the triangular snood of unmarried girls.”