Elopements are very common in England. Do not imagine, however, for an instant, that an elopement means anything very romantic. No signal or rope ladder at midnight; no carriage with two swift steeds waiting at the corner of the next street; no masked postillions, such as one is accustomed to at the Ambigu Theatre. Nothing of the kind. As I said in “John Bull and his Island,” “A young girl goes out one fine morning to post a letter, and, on her return, informs her parents that she is married.” Only; of course, it sometimes happens that she does not return.
In the appendix will be found the account of a case that has recently been tried in Dublin.[2] The prisoner, aged forty-two, had been through the ceremony of marriage five times.
[2] See [Appendix (a)].
But for marriage made easy, Scotland is the place. There civil marriage, religious marriage, all is unnecessary. You gather together your parents and friends, present to them the young girl to whom you are engaged, and tell them: “This is the wife I have chosen.” The matter is settled: you are married.
If I may believe certain Scotch novels, this presentation even may be dispensed with. It is sufficient for the young people to say to each other: “I take you for my wife;” “I accept you as my husband,” in order to be able to consider themselves well and duly married. “A wedding is all very well,” Sandy will tell you, “but for real fun and enjoyment, give me a good funeral.”
I do not speak of these Scotch weddings with the least intention of laughing at them. I think those primitive customs simply admirable. Laws, contracts, and other impediments of all kinds are only made for rogues.
Compare this charming manner of getting married with the bothers and hindrances without end arising from the necessity for producing the papers exacted by the French bureaucracy, both religious and civil: certificates of birth, certificates of baptism, certificates of the death of parents you may have lost, written consent of parents who are unable to be present, billets de confession, and I know not what besides; until you wonder Red Tape does not demand your own certificate of existence. It would seem as though the marriage formalities in France had been invented with the express idea of making young people shun matrimony.
Dress coats are not worn at weddings in England; they are only used for evening wear, and are called evening coats. The bridegroom, his best man, and the other gentlemen, are in frock coats. The dresses of the bride and bridesmaids are similar to those worn in France on such occasions.
The bride is led to the altar by her father. When the clergyman says: “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” the father advances, and replies: “I do.” The dear man always appears to me radiant on these occasions; with happy heart and beaming countenance he answers: “I do.” It is true he gives his daughter, but as that is generally all he gives, it is a clear profit for him: one mouth less to fill.
A suitor never thinks of asking for a dot with his bride, as I have said elsewhere. I even added: “Girls of the middle class in England have no dot; or when they have, it is the exception, and not the rule.” This assertion brought down upon me a plethora of recriminations. “What, Sir,” wrote the indignant British parents, “we give no dots to our daughters! But, begging your pardon, we do so when we have the means.”