Wedding of Pinchus and Hannah Hayye

The Wedding of Pinchus and Hannah Hayye stands at the center of Mary Antin's account of her parents' Old World life, a ceremony so lavish that it was remembered for its gayety and splendor decades later. The guests included some of the finest people in Polotzk; while the bride's grandfather was not quite at the top of the social scale, his business connections reached those who were, and they all turned out for the wedding of his only daughter, the men in silk frock coats, the women in all their jewelry. The bridegroom's aunts and cousins came in full force, with wedding messengers sent to every person who could possibly claim relationship with the hossen. The bride's parents were too generous to slight the lowliest; instead of burning the barn, they did all they could to garnish it. One or two of the more important of the poor relations came to the wedding in gowns paid for by the rich grandfather, while the rest arrived in borrowed finery or in undisguised shabbiness. But nobody thought of staying away—except the obstructive cousin who had nearly prevented the match.

The Marriage Bargain and Its Context

The wedding was the culmination of a system that governed every Jewish girl's life in the Pale of Settlement. Marriage was a sacrament with the Jews of the Pale; to rear a family of children was to serve God, and every Jewish man and woman had a part in the fulfilment of the ancient promise given to Jacob that his seed should be abundantly scattered over the earth. Parenthood, therefore, was the great career. But while men, in addition to begetting, might busy themselves with the study of the Law, woman's only work was motherhood. To be left an old maid became the greatest misfortune that could threaten a girl, and to ward off that calamity the girl and her family, to the most distant relatives, would strain every nerve, whether by contributing to her dowry, hiding her defects from the marriage broker, or praying and fasting that God might send her a husband. A girl's real schoolroom was her mother's kitchen, where she learned to bake and cook and manage, to knit, sew, and embroider; and while her hands were busy, her mother instructed her in the laws regulating a pious Jewish household and in the conduct proper for a Jewish wife, for every girl hoped to be a wife—a girl was born for no other purpose.

The Splendor of the Ceremony

The wedding itself was memorable for its gayety and splendor. The bridegroom, on his part, had reason to rejoice without any reservations: he was going into a highly respectable family, with a name supported by property and business standing. The promised dowry was considerable, the presents were generous, the trousseau would be liberal, and the bride was fair and capable. The bridegroom would have years before him in which he need do nothing but eat free board, wear his new clothes, and study Torah; and his poor relations could hold up their heads at the market stalls and in the rear pews in the synagogue. The bride's trousseau was all that a mother-in-law could wish. The best tailor in Polotzk was engaged to make the cloaks and gowns, and his shop was filled to bursting with ample lengths of velvet and satin and silk. The wedding gown alone cost every kopeck of fifty rubles, as the tailor's wife reported all over Polotzk. The lingerie was of the best, and the seamstress was engaged on it for many weeks. Featherbeds, linen, household goods of every sort—everything was provided in abundance. The bride crocheted many yards of lace to trim the best sheets, and fine silk coverlets adorned the plump beds. Many a marriageable maiden who came to view the trousseau went home to prink and blush and watch for the shadchan.

The Delay and the Red-Flower

The ceremony nearly collapsed over a matter of wounded pride. When it was time to conduct the bride to the wedding canopy, the bridegroom's mother missed Henne Rösel, a first cousin. The house was searched for her, but in vain; nobody had seen her. The bride's grandmother could not bear to have the marriage solemnized in the absence of a first cousin, for such a wedding as this was not likely to be repeated in her family, and it would be a great pity if any of the relatives missed it. So she petitioned the principals to delay the ceremony while she herself went in search of the missing cousin. Clear over to the farthest end of the town she walked, lifting her gala dress well above her ankles. She found Henne Rösel in her untidy kitchen, sound in every limb but sulky in spirit. The cousin flatly refused to go; the bride might remain an old maid, for all she cared. The root of the sulkiness was drawn out at last: Henne Rösel complained that she had not been properly invited. The wedding messenger had come, but had not addressed her as flatteringly, as respectfully as she had been heard to address the wife of Yohem, the money-lender. The grandmother had a struggle of it, but she succeeded in soothing the sensitive cousin, who consented at length to don her best dress and go to the wedding.

The Bride's Indignity

While the grandmother labored with Henne Rösel, the bride sat in state in her father's house under the hill, the maidens danced, and the matrons fanned themselves, while the fiddlers and zimblers scraped and tinkled. But as the hours went by, the matrons became restless and the dancers wearied. The poor relations grew impatient for the feast, and the babies in their laps began to fidget and cry; while the bride grew faint, and the bridegroom's party began to send frequent messengers from the house next door, demanding to know the cause of the delay. Some of the guests at last lost all patience and begged leave to go home, but before they went they deposited the wedding presents in the bride's satin lap, till she resembled a heathen image hung about with offerings. The bride, after thirty years of bustling life, retained a lively memory of the embarrassment she suffered while waiting for the arrival of the troublesome cousin. When that important dame at last appeared, with her chin in the air, the artificial flower still stuck belligerently into her dusty wig, and the grandmother beaming behind her, the bride's heart fairly jumped with anger, and the red blood of indignation set her cheeks afire. No wonder that she speaks the name of the Red-Flower with an unloving accent to this day, although she has forgiven the enemies who did her greater wrong. The bride is a princess on her wedding day; to put upon her an indignity is an unpardonable offense.

Aftermath and the Path to America

After the feasting and dancing, which lasted a whole week, the wedding presents were locked up, the bride, with her hair discreetly covered, returned to her father's store, and the groom, with his new praying-shawl, repaired to the synagogue. This was all according to the marriage bargain, which implied that the father was to study and pray and fill the house with the spirit of piety, in return for board and lodging and the devotion of his wife and her entire family. All the parties concerned had entered into this bargain in good faith, so far as they knew their own minds. But the eighteen-year-old bridegroom, before many months had passed, began to realize that he felt no such hunger for the word of the Law as he was supposed to feel. He felt, rather, a hunger for life that all his studying did not satisfy. He was not trained enough to analyze his own thoughts to any purpose; he was not experienced enough to understand where his thoughts were leading him. He only knew that he felt no call to pray and fast, that the Torah did not inspire him, and his days were blank. The life he was expected to lead grew distasteful to him, and yet he knew no other way to live. He became lax in his attendance at the synagogue, incurring the reproach of the family. It began to be rumored among the studious that the son-in-law of Raphael the Russian was not devoting himself to his studies. This discontent, born in the aftermath of the wedding's bargain, would eventually carry him westward to America, leaving his wife and children behind until the steamer ticket could be sent. The wedding thus marks not an ending but the beginning of the long road that led from Polotzk to Boston, from the sacrament of the Pale to the promise of the New World.