Some one in the name of the parents gives the following answer: —
Nay, my foolish daughter, nay,
You are only fair to-day;
Once a wife and not a maid,
Then your beauty soon will fade.
Grey will turn your raven hair,
Brown the skin that is so fair,
Day by day and hour by hour,
Like unto a faded flower.
On hearing this, the young girl's desire for matrimony appears to be somewhat cooled down, and she sings, —
Parents dear, I pray,
Send me not away;
Say the bridesmen no,
Do not let me go.
See my little foot
In its leather boot.
While the boots are new,
Let me bide with you;
When the shoes are worn,
And the soles are torn,
Rent at heel and toe,
Only then I'll go!
The parents, however, do not close with this offer of their daughter, and are of opinion that she has lived with them quite long enough: —
Nay, my daughter, nay.
Here you cannot stay.
Many boots you've worn,
Many clothes you've torn:
You must now be wed,
And your daily bread
Elsewhere you must find;
For your mother kind,
And your father true,
Have no more for you.
Cut your raven hair —
No more wreath you'll wear;
Call the holy priest;
Bake the wedding feast;
Sound the harp and lute —
Flowers must turn to fruit.
Towards the close of the ceremony the bride's hair is cut to about the height of her shoulders, her wreath is taken off, and she is solemnly invested with the cap, which henceforward marks her as a matron. This taking off of the wreath has given rise to countless songs and rhymes : one of these is as follows, and was sung at Magda's wedding: —
"Oh, why do you weep, my bonny lass,
By the river Don to-day?"
"I weep to-day for my golden wreath
Which the water has swept away."
"Oh, do not weep more, my bonny lass.
For I have a milk-white swan,
And he will fetch back your golden wreath
From out of the river Don."
And the milk-white swan, he swam so fast,
But the crown swam faster yet.
"My bonny gold wreath! my virgin wreath!
I weep for you, and I fret!"
Then the milk-white swan he spread his wings,
And flew through the air apace;
But the golden wreath he could not reach,
And the swan, he lost the race.
For though faster yet, and faster still
Pursued it the flying swan;
The golden wreath, it sank down beneath
The waves of the river Don!
The maiden she stood by the water-side,
And she loudly cried, "Dear swan!
Oh bring me back my bonny gold wreath
From out of the river Don!"
No wreath brought back the milk-white swan,
For he could not find it more;
But a dainty cap of linen fine
In his beak aloft he bore.
"Your wreath it is lost, my bonny lass.
But 'tis useless to repine;
So dry your sweet eyes, and deck your head
With this cap of linen fine."
The linen cap it was gently placed
Her jetty curls upon.
But over the maiden's golden wreath
Rolled the waves of the river Don.
Madame Wolska had presented Magda with sheets and pillow-covers on her marriage; and she sent down supplies of apples and sausages, white bread and brandy, to furnish the wedding feast. But though there was good fare in plenty, there was no sense of gaiety among the wedding guests; the impression left by the cholera was as yet too recent to be got rid of. None of the usual games and jokes were practised on this occasion; there was little singing, and no dancing, and not a single man drank more wódki than was good for him. It was all as decorous, and nearly as dull, as a court ceremony. Nevertheless, all the details of the ceremony were carefully observed; and when the loaves were cut, the "Song of the Wheaten Bread," which belonged to the village programme, was sung, inserting as usual the names of the new-married couple.
SONG OF THE WHEATEN BREAD.
"Come, wheaten bread, and tell me true,
Who was it ploughed your field?"
"Filip it was, and Magda too;
They met first in that field.
He looked at her.
And gave a sigh, —
The furrows were
All ploughed awry."
