The Marriage Book (70 page)

W

WEDDINGS

RUMI

“THIS MARRIAGE,” 13TH CENTURY

Renowned Persian Sufi mystic Mevlána Jaláluddin Rumi (circa 1207–1273) (the spelling of his full name differs widely) wrote rhythmic, spiritually inspired poetry, often intended to be sung and accompanied by a whirling dance. His deep connection to a charismatic holy man named Shams al Din, and Shams’s murder (probably by Rumi’s resentful family), were said to inspire his most passionate poems of love and loss. The universality of his work has led to its wide translation and broad appeal over centuries and continents.

May these vows and this marriage be blessed.

May it be sweet milk,

this marriage, like wine and halvah.

May this marriage offer fruit and shade like the date palm.

May this marriage be full of laughter, our every day a day in paradise.

May this marriage be a sign of compassion,
a seal of happiness here and hereafter.

May this marriage have a fair face and a good name, an omen as welcome

as the moon in a clear blue sky.

I am out of words to describe how spirit mingles in this marriage.

MARRIAGE BUREAU, CIRCA 1900

EMILY HOLT

EVERYMAN’S ENCYCLOPÆDIA OF ETIQUETTE
, 1901

In her oft-reprinted book of etiquette, the pseudonymous author Emily Holt wrote about what foods should be eaten with fingers, what cards to leave after a funeral, how to achieve noiseless eating, and what to do at a ball about “the guest who does not dance.” Engagements and weddings merited their own section, and the groom’s and best man’s special challenges did not escape her attention.

A question that calls for consideration—What is the proper disposition for the best man to make of his own and the groom’s hat? One of the best man’s most obvious duties is supposed to be the guardianship of the groom’s hat and gloves during the ceremony. It stands to reason that if he takes his own hat and gloves into the chancel and also assumes the care of his friend’s belongings, he will not only present a ludicrous spectacle as he stands through the service with a silk hat in either hand, but when the moment for presentation of the ring arrives he will be unable, without awkwardly laying aside at least one hat and one pair of gloves, to fulfill his allotted and most important office in the programme. In recent seasons, at well-ordered weddings, hats have not been carried into the chancel. In the vestry the best man takes charge of his friend’s hat and, placing it with his own, sends them by a trusty person to the door of the church, so that when the bridal procession files out they may be delivered back to the owners just as they are passing to their respective carriages. This is especially the course when the best man on coming out is to walk down the aisle with a maid of honor on his arm. At a wedding where there is no maid of honor the best man can, if he prefers, leave his own hat and gloves in the vestry room, and when the ceremony is over make his exit from the church through the vestry, to find his carriage awaiting him at a side door. This leaves him free to hold the groom’s hat and gloves and still present the ring and the fee.

MYRA PIPKIN

ORAL HISTORY INTERVIEW, 1941

A migrant worker named Myra Pipkin, interviewed for an oral history of the Dust Bowl, recalled these maxims on marriage attire. There have been many others, by far the most famous today being the adage that originated in Victorian England: “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.” The usually forgotten last line: “And a silver sixpence in her shoe.”

Marry in white

You’re sure to be right.

Marry in blue

You’re sure to be true.

Marry in green

You’re ashamed to be seen.

Marry in brown

You’ll live in town.

Marry in red

You’ll wish yourself dead.

Marry in black

You’ll wish yourself back.

FRANCES GOODRICH AND ALBERT HACKETT

FATHER OF THE BRIDE
, 1950

Written by Frances Goodrich (1890–1984) and Albert Hackett (1900–1995) and based on the bestselling 1949 novel by Edward Streeter, the film
Father of the Bride
began with an endearing, long-suffering Spencer Tracy taking off a shoe, rubbing his foot, and then emptying the shoe of rice.

The bride was played by an effervescent Elizabeth Taylor.

I would like to say a few words about weddings. I’ve just been through one. Not my own. My daughter’s. Someday in the far future I may be able to remember it with tender indulgence, but not now. I always used to think that marriage was a simple affair. Boy and girl meet. They fall in
love, get married. They have babies. Eventually the babies grow up and meet other babies. And they fall in love and get married. And so on and on and on. Looked at that way, it’s not only simple, it’s downright monotonous. But I was wrong. I figured without the wedding.

JOHN KENNEDY AND JACQUELINE BOUVIER, 1953

SHARON M
C
DONALD

“WHAT MOTHER NEVER TOLD ME,” 1979

Twenty-five years before Massachusetts became the first state to legalize same-sex marriage, author Sharon McDonald (1951–) described her proposal to and wedding with Jeanne Cordova, then publisher of
The Lesbian Tide
, where this piece first appeared. In the article, McDonald gave Cordova the pseudonym “Louise” in an attempt to universalize the experience beyond the well-known publication and publisher. Their marriage lasted four years and was eventually followed, in Cordova’s case, by a second marriage. (Regrettably, we’ve been unable to track McDonald down.) It would be decades before gay weddings were called “weddings,” not “commitment ceremonies.” This one was called a “tryst” in the ancient Goddess tradition.

The couple had been together four years before they married. The Greek actress Irene Papas had starred as Helen in a film of
The Trojan Women.

PROLOGUE: UNNATURAL DESIRES

With several years of love, lust, and irreconcilable differences behind us, Louise and I had become aware that we were drifting into that strange uncharted territory known as “long term.” They had been tumultuous years, but our dismay at each other’s failings had more often than not been matched by our delight in each other’s company. Having seen many models of love that start out strong and weaken over time, I was shocked to find the reverse dynamic with Louise.

Now when heterosexuals get to this point they tend to get married, a custom which I have envied for its sentimental symbolism while disdaining its more odious political aspects. I myself had never wanted to get married, but Mother always told me that when I really fell in love I’d change my mind. Imagine my chagrin twenty years later and a whole lifestyle different to find out once
again
that Mother is always right.

Of course, I pondered my desire in secret. I am politically unsophisticated enough to know that I can squeak by being monogamous, and even in some tolerant circles being femme, but my Radical Lesbian License would be revoked for sure if word got out that I wanted to “settle down” with the woman of my dreams.

The more I thought about it, the more ironic it seemed. I was free to explore my wildest fantasies of unnatural acts with Fido and a few dozen close friends, but I was supposed to feel constrained about wanting to shout, “Hallelujah, she’s the one!” I finally decided to hell with Convention (Women Have to Marry Men) and to hell with Unconvention (Women Have to Not Marry at All). Who says this lesbian can’t live happily ever after?

POPPING THE QUESTION

I took her out to dinner, fancy gay restaurant, table in the corner, soft candlelight, gay waiters wafting by. I sat terrified, drinking like there was no tomorrow, as might well be true if she said no. She wasn’t drinking, and, as I sank lower and lower in my chair, she started leaning over the table and asking solicitously, “Are you all right?”

After our boy had taken away my untouched pork chop and filled my glass for the fifth time, I lurched, er, launched into a rambling preamble. She listened intently, looking concerned. About the tenth time I heard myself stutter, “I, uh, you see, I think we, uh . . .” I shoved a ring box in front of her and just like in the movies blurted, “Will you marry me?” And with that, I was off on what has proven to be the most politically controversial and personally rewarding thing I’ve done since coming out.

SHARING OR SHACKLING?

Louise and I quickly found out that an event of this nature in a feminist community is much like a natural disaster; it brings out the best and the worst in people. Community reactions broke down into three categories: The Aghast, The Amused, and The Admiring. The Aghast, of course, were radical lesbian feminists. So were the Amused. So were The Admiring.

Longtime friends took us out to ask if perhaps we weren’t working too hard, maybe the stress had affected our better judgment. Less delicate acquaintances snorted openly, one summing it up by asking, “Why don’t you two just shackle yourselves together?”

But here and there other lesbian couples popped up, delighted at the news. They called us up, some women we barely knew, and said in a rush how they thought it was wonderful and brave and how they’d wanted to have a ceremony for years. We congratulated each other conspiratorially and invited them.

WICCA TO THE RESCUE!

Not wanting to march down any heterosexist aisles, we set about looking for a lesbian ceremony and hit upon the tryst. A Witch friend explained that it was an ancient ritual of bonding that was not the ownership contract of conventional marriage, but rather a mutual coming together of two equals to bond in love and friendship. She offered to help us do it. “We’ll take it!”

We called our mothers and sisters and invited them. We sent invitations to our friends, painfully resisting our initial excited impulse to send them to every lesbian west of the Rockies.