Marriage to Death

   

In many respects, marriage might be seen as the antithesis of death.  It is perhaps founded on this assumption that there are a number of historical accounts of weddings being used to curb the power of death.  One of the Romanian traditions used to prevent the rise of potential Strigoi Morte (vampires) is to perform a marriage between the deceased and an eligible young person of the community.  In Marcus Sedgwick's eerie novel, My Swordhand is Singing, the oldest unmarried girl of the village is married off to a potential vampire and is required to remain isolated in a hut at the edge of the forest for forty days to mourn her husband's death.  I address the concept as well in my novel Carpathian Nights, with a young man who is to marry two dead sisters to keep them in their graves.

     With the advent of our own COVID-19 plague, it is interesting to note that during former plagues, such as the frequent waves of cholera of the 19th Century, "Plague Weddings" were held.  These were also sometimes called black weddings of shvartze khasene in Hebrew.  Though the facts behind these events are a bit sketchy, it appears that Jewish communities of Eastern Europe would force two outcast members of the community to marry in the local cemetery.  It is unclear if the wedding would counteract the power of the plague or give the plague a scapegoat, in which one would expect the the couple to die a horrible death, which in turn would free the community of the disease.  There is also the possibility that the performance of a sacred ceremony surrounded by the dead would compel God to have greater compassion on those who attended the wedding.

     During the Spanish Flue pandemic of 1918 there were reports of plague weddings around the world and among larger Jewish communities in the United States such as New York City.

     Among my favorite poems, set in the early 19th century, is William Blake's "London."  Notice the final line about the "Marriage Hearse."

I Wander thro' each charter'd street,

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,

In every Infants cry of fear,

In every voice: in every ban,

The mind-forg'd manacles I hear

How the Chimney-sweepers cry

Every blackning Church appalls

and hapless Soldiers sigh

Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro' midnight streets I hear

How the youthful Harlots curse

Blasts the new-born Infants tear

And blights with plague the Marriage hearse