History-Los Angeles: Russian Molokan Marriage Ceremony for BEZAYIFF, Morris Afanasi and (UNKNOWN), Pauline (1906)
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History-Los Angeles: Russian Molokan Marriage Ceremony for BEZAYIFF, Morris Afanasi and (UNKNOWN), Pauline (1906)
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Posted: 16 Jun 2008 12:40AM GMT |
Classification: Query
Surnames: Bezayiff
Note: This is Morris Afanasi Bezayiff and Pauline (Unknown)
The 1910 census shows Morris enumerated with his parents. He and Pauline have a daughter Annie. By 1920 Morris was divorced from Pauline.
I have no other information for Morris and Pauline. I don’t know when/where they died or if their daughter Annie married and had a family.
===========================
Takes Four Priests to Tie This Knot
Molokane Wedding Starts With a Queer Procession and Ends With a Solemn Feast – Quaint Ceremonies of a Forgotten Age
The wedding of two Russian peasants made wild excitement yesterday in the quaint foreign quarter that clusters about Banning Street.
A wedding procession that looked as strange and foreign as though it had marched in from some forgotten century, went singing through the little crooked streets for hours, to the wonderment of the Micks, Japs and the Mexicans.
People travel half-way round the world without seeing anything as picturesque and out of the world. As yet these Russian Molokanes are undefiled. Some of the younger Moujiks – the young men – are beginning to smoke cigarettes; to wear cheap imitation watch chains and American coats, but the main body of them live just as they did in their homes in the Caucasus Mountains, preserving all their native half-barbarous customs. They have not yet learned to be ashamed.
Cold words will not tell of the charm they have added to the funny little Europe and Asia and Africa that lies beyond Alameda Street.
BRIDE AND GROOM
The groom of yesterday is a young peasant named Moesy (Moisey/Morris) Bizieff (Bezayiff). He works in a laundry, and is looked upon as unusually prosperous. The little bride was also a Russian girl, who could not be called pretty by any candid, truth-telling writer, but whose face is gentle and rather appealing. Her name is Polia. She an orphan.
She probably never saw her lover, Bizieff, until she came to this country. Most of the Molokanes did not know one another in Russia.
The wedding began at noon and meandered all over the ward before they were securely wedded.
The groom went forth to claim his bride under conditions somewhat more impressive than our weddings – a rattled best man, lost gloves and a hack that arrives late.
The very first part of the Russian peasant’s wedding took place at this own home where his old father charged him with the duties and responsibilities that were to be his; then sent him forth to claim his bride.
The groom went to the home of his bride, where he was met at the door by her relatives. They demanded to know what he wanted and why he was there. He let it dawn upon them that it was a wife he was after – which must have surprised them a good deal, under the circumstances.
There were two priests there – one for the groom and one for the bride.
When the little white bride came in first, her hair was hanging in the manner of the Russian maiden. During the course of the ceremony she retired, coming back with her hair done in the fashion of the matron, and caught up in a little cap – just as our own grandmothers used to don the lace cap after the wedding.
The couple then knelt and was pronounced man and wife, while the brother and sister of the bride, who took the place of her father and mother, clasped hands over their heads.
RIBBON MEMENTOES
After the wedding, the bride went through the loving ceremony of giving away her most precious hair ribbons to her girl friends; she does not wear hair ribbons as a married woman. The groom’s mother also gave away some handkerchiefs to some of the guests.
The procession photographed here for The Times was taken as the bridal party was marching to the home of the bridegroom; it was the taking home of the bride. Actually, they went to the home of the bride’s brother and sister, as the home of the groom was too small to receive the guests.
At the head of the procession marched four old men, with long beards and long rough gowns; they were bareheaded, and their long flowing beards blew in the wind. In their big boots they walked with a long stride that suggested a man in a plow furrow.
Behind them came the bride and groom, and two intimate friends; alas, poor little Polia’s parents were not there to see.
Polia wore a gown of pure white that was a very shocking fit – according to our notion – no hips or style. It was so short that it came only to her shoe tops and bobbed ridiculously as she walked. Her fair hair was covered with a little white cap.
The groom was togged out too nearly in American clothes to carry out the picture. He had an Ascot tie and a vest, and shoes where he should have worn his big boots. His concession to the faith of his fathers was that he wore the tail of his shirt outside his trousers.
Mr. Kipling says in “The Man Who Was” that a Russian is a thoroughly charming person until he tucks in his shirt; so Bizieff is still to the good.
CURIOUS CEREMONIES.
Instead of holding hands as they walked, the bride and groom and the members of the family tightly clutched little embroidered clothes – like towels – linking them together.
Behind them came Molokanes-their friends and relatives-by scores. They marched in column of platoons-first a line of men-then a line of women extending almost from curb to curb.
They sang strange, monotonous, plaintive chants as they marched. Something in their music suggests the chants of the Japanese.
The main ceremonies took place when they got to the schoolhouse church. It was all in Russian and quite beyond understanding.
The Molokanes seem to be long on kissing, and at the conclusion of the marriage ceremony caresses were turned loose broadcast. Every one kissed every one else. They all kissed both the bride and groom, and then they all kissed the priest; then every one kissed the groom’s father and mother.
To an outsider the rest of it looked like one of the ordinary Russian religious feasts, which happen periodically to the wild excitement of the other inhabitants of the foreign quarter.
SOLEMN WEDDING FEAST.
Small boys in ragged knickerbockers and leaky noses ran after the wedding procession. Japs swarmed out on the porches of their boarding-houses, grave-eyed Mexicans looked with seeming indifference from the curbs. A saucer-eyed darky in a pink and green striped sweater leaped down from his wagon and butted excitedly into the church.
Down the center of the schoolroom were set the long tables as in the ceremonies of the Feast of the Tabernacles-recently described. At the head of the tables sat the row of old men with long beards.
Down the length of the tables sat solemn-visaged men and women holding babies. Food was strewn at random down the tables.
To tell the truth, it was dirty, and it smelled bad.
“The trouble with them Roossians,” said the colored gentleman with the striped sweater, “they don’t use no tools to eat with.”
No, they don’t. fingers.
Half-way down the tables sat the little white bride and the groom beside her. There was no giggling and no laughter. Over the whole assembly a melancholy seemed to rest.
The wedding feasts of even the Chinese are hilarious. Only the little white bride of the Molokane seems to have a doleful wedding.
Los Angeles Times (1886-Current File); Nov 5, 1906; ProQuest Historical Newspapers Los Angeles Times (1881 - 1985), pg. II1
The 1910 census shows Morris enumerated with his parents. He and Pauline have a daughter Annie. By 1920 Morris was divorced from Pauline.
I have no other information for Morris and Pauline. I don’t know when/where they died or if their daughter Annie married and had a family.
===========================
Takes Four Priests to Tie This Knot
Molokane Wedding Starts With a Queer Procession and Ends With a Solemn Feast – Quaint Ceremonies of a Forgotten Age
The wedding of two Russian peasants made wild excitement yesterday in the quaint foreign quarter that clusters about Banning Street.
A wedding procession that looked as strange and foreign as though it had marched in from some forgotten century, went singing through the little crooked streets for hours, to the wonderment of the Micks, Japs and the Mexicans.
People travel half-way round the world without seeing anything as picturesque and out of the world. As yet these Russian Molokanes are undefiled. Some of the younger Moujiks – the young men – are beginning to smoke cigarettes; to wear cheap imitation watch chains and American coats, but the main body of them live just as they did in their homes in the Caucasus Mountains, preserving all their native half-barbarous customs. They have not yet learned to be ashamed.
Cold words will not tell of the charm they have added to the funny little Europe and Asia and Africa that lies beyond Alameda Street.
BRIDE AND GROOM
The groom of yesterday is a young peasant named Moesy (Moisey/Morris) Bizieff (Bezayiff). He works in a laundry, and is looked upon as unusually prosperous. The little bride was also a Russian girl, who could not be called pretty by any candid, truth-telling writer, but whose face is gentle and rather appealing. Her name is Polia. She an orphan.
She probably never saw her lover, Bizieff, until she came to this country. Most of the Molokanes did not know one another in Russia.
The wedding began at noon and meandered all over the ward before they were securely wedded.
The groom went forth to claim his bride under conditions somewhat more impressive than our weddings – a rattled best man, lost gloves and a hack that arrives late.
The very first part of the Russian peasant’s wedding took place at this own home where his old father charged him with the duties and responsibilities that were to be his; then sent him forth to claim his bride.
The groom went to the home of his bride, where he was met at the door by her relatives. They demanded to know what he wanted and why he was there. He let it dawn upon them that it was a wife he was after – which must have surprised them a good deal, under the circumstances.
There were two priests there – one for the groom and one for the bride.
When the little white bride came in first, her hair was hanging in the manner of the Russian maiden. During the course of the ceremony she retired, coming back with her hair done in the fashion of the matron, and caught up in a little cap – just as our own grandmothers used to don the lace cap after the wedding.
The couple then knelt and was pronounced man and wife, while the brother and sister of the bride, who took the place of her father and mother, clasped hands over their heads.
RIBBON MEMENTOES
After the wedding, the bride went through the loving ceremony of giving away her most precious hair ribbons to her girl friends; she does not wear hair ribbons as a married woman. The groom’s mother also gave away some handkerchiefs to some of the guests.
The procession photographed here for The Times was taken as the bridal party was marching to the home of the bridegroom; it was the taking home of the bride. Actually, they went to the home of the bride’s brother and sister, as the home of the groom was too small to receive the guests.
At the head of the procession marched four old men, with long beards and long rough gowns; they were bareheaded, and their long flowing beards blew in the wind. In their big boots they walked with a long stride that suggested a man in a plow furrow.
Behind them came the bride and groom, and two intimate friends; alas, poor little Polia’s parents were not there to see.
Polia wore a gown of pure white that was a very shocking fit – according to our notion – no hips or style. It was so short that it came only to her shoe tops and bobbed ridiculously as she walked. Her fair hair was covered with a little white cap.
The groom was togged out too nearly in American clothes to carry out the picture. He had an Ascot tie and a vest, and shoes where he should have worn his big boots. His concession to the faith of his fathers was that he wore the tail of his shirt outside his trousers.
Mr. Kipling says in “The Man Who Was” that a Russian is a thoroughly charming person until he tucks in his shirt; so Bizieff is still to the good.
CURIOUS CEREMONIES.
Instead of holding hands as they walked, the bride and groom and the members of the family tightly clutched little embroidered clothes – like towels – linking them together.
Behind them came Molokanes-their friends and relatives-by scores. They marched in column of platoons-first a line of men-then a line of women extending almost from curb to curb.
They sang strange, monotonous, plaintive chants as they marched. Something in their music suggests the chants of the Japanese.
The main ceremonies took place when they got to the schoolhouse church. It was all in Russian and quite beyond understanding.
The Molokanes seem to be long on kissing, and at the conclusion of the marriage ceremony caresses were turned loose broadcast. Every one kissed every one else. They all kissed both the bride and groom, and then they all kissed the priest; then every one kissed the groom’s father and mother.
To an outsider the rest of it looked like one of the ordinary Russian religious feasts, which happen periodically to the wild excitement of the other inhabitants of the foreign quarter.
SOLEMN WEDDING FEAST.
Small boys in ragged knickerbockers and leaky noses ran after the wedding procession. Japs swarmed out on the porches of their boarding-houses, grave-eyed Mexicans looked with seeming indifference from the curbs. A saucer-eyed darky in a pink and green striped sweater leaped down from his wagon and butted excitedly into the church.
Down the center of the schoolroom were set the long tables as in the ceremonies of the Feast of the Tabernacles-recently described. At the head of the tables sat the row of old men with long beards.
Down the length of the tables sat solemn-visaged men and women holding babies. Food was strewn at random down the tables.
To tell the truth, it was dirty, and it smelled bad.
“The trouble with them Roossians,” said the colored gentleman with the striped sweater, “they don’t use no tools to eat with.”
No, they don’t. fingers.
Half-way down the tables sat the little white bride and the groom beside her. There was no giggling and no laughter. Over the whole assembly a melancholy seemed to rest.
The wedding feasts of even the Chinese are hilarious. Only the little white bride of the Molokane seems to have a doleful wedding.
Los Angeles Times (1886-Current File); Nov 5, 1906; ProQuest Historical Newspapers Los Angeles Times (1881 - 1985), pg. II1