That evening we assembled at Pereplotchikof's lodging in the Zachapin hamlet. It was there that a wedding was to be on the morrow. The bridegroom lived in the same house as Vassily Vassilievitch, and the bridegroom's father would keep open house for three days after the ceremony. Guests were coming in from all the country side, and being housed with neighbours. Spirits and beer were "on at the main" so to speak. In fact, Pereplotchikof took me aside to show me a strange sight, in a room all by itself, on the floor in carboys and demijohns, vodka, gallons of it. It was not to be broached till after the ceremony, and now it was cooped up and imprisoned like the genii in the fisherman's lead, like the tempests in the bags of AEolus.To-morrow and for three days, the significance of these bottles would be made visible up and down the one street of Zachapin. The vodka must have cost a small fortune as peasants' money goes, but the bridegroom's family was the richest of the district, and the spirit represented the savings of years.

Vassily Vassilievitch made us tea and we sang songs; there were about twelve of us in the small room. Lef Alexeitch, an ex-revolutionary, who had come down from Archangel, played the violin. Lef Alexeitch was one of those who became so enamoured of the country of his banishment that when his term was ended he proposed to settle there. It is strange now, to think of him playing the violin that night; it was about the only time I ever saw him, but his face was clearly impressed in my memory, for I did not like his personality. Now I know I shall never see him again, not even by chance, as then, for shortly after I left Liavlia he was playing with a gun and shot himself.

We were impatient for the wedding procession and promenade that was to take place this evening, and we occupied ourselves in such trivialities as imitating musical instruments, and barking and mewing like dogs and cats. Students are the same all the world over.

We went outside and played playground games; tired of that, we sat on logs and had more music. Then came dances; waltzes and polkas, girls and young men in their naked feet. Then Pereplotchikof danced the "Kamarinsky Moujik" with Varvara Sergievna, the most amusing spectacle I ever saw. The Kamarinsky is a whole ballet rather than a dance, and with his thumbs in his belt, and his eight fingers all apart, his head well back, his flexible face twisted into all sorts of grimaces, his eyes winking, Pereplotchikof went through the steps. Varvara Sergievna, with her hands at her waist, took the woman's part; the approaching, the drawing back, the coyness and the impudence. Anyone who has seen a Russian peasant-dance in London can form a notion of what it was like, the grotesque steps, the shrugs of the shoulders, the occasionally ugly and revolting body movement. Russian national dances are coarse, but the Russians love them.

Not long after this, the village promenaders began to file past. It was a beautiful "white-night," pleasantly warm, and so ideal for the purpose. The girls were the first out and came first in batches of twos and threes and then in sixes and sevens. They sang and keened or pretended to weep, and they walked round and round the village untiringly, gradually increasing in numbers till they became a flocking crowd.

The women were overwhelmingly dressed, their clothes being intended chiefly to show what the owners were worth, and by no means for purpose of adornment. If a woman had a new cloak she wore it even though the weather was hot, if she possessed over-boots or galoshes, she wore them, even if the ground was perfectly dry. They carried parasols though it was night time, and some of them umbrellas, though it wasn't raining. Many of the older women were clad in ancient costumes; they wore them not because they were old or curious, but because they hadn't anything better to put on. To their minds, such costumes were old-fashioned and almost absurd; the blessing was they were already married and had not to think of pleasing the young men. But these dresses were very beautiful. They were all of hand-spun linen and richly embroidered. Each woman wore a small box-shaped hat, like an extremely ornamented smoking cap emblazoned with beads and shining silk threads. The skirts were something like English children's petticoats, and were held up by straps over the shoulders. With them were worn extremely short jackets, just a pair of sleeves and a yoke coming no lower than he breast, and then over this, a gorgeously coloured cape with armholes.

This procession is called a gulanie, a walking, and it always precedes a wedding, and follows it for the matter of that, if the men are steady enough on their feet to accompany the women. It is partly in honour of the bride and partly an opportunity for the young men and women to arrange new matches. The bridegroom on this occasion had in his turn met the girl he fancied at a gulaniein another village. The great advantage is that if there is no one among your acquaintances whom you would care to marry, you may easily meet an acceptable stranger at one of these merry meetings. The girls are all very anxious to get married, and it is extremely seldom that a young man is refused when he proposes. The girls even try to propose on their own part, and are always wheedling the wise women of the village to get up a sort of meeting with young men. The wise woman is called the Svakhina, a most peculiar type, to be found all over the North of Russia. She is somewhat related to the midwife by temperament and character. One glance at her face would suffice to tell you that she knew too much.

So now at Zachapin, as they did at Kekhtya on the festival of St. John, young women walked and showed their paces, hoping to find favour in the eyes of young men.

The wedding party - father and mother of the bride are holding the sacked pictures

The moujik who owned the house where Alexey Sergietch lived, was married to a woman whom he had not seen previous to the wedding ceremony. The whole affair had been arranged by proxy. He wanted a woman in the house and so he sent out to find one. We watched the promenade until about eleven, and I then I bade farewell to Vassily Vassilievitch and the others, and went out along the cliff to look at the sunset. The horizon was all aflash with ruby, and the waves of the Dwina were like many crimson flags.

On the morrow the bride was to come in a boat with her relations, the family Ikons and her trousseau. I was up betimes to meet them. A fresh wind blew, turning the Dwina ripples into rollers, and the boat, which trusted more to sails than oars, evidently did not find the breeze to its liking. It was very late and we waited all the morning for it. The sky was overcast, but I took my kodak, and hoped to get a photograph of the meeting.

When the people at length arrived I made them wait. The father and mother of the bride came out, carrying the bridal bedding all roped up, and after them the relations of the bride, bearing large pine baskets with her wedding portion. Then came women carrying the bridal Ikons and candles, and last the bride, weeping and red-faced, fearfully and bunchily dressed in seven or eight petticoats. The best cart in the village was drawn up to receive the bride and groom, and the latter came forward to lead his bride to the equipage. The horse was in bright harness borrowed for the occasion, for unless a couple can be grand at their wedding, it's no use expecting to be prosperous afterwards.

I said I would take a photograph, and so they ranged themselves on the shore for a minute before driving oft to the church.

Then away they went with all the villagers after them, the bearers with the Ikons and the relations with the trousseau.

The priest was waiting for them, and already the church was full of people. The cart stopped at the church door, and the bride and bridegroom, having divested themselves of superfluous wraps, were led up the middle; the two hours wedding service began, the crowning and the blessing.

The husband and wife were then escorted by the villagers to the house in Zachapin. Vassily Vassilievitch had vacated his room, and the whole house was full of guests, the tables were all spread. Bottles of vodka and home-made beer were ranged around, and the festival cheer commenced.

Early next morning I went along to drink the bride's health and wish her prosperity. From the windows came the noise of uproarious festivity. The bridegroom met me on the threshold and bade me welcome; he felt it a great honour that I should come. He was quite steady on his feet, and beyond a generous flush in his cheeks, looked none the worse for the night's revelling. The bride, I understood, had gone to bed early, being too tired to join in the Veselaya.

The drinking and singing and dancing had been kept up all night, and it was a profitable matter for the young couple, because each person who drank their health was obliged to make them a wedding present.

They brought me a glass of beer. I crossed myself - to the Ikons and then wished the young man happiness, many children, all sons, and great prosperity. Might God give him these things.

Then the father of the bride came up with a sack in his two hands. He was very tipsy. He pointed to the mouth of the sack, indicating that it was my turn to add a present to the rest.

"Now it's your turn," he said, "to give a present."

"What are all these things you've got. Uncle?" I inquired, looking into the sack. I peered.

There was a fearful confusion — china, fur, meal, money, half-a-dozen vodka glasses, some birch-bark jars, a dead woodcock, an axe.

"It's the second sack," said the bridegroom with a smile.

I threw in a rouble.

Then I left them, wishing them luck once more, and stepping over the bodies of those who had fallen on the floor at an advanced stage of inebriety, I hastened over to Alexey Sergeitch's lodging to take coffee with the exiles.