In this column I have lamented the demise of many older words and the bygone customs of our ancestors that they describe, but one custom we should all be glad to have seen the last of – the shivaree. This comes to us from the French “charivari” – a noisy mob showing their disapproval of someone they didn’t like. In our country the word “charivari” (pronounced /shu RIV uh ree/ or /shuh riv uh REE /) morphed into “shivaree” (accented on the first or final syllable) and refers specifically to the hazing of a couple on their wedding night, with neighbors and friends – the drunker the better – gathering outside the home of newlyweds to make a scene. They would blow whistles, bang on dishpans; they would shout and sing bawdy songs. Sometimes they would fire their guns in the air. They might even barge right into the house and ratchet up the pandemonium until the groom appeared to pass out cigars.
The custom began in Europe centuries ago, its purpose to publicly humiliate anyone who had violated community morals, especially its sexual mores. A charivari might be called to show disapproval of the marriage of a mean man, a woman with a sharp tongue, or an old man marrying a 20-year-old. Out would come the local rowdies, usually with their womenfolk right along with them, to make their opinion known, publicly and loudly. In Old Europe they might parade the couple through the streets in a wheelbarrow and end up with a dunking in a horse trough to gales of laughter. In most of North America the shivaree evolved into a high-spirited wedding-night ritual for any and all couples, but in Cajun Louisiana the French custom of expressing disapproval of a marriage lingered into the 20th century.
From the Mississippi Delta, the word “shivaree” spread throughout the Western U.S. and was also well known in northern New England, owing to French influence from Quebec. In other parts of the country, it went by different names: In Ohio and West Virginia, it was a “belling,” with cowbells playing a major role in the cacophony. In the New York City area it was a “skimmerton/skimmelton/skimmington,” a word imported from England where it was also known as “rough music.” In Upstate New York it was a “horning” because tin horns were often the instrument of choice, the ancestor of that most annoying of all sounds, the vuvuzela of World Cup soccer infamy. In the German area of southeast Pennsylvania it was a “bull band,” while throughout the eastern U.S. it was also called a “serenade.” But of all these words, my favorite is a “callithumpian concert,” a word worthy of Dickens himself.
The men taking part may have thought they were just messing around, but as we see too often in fraternity or athletic-team hazings, it’s not just fun and games. Some might call it a societal wink at the main feature of a wedding night, but for a modest couple, it was a humiliating intrusion. At its worst, it was especially frightening for the bride. In the musical “Oklahoma,” a shivaree on Curly and Laurey’s wedding night gets out of hand when the drunken villain, Jud, demands a kiss from the bride. “Oklahoma” is often viewed as a sweet, family-friendly musical, but its theme is pure sexuality: Jud’s longing for Laurey, the men bidding for women’s picnic baskets, the girl who can’t say no, the song about the stripper in Kansas City. The shivaree scene turns on a dime from boisterous teasing to mortal combat. The original scene from the play the musical was based on is even scarier: at midnight the couple are dragged out of the house in their night clothes by drunken men and are forced onto a tall haystack where the gang leaders demand that they kiss, shouting crude, sexual comments until interrupted by a threatening fire, set by the villain.
In contrast, a North Carolina history site extols the shivaree as a community gathering where young and old could show their acceptance of the new couple. The newlyweds would invite the neighbors in, offer them treats and cigars, and receive some housekeeping gifts in return. That sounds like a shivaree tamed, but nonetheless something most couples could do without on their wedding night.
Thankfully, it’s all in the past. The custom’s remnants have shrunk to tin cans tied to the back of the groom’s car — a custom that apparently is also dying out.
Dale Coye is a member of the American Dialect Society. He has taught English and the humanities at several universities and worked in area theaters as a dialect coach and director. He grew up on a dairy farm in central New York and now lives in Wilton.