There’s something paradoxical about “lonely hearts ads”, or “matrimonials” as we call them in our part of the world. On the one hand, they speak of the desperation of all those who haven’t had the good fortune of falling in love at first sight — or second or third. On the other, they are a sign of romantic hope, that a public appeal will get them someone, somewhere, and that it’ll all lead to happily ever after. Putting an ad in the papers to find a mate is regressive, no doubt, but lonely hearts ads are also a modern phenomenon, premised on a dynamic, widely circulated media in a society that’s urban and fragmented. They serve a critical function; no wonder they are seeing a rebirth on social-networking sites.
But how did lonely hearts ads originate and how did they develop?
The first ones that Francesca Beauman, the author of this book, susses out were published in an “obscure’’ periodical called Mercurius Fumigosus in London on May 16, 1660 and resembled, in their bawdy vocabulary, the massage ads in sleazy tabloids — it was put in by a “worthy, plump, fresh, free and willing Widow” who said she wanted “any man that is Able to labour in her Corporation”, adding that “let him present the true picture of his Tool there’s no question but he may be favoured”.
But these were sporadic; as a trend, lonely hearts ads did not take off until July 16, 1695, when John Houghton, publisher, put out two in a weekly pamphlet called A Collection for Improvement of Husbandry and Trade. Beauman credits Houghton as being “one of the first people to appreciate the possibilities of the advertising game’’. He seems to have seen them in the genre of other services and merchandise – “a consignment of tea from the Indies’’ or rooms to rent – which had by the time come to be commonly advertised in the many pamphlets, newspapers, weeklies and magazines that had opened shop in England. Clearly, too, he had an idea that they would cause a to-do, and thus help his sales, which is why he printed the ads in a larger, bolder font than the surrounding text.
One of the ads was from a “gentleman about 30 Years of Age” and the other “A Young Man about 25”, both of whom did not give out names, were careful to detail their economic prospects – “Very Good Estate’’ said one, while the other, somewhat more specifically, said he was “in a very good Trade’’, and that his “Father will make him worth 1000l” – but not much else. One said he was looking for a “suitable Match’’, while the other, more ambitiously, wanted a “Good Young Gentlewoman that has a fortune of some 3000l”. These first ads set the parameters and vocabulary of lonely hearts ads down the ages.
Lonely hearts ads are a barometer of the manners and morals of a society, they give us a ground-up glimpse of life in a particular era, especially the anxieties, economic and social, which result from the larger historical shifts such as the Industrial Revolution, rising urbanisation, falling or rising population, wars, droughts, epidemics and so on. That’s Beauman’s central thesis, and the bit of analysis she tags on to the historical narrative. Some factors remain constant (such as the importance of money and youthfulness; blond hair and blue eyes are also much in demand down the ages) but each age had its own preoccupations and peculiarities.
They make for hilarious reading today. One early 18th century ad, for instance, was from someone who described himself as “tall in Stature, finely shaped and well proportioned, has a delicate Head of Hair, white Hand, a large Calf, strong Back, broad Shoulder...”, while another gave a minute roster of physical attributes he desires in his bride: “good teeth, soft lips, sweet breath ... her bosom full, plump, firm and white...”. In fact, Beauman gets the title of her book from a 1770 ad. Later ages had differing criteria — domestic virtues were important in the 1770s, while “sweetness of temper” gained ground a few decades later as “romantic love” and companionship were seen as desirous in a marriage. Criteria differed from city to countryside as well: Charles Warren, a farmer, put an ad in The Dorset Country Chronicale in 1824 for “a woman to look after the pigs while I am out at work”.
Much of Beauman’s history is the result of close textual reading of ads down the ages. Her analysis, in that regard, is an open-ended one — few replies to lonely hearts ads have survived to complete the narrative loop. It’s a gap, for it must have taken an even more extraordinary leap of faith for women then to reply to a lonely hearts ad than it must have been for the men to advertise.
SHAPELY ANKLE PREFERR’D
A History of the Lonely Hearts Ad
Francesca Beauman
Chatto & Windus
214 pages; £12.99
