Advertising for Marriage, Nineteenth Century Style

More and more adults are turning to online dating sites to find their true love. According to the Pew Research Center, which studies the internet and technology (among other things), usage among 18 to 24 year olds has tripled since 2013, and usage among 55 to 64 year olds has doubled. But the internet is only the most recent way lonely hearts have advertised for companions. In the nineteenth century, one was more likely to purchase an advertisement in a newspaper.

Both in England and the U.S., “matrimonial” newspapers served as matchmakers between men and women looking to marry. A publication called “Wedding Bells” was published regularly out of Boston, and other such publications were hawked in England. Unfortunately, there is little evidence as to the efficacy of these ads. How many respondents actually found true love and lived happily ever after?

Certainly, there were concerns about the practice. For one thing, more sophisticated ladies and gentlemen did not feel comfortable having their information bandied about in “common” publications. Many readers turned to more genteel journals. In 1876, the Phrenological Journal and Life Illustrated, which compiled insights into science, literature, “and general intelligence,” received a sufficient number of queries about offering space for matrimonial ads that the editors decided to open a column. The ads would feature no more than 6 entries per issue, listing qualifications of the person seeking marriage and qualifications wished for in the partner for the hefty fee of $25.00 (equivalent to more than $500 today).

In 1839, Walks and Wanderings in the World of Literature, a high-brow London paper, decried the advertisements, claiming the men were only looking for a lady with money. The editors suggested that a group of women should band together to trick these fellows into the open, then tar and feather them and let them out into the streets, “to be barked at by dogs, pelted by the boys, and laughed at by all.”

Ouch!

If you’d like to read some of these announcements and an excellent commentary on them, try the now-defunct blog Advertising for Love, which was part of the research for a doctoral thesis project.

Almack’s Again: The Marriage Mart

Somewhat to my be- musement, I’ve found myself writing a series of novellas set around that Regency institution, Almack’s Assembly Rooms. Modern readers can certainly understand how Almack’s was the place to be, the most exclusive of exclusive social venues, because that concept is timeless...but there’s one aspect of Almack’s we haven’t discussed before, and I thought it might be interesting to do so.

Almack’s was nicknamed ‘the Marriage Mart’ because it was the place for aristocratic young women and young men (or not so young ones) to go to look over the season’s marital prospects. It was Almack’s very exclusiveness that made it attractive for spouse-shopping: if only persons of a certain social class were allowed within its precincts, then by definition anyone there could be considered “safe” as a potential marriage partner. Watchful parents could relax, knowng that their romantically–minded daughters would not be solicited for the next dance by a shop-clerk or a nouveau-riche City merchant; men would not find their eyes and their fancies caught by an attractive but unsuitable young woman who dropped her aitches and didn’t know how to properly address a duchess or arrange seating at a dinner party.

Sounds kind of...well, cold, doesn’t it? Yes, absolutely, by modern standards of courtship and marriage. But the early 19th century was in flux as far as what marriage was all about.

Up until the rise of Romanticism in the 18th century, marriage was as much a financial transaction as it was about finding a husband or wife...and the wealthier the families, the truer this was. Families considered what other families they wanted to ally themselves with through the marriages of their sons and daughters for reasons of outright monetary gain as well as for less tangible but still enormously important assets like social, economic or political influence. You might decide that you wanted your son to marry the daughter of a family whose political support you sought for your career, or who might bring as part of her dowry land or other assets you coveted. And while you made some attempt to make sure the new couple would be compatible...well, that wasn’t necessarily the first consideration. But as the concept of marrying for companionship and love took hold, it fought for a while with the older view of marriage...and Almack’s was a prime example of that uneasy compromise.

It’s also hard sometimes for Americans to wrap their heads around just how class conscious England was (and still is, to a degree.) We’ve discussed that fact before—just how separately the different social classes lived their lives and the difficulty of moving from one class to another when it dictated everything about you, from how you moved and spoke to your education and expectations in life. Now, think of how that might come into play when looking for a husband or wife...and once again, Almack’s begins to be much more understandable, if not, by our standards, admirable. It’s not so surprising that Almack’s importance faded as class barriers became more fluid with the rise of the middle classes, and by the late 1830s, it had lost almost all its old cachet—not forgotten, but also, for many reasons, not mourned.

Age(s) of Consent

Thank you all again for your thoughts on the title for my second Love Inspired Historical! My editor has decided, and the title is . . .

An Honorable Gentleman.

Yes, I can feel your confusion from here. She decided she didn’t like the term baronet overly much after all, so just about everything you and I proposed didn’t work for her. But I still think you should be rewarded for your efforts! So, I put the names of everyone who offered a suggestion in a hat and drew out Ettie's name! Ettie, please contact me via my website and let me know your postal address and whether you’d prefer La Petite Four now or The Irresistible Earl when I get the advanced reading copies.

And speaking of honorable gentlemen, one very close to me recently stopped being a teen by turning twenty. It’s hard to imagine how those years went by so fast! Here in Washington State he can’t drink alcohol yet, but he can vote, drive a car or motorcycle, enter the military, get his own apartment, work at a job and manage his own income, and get married if he wants. But for nineteenth century teens, things were a bit more complicated.

Here are a few of the important ages (and all are approximate):

--7 or 8: a boy might be sent to sea, starting his Naval career as a cabin boy and going on to become a sailor or officer (as we discussed when The Young Bluestockings Book Club read Bloody Jack).
--9 or 10: boys might be apprenticed to learn a trade
--10 or 12: aristocratic boys might be sent to boarding schools like Eton or Harrow
--12: girls from poorer families might be apprenticed to learn a trade (although they often weren’t dignified with the name apprentice)
--12: girls can marry with their parents’ permission (but note that very few actually married this early)
--16: aristocratic young men with ambitions for politics, law, or the Church might head off to Oxford and Cambridge
--16 to 18: aristocratic young ladies are introduced to Society
--21: a young lady or gentleman could marry without parents’ permission
~30: a woman is considered “on the shelf” (given up all hope of ever marrying). Note that some people put this age considerably lower (like 26 or even 20), but that real-life examples don’t seem to verify this.

What was more nebulous was when you might live on your own. If you lived in the same town as your parents, you often simply lived with them until you married, you died, or they died, whichever came first! If your vocation took you to another town (generally for boys but sometimes for girls), you might live with relatives or close family friends. While a young man of 20 might take bachelor lodgings, young ladies didn’t generally live alone until they were on the shelf. Even then, most lived with family because of financial concerns. An unmarried lady fortunate enough to be left well off still had a companion or family member living with her, because Society frowned on her living alone. And heaven forbid she do anything radical like managing her own income!

Never mind drinking, gambling, or driving your own carriage. For most of the nineteenth century, you could do that at any age, if you were a boy!

Hm, maybe I like the current century more than I thought! How about you?

Courtship and Marriage, La Belle Assemblée Style

Ah, La Belle Assemblée, that bible of style and culture read by nineteenth century girls throughout the Empire, and writers wishing to understand them. I was browsing the September 1810 issue this week. One column was labeled “Provincials, Including Remarkable Occurrences, Deaths and Marriages, &c. In the Several Counties of Great Britain,” with Great Britain meaning England, Scotland, and Ireland. There was a report of a woman in Sheerness Garrison in Kent who had given birth to 6 children in 9 months (quintuplets and twins); sadly none lived. There were several stories gruesome stage coach accidents (people trampled by horses, thrown from windows). There was even a long, grisly description of an execution of murderers in Ireland.

But what I found particularly interesting in this issue were the stories of courtship and marriage.

Sometimes, it seems, love conquers all. Take this entry: “Married: Mr. Joseph Holmes of Woodhouse to Miss M. Cooper of Hunflet, near Leeds. The bridegroom is deaf and dumb.”

Then love can work miracles. Take the case of Mr. W. Stephenson and a widow of Derbyshire. According to the magazine, “This blooming young widow had interred her former husband about twelve weeks, and was apparently inconsolable for his loss, till within a few days of her union with Mr. Stephenson, the sight of whose athletic form drove the tear of sorrow from her eye, and replaced it with the compassionate glance of love.”

And sometimes life simply isn’t fair! One story reported how the widowed Mrs. Graham brought charges of breach of promise of marriage against Mr. Hetherington. He told her father he wanted to marry her one July, but by October he still hadn’t made good on his promise. She tracked him down to a posting house and demanded to know why. He made up some lame excuse about his friends not liking her but claimed he didn’t care what they said, he was going to marry her the very next Saturday at Carlisle.

So the poor thing goes to the church, and what does Mr. Hetherington say, right at the altar, but that he’d changed his mind! She goes home, and he follows her, kneels down in front of her and her mother and “imprecated the vengeance of Heaven on himself, if he did not, on the Monday following, fulfill his promise.” So once again she gets ready for her wedding, and he disappears!

When the Court located him and called him to appear, he claimed that 1) she was pregnant and the child wasn’t his (no mention is made anywhere in the year leading up to the story of Mrs. Graham giving birth—longest pregnancy on record—NOT!), 2) she was too old for him (well, she was the same amount of old when you proposed, buddy!), and 3) because he was so young there was a good chance she’d “ensnared” him (yeah, ensnared people generally run away at the drop of a hat). The Court found for Mrs. Graham and awarded her 100 pounds (the equivalent of about $10,000 in the buying power of the U.S. dollar today).

Personally, in a time when stealing a loaf of bread was punishable by death or deportation, I wonder why the fellow wasn’t hanged! But maybe I’m too focused on how wonderful love should be. How would you have dealt with the dithering Mr. Hetherington and much-put-upon Mrs. Graham?

The Things You Can and Cannot Learn from Magazines

Marissa and I have mentioned La Belle Assemblée many times. It was one of the premier ladies’ magazines in nineteenth century England. Some of the gorgeous fashion plates Marissa shares come from that magazine. In La Belle Assemblée, a lady learned what was in vogue, what was considered passé, how to dress, how to wear her hair, and what cosmetics to try.

But the magazine also covered other matters. It detailed deaths:

Died.—In Old Burlington-street, the Hon. E. Bouverie, M.P. for Northampton, and uncle to the Earl of Radnor.—Mr. Howe, a respectable tradesman in Mary-le-bone-street, expired without a groan, whilst in the act of stooping for a pipe, which he let fall from his mouth in the shop.—After a lingering illness, Lieut. Frederick Talbot Fowler, of the Royal Marines, aged 21, only son of Mr. Fowler, of Clement’s-Inn, Solicitor. His remains were interred in the burying ground at Chatham, with military honours, at which every Officer at headquarters attended.

It marveled on marriages:

Married.—Henry Richard Wood, Esq. only son of Colonel Wood, of Hollin-Hall, in the county of York, to Miss Eckersall, eldest daughter of J. Eckersall, Esq. of Calverton-house, near Bath.—Lord Falmouth, to Miss Bankes, eldest daughter of Henry Bankes, Esq. The happy pair passed the honey-moon at Mr. Bankes’s seat in Hampshire.

But sometimes it told stories of odd happenings around town. I found this one from the September 1810 issue particularly interesting:

The passengers through Piccadilly, and many of the inhabitants, were thrown into great consternation on Sunday night, September 2, by the escape of a leopard from a caravan which was conveying it to Bartholomew Fair. The animal ran into the lower part of one of the houses which are re-building on the south side of the street between the church and the Haymarket. The keeper, who soon discovered the escape of the animal, ran about in great agony, calling for a blanket and some ropes; but when the people heard the purpose for which they were wanted, they retreated from the spot with the utmost precipitation.

[Well, I would think so!]

A gentleman walking near the end of the Haymarket, in Piccadilly, excited not a little of the fears of the spectators for his safety. The leopard lay couched on the flags [sidewalk], and the gentleman, apparently to avoid falling over him, stopped; upon which the animal raised himself up in the most awful manner, moving his tail. The spectators, and his keepers in particular, who had just arrived, cried out repeatedly, “For Heaven’s sake, Sir, take care, it is a tiger.” The gentleman, however, firmly kept his ground, nor did he move till the animal left him a free passage, by a most wonderful spring against the side of one of the houses, and then into the middle of the street. He then walked on with all the coolness imaginable, refusing to tell his name.

They caught the leopard, but I’d like to know more about the gentleman who faced it down. Who was he? Why was he so unconcerned to find a leopard in his path? Was it arrogance or supreme confidence in his own abilities that allowed him to look the creature square in the eye and demand obedience? Or did he simply not care about his life enough to challenge injury or death? What could have driven him to such a place?

It seems even the exalted La Belle Assemblée has --gasp!-- limitations!

May I Have the Honor of Hopping the Broom--Part I

They are the stuff of legend: young ladies and gentlemen, madly in love, but unable to marry because of family protests or lack of fortune. Romeo and Juliette, the Hatfields and McCoys, West Side Story. In nineteenth century England, though, if you wanted to marry your sweetie and your family protested, there was one clear answer.

Elope to Scotland.

You see, in the 1700s, getting married in England, particularly London, was easier than it should be. A law had been passed in the 1690s that required certain rules to be followed for a marriage to be legal, but a quirk in the law exempted ministers operating in the environs of Fleet Prison in London. So, if you wanted to be married, at any age, at any time (literally 24/7), for any reason, you could just find a willing cleric near the prison and exchange vows with your sweetie and that was that. Thousands of marriages a year were conducted this way, and taverns and houses in the area did a booming business catering to those who wanted, for whatever reason, to get married quickly.

But this opened the door for all kinds of problems. What if some fortune hunter grabbed a rich heiress and seduced her into marriage? What if a young lady of good family decided to marry, gasp, the young strapping butcher! At the time, the legal age for getting married was 7 (yes, 7—feel free to shudder), with no parental consent required. Most people were far older, of course, and most who married quickly weren’t trying to be shady. But, sad to say, some were bigamists and many were schemers.

In 1753, Parliament passed the Marriage Act to stop such abuses. The act abolished common-law marriages like the ones at Fleet Prison where you merely had to exchange vows. Now for your marriage to be recognized in England and Wales, you had to be at least 21 or your parents had to agree you could be married. If your parents agreed, the boy had to be least 14 and the girl 12. You had to have a formal church wedding in the Church of England (or a license to wed elsewhere) and the official had to be a cleric in the Church of England, unless you were Jewish or Quaker. Your marriage had to be officially recorded in the parish record. Before you could be married, you either had to have a minister read the banns--the announcement of your upcoming wedding--in your home church and your betrothed’s home church for three weeks in a row (so people could protest if they happened to know you were already married or had some other reason not to wed) or you had to buy a license. Generally, you married in the morning (between eight and noon).

These rules would have effectively put a stop to quick marriages, except that Scotland had no such rulings. A marriage made there was legal anywhere in the Empire, as long as you had proof. Many a couple ran for the border, with a father toting a pistol or horse whip chasing after them.

And what happened once they got to Scotland? I’ll explain next Friday. In the meantime, thanks again for all your interest in the Young Bluestockings Book Club! Marissa and I can hardly wait for our first discussion in February! Keep those suggestions coming!

Heaven, Regency Style

It was "the seventh heaven of the fashionable world", the "exclusive temple of the beau monde", the "marriage mart" of exclusive London society. Regency wit Henry Luttell said of it:

"If once to Almack’s you belong,
Like Monarchs you can do no wrong;
But banished thence on Wednesday night,
By Jove, you can do nothing right."

On the other hand, it served "wretched refreshments", had a "bad floor", and was viewed as shockingly dull by most young men.

So just what was Almack’s, that place that has appeared in almost every Regency-set novel since Georgette Heyer?

Originally, it was an assembly room (remember that we discussed those last week?) built on King Street (behind St. James’s Square) in 1764 by a Yorkshireman of Scottish ancestry named William Almack who began life as a gentleman's valet but soon moved up in the world. Mr. Almack opened his assembly rooms in 1765, charging 10 guineas for a series of twelve weekly balls and suppers over the course of the season. Anxious to make his assemblies appear exclusive and select, Almack enlisted the aid of a group of blue-blooded society ladies to help decide who merited admission and who did not, and thus was the famous voucher system born. If the lady patronesses did not approve of you, no matter how large your estate or noble your birth, you didn’t get in to Almack’s.

Almack’s system worked. By the Regency era, Almack’s was THE place to be if one had any pretensions to being a member of the haute ton. And as a result, the lady patronesses wielded an almost ridiculous amount of power over society; the cartoon above comments on just how sought-after those vouchers to purchase tickets were. According to one story, a man challenged the husband of one of these august ladies to a duel because his wife had been refused a voucher. Others worked out elaborate schemes to sneak in. No one who had any connection to trade was admitted, and even otherwise socially acceptable army officers and members of the aristocracy might find themselves refused admission.

Within the hallowed halls, the rules were just as rigid. There was a strict dress code for men, and even those who had proper tickets might be turned away if not properly attired (even, it was rumored, the Duke of Wellington on one occasion!) Until around 1814, dances like the quadrille and the waltz were not permitted. Even after they were, young ladies had to demonstrate that they were of modest demeanor and attitude before they could get the permission of one of the lady patronesses to engage in waltzing (which was still considered a rather improper dance). And no one was permitted to enter the rooms after 11 pm, even those with tickets. Liquid refreshment was limited to lemonade, tea, orgeat (a non-alcoholic drink flavored with almonds and orange-flower water) and ratafia (a light liqueur, also fruit and nut based); bread and butter and cake were the only munchies served.

So with all these rules and the less-than-exciting atmosphere, why was it so sought-after?

Because admission to Almack’s meant that you counted. It meant that you were the crème de la crème of English society…one of the 19th century version of the beautiful people. If you were on the prowl for a "good" marriage, it was the prime hunting ground. It meant that, as Henry Luttrell said, "you can do no wrong."

With this Ring (and your ₤25,000), I Thee Wed

Last week I posted about the intricacies of 19th century England’s monetary system…okay, who remembers what a groat is?

This week, we’ll look at a related topic, one of great importance to a lot of teen girls in the 19th century: dowries.

So what is a dowry?

A dowry (also referred to as a “marriage portion” or just “portion”) is the money or property that a bride brought into her marriage. Families of wealth and property usually started putting aside money for a daughter’s dowry as soon as she was born (it could later be used to support her if she chose not to marry). Often it represented her share of what she would inherit from her parents on their death, but given to her upon her marriage rather than later.

Usually some part of a bride’s dowry was designated to be her settlement, an amount of money or other assets like an allowance allotted to her for her own personal use so that she would have some independent means…because her dowry pretty much became her husband’s property upon their marriage. Until a series of legal bills over the course of the middle and later century changed it, women had almost no rights in marriage—in fact, they had no separate legal existence, had no legal right to money they earned or inherited, could not sign a contract or make a will. The marriage settlement was intended to give her some independent means in case her husband should die unexpectedly or go bankrupt (assets listed in a marriage settlement could not be seized by her husband’s creditors); and she was able to make a will to designate who would inherit those assets (often younger sons, who wouldn’t inherit much otherwise.)

Okay, I know this is getting kind of dry…so let’s talk about the fun part: what having a good dowry meant.

What it meant, of course, was that a girl whose family had money could pretty much marry whom she pleased. Among the aristocracy, a standard dowry between families of equal importance usually ran between ₤10,000 and ₤30,000. If the potential bride and groom were of different social classes and backgrounds, this could change: a dowry for a girl whose father was, say, a factory owner who’d risen from the lower classes and made his fortune could range as high as ₤60,000 or more if she wanted to marry into the aristocracy…and a lot of aristocrats, especially later in the 19th century, were quite willing to “buy” a wealthy wife to shore up shaky family fortunes or provide for a younger son. Even Queen Victoria wasn’t immune to this…she was quite interested in securing an heiress named Daisy Maynard for her son Leopold, but the girl had other ideas and went on to become the Countess of Warwick (and mistress to one of Victoria’s other sons, the Prince of Wales!) By the end of the 19th century, poverty-stricken aristocrats were eagerly seeking out wealthy American brides who might bring as much as ₤500,000 in exchange for a title.

And dowries weren’t necessarily in cash; they could include houses and other real estate, jewelry, art, or pretty much any other asset agreed upon between the two families. Among the working classes a girl’s dowry could simply be the household linens and crockery she’d need to set up house, or perhaps a sewing machine so that she could earn money at home.