It’s Valentine's Day tomorrow and Kristina Chetcuti wonders whether matchmakers, or huttab, are still bringing couples together these days. She talks to a parish priest, a cultural historian and a modern-day relationship fixer to find out.

The phone rings. The kappillan of Paola has received a matchmaking call from the kappillan of Qala. Or maybe it’s not exactly matchmaking – the technical term used between the parish priests is “vetting”.

The parents of a Gozitan 20-something girl want to know whether the young man from Paola, who is dating their daughter, is “a tifel sew, minn familja sew” [a good boy, from a good family]. They consult their parish priest, who, in turn, has a chat with his counterpart in Malta.

Dun Marc Andre Camilleri, 31, the Paola parish priest, does not have a box of filing cards with photographs of all the single people in his town to rummage through. He’ll ask around though, and in some way or other, manages to relay answers to the pertinent questions back in Qala.

All being well, the unsuspecting couple gets the blessing of both kappillani and the parents are delighted.

Fr Marc Andre Camilleri

“In the past, priests used to be based in the parish for almost a lifetime, and so they knew every family by name, and were probably an automatic reference point for someone who was looking for a love match. These days, we move around every few years, and so it is a bit more difficult to know the parishioners who are looking for a relationship.”

He pauses, zips up the Nike fleece jacket he is wearing over his cassock and chuckles: “In any case, these things happen by themselves; surely no one is going to marry the person of my choice.”

Although priests no longer play cupid, he admits that they are still frequently asked to vet boyfriends and girlfriends, particularly by the Gozitans. “Especially if the parents are of a certain age, and their offspring has a Maltese namrat, they still refer to the kappillan.”

I would not be the one to find the match for them, but they seek my approval

So in this day and age of online dating sites and Tinder, is there still a place for matchmakers?

He is not sure, however, he says older widows and widowers do seek the advice of the priest when they like someone from the same parish. “They come up to me asking: ‘Dak x’tghidli fuqu?’ or ‘It-tali serju?’

“I would not be the one to find the match for them, but they seek my approval; often they would just need some encouragement to take the first step. My help is limited, but I try to give them some tips to make the first move at least,” he says.

Matchmaking has existed since the dawn of mankind; indeed going by the story of Adam and Eve, we could say that God was the first matchmaker. Since Biblical times, key people in societies always had a role in getting people to form a unit.

Carmel Cassar, cultural historian at the University of Malta, says that the matchmaker was a standard feature in societies all over Europe and the Mediterranean.

“Matchmakers were still consulted in the early 20th century, particularly in rural areas, and not just in Malta,” says Prof. Cassar.

A typical example of this is the classic movie musical, Fiddler on the Roof, set in Ukraine, then part of the Russian Empire, just before World War I. One of the ditties goes:

“Matchmaker, Matchmaker / Make me a match / Find me a find / Catch me a catch / Matchmaker, Matchmaker / Look through your book / And make
me a perfect match.”

In Malta, the matchmaker was known as huttab. Parents of children of marriageable age would speak to the village huttab, who’d try to arrange a meeting with possible contenders. Both sets of parents would have to be happy with the match before a marriage was arranged. Whether the couple fell in love or not was never really factored in.

“Matchmakers were presumably paid in money or in kind, especially if the match was successful, but it was not exactly considered a job,” says Prof. Cassar. “They had a role that was quite similar to the popular healers who were normally sought and paid for a service.”

In his book Daughters of Eve, he refers to a 17th-century documented case in which a certain Simone Brunetto, a soldier of the galley of the Knights of St John, engaged the services of four matchmakers to find a decent husband for his widowed niece Rosa.

It took the four of them to manage to convince Percio Piasuelo, a Maltese man from Vittoriosa, to take to Rosa. Sadly, the match was not a particularly successful one: according to the records, they only stayed together from Easter Sunday till Whitsuntide, which is the seventh Sunday after Easter.

If a man is constantly posting photos of his waxed torso, it kind of signifies that he’s not going to be an ideal match for the girl who likes hiking, camping and rambling

Prof. Cassar says that real matchmaking – as opposed to virtual – still exists in some traditional societies and close-knit communities. “So I would not be surprised to learn of matchmaking among a community in the centre of large metropolitan cities like Paris, London, or Berlin. These communities may have members who may not even know a word of the language of the country that is hosting them.”

In Malta, although no one advertises matchmaking services, there are still a few undercover huttaba around. Clarissa Agius*, a modern-day matchmaker, says she observes “pleasant, decent, interesting people” and pairs them off mentally with other people who she thinks they’d like. Then she comes up with “stratagems” to get them to meet, or better still, spend time together, such as fake power cuts and pretend car breakdowns.

“Some people are nearly impossible to match because they are not very interesting, or too self-absorbed,” she says. “Also, many people are quite choosy and have a sort of set ideal of what they want – a Gabriel Garko look-alike, or a blonde babe. They don’t give others a chance, not realising that looks, while being an important factor, are not as important as a girl who can make you laugh, or a man who cooks great lasagne.”

Clarissa says that social media sites are of help to a modern-day huttaba. She gleans information and the character traits of a person from their Facebook posts to assess their suitability.

“If a man is constantly posting photos of his waxed torso, it kind of signifies that he’s not going to be an ideal match for the girl who likes hiking, camping and rambling. Where are you going to find a waxing salon in the great outdoors?”
There are absolutely no financial rewards in it for Clarissa; in fact, she mostly matches in secret, “like a female version of The Godfather”. But there have been times when people have asked her to intervene – mostly mothers of friends – and she has managed too.

Why does she do it? “Oh, I just try to add to the sum total of human happiness,” she says, convinced that matchmaking will be around till the end of time because “we all love a love story”.

The modern-day matchmaker’s success stories:
• A Neapolitan guy at the deli counter would always talk to me about scamorza and the joys of the different salamis. That was before the processed meat scare and I ate my weight in prosciutto and salami just to hear him impart his knowledge. I set him up with this really clever Ukrainian waitress, who always remembered my order and not to spoil my cappuccino with chocolate. They were both so beautiful and so creative and now they run a bar in Italy.
• Then there was the former colleague in IT, who was really quiet, always saving the day when our computers froze. I realised that underneath the whole computer geek get-up, he was quite handsome, and then I started noticing that he would bring interesting books to read. He was very shy; he had been a chubby kid and had lost weight when he was about 16, but was still very self-conscious and hardly dated. Immediately, I thought of my friend who wanted to be a teacher. She was a bookworm and an animal lover; not your Paceville-going type. She had also been chubby as a kid. I knew they would hit it off. So I got the computer guy to come home and reformat my PC. I told my girlfriend to come home to borrow a book too. Then I introduced him as a computer whizz and forced her to get him to see her computer… and the rest is history. They’re married now.

What happened after the match in centuries past?
After the huttab helped the parents find a partner to their son or daughter, in the 18th century, a small engagement party was usually held, at which the families of the bride and the bridegroom, as well as their friends, were present.
According to the study Private life, religion and enlightenment in Malta in the late 18th century by the historian Frans Ciappara, the groom presented his bride to the guests and they all kissed her. Some refreshments were then served, including wine, hazelnuts, rosolio and biskuttini. Sometimes, there was music and dancing too.

This story appeared in the last edition of Pink.

Priests: agony aunts not matchmakers
More than a matchmaker, the priest today is more of an agony aunt’ – at hand to solve relationship problems, says Fr Marc Andre Camilleri [pictured].
“Today when a young couple chooses a priest to marry them, its the start of a relationship in which he’ll be their spiritual guide throughout their married journey.”
Marriages are not becoming any easier, first of all because of the age factor – people are marrying late so everyone is more set in their ways, plus age also brings with it infertility problems and a lot of suffering, he says.
“One of the privileges of Catholic priesthood is that you are always close to the people – whatever happens the priest is always present.”

*Names have been changed to protect the person’s identity.