
Tales Of Antiquity - SA xx-xx-xx (x) Publish and Be Damed
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A
Good afternoon. Come in, come in. Let me offer you a glass of sherry. A tail or two and perhaps one of my priceless antiques. Tales of Antiquity. Stories of the Romantic past. After, through the eyes and ears of Eustace Glean Collector Extraordinary. Historic Today. Publish and be damned. Enjoy your sherry.
B
Yeah.
A
I'm so glad you were able to drop by. I've another literary treasure to show you. Yeah, but it's of a vastly different nature from Miss Austen's efforts. Indeed, yes. Harriet Wilson's memoirs of herself and others. An amusing little adventure. Let me tell you about it. In 1811, when George III of England was declared insane and his son, the Prince of Wales, became regent in his place, his they commenced an age of corruption and extravagance the like of which England had never seen. The then village of Brighton became the center of these royal orgies of voluptuousness when the prince had built his phantasmagotical horror, the Royal Pavilion. Influenced by the dissipated tastes of their royal peers, many a young aristocrat indulged their passions. No exception was the heir to the Duke of Beaufort, the Marquess of Worcester, Henry Somerset, who had become embroiled with the notorious Harriet Wilson, a smart, saucy girl with good eyes and dark hair and the manners of a wild schoolboy. Little attention was afforded the intrigue, but Harriet followed her young lover down to Brighton and there set up house with him, filling the town with rumors that the marquess shortly intended making this wildcat his Lady Beaufort.
C
You cannot be serious, Elizabeth. That coarse creature become Lady Beaufort?
B
So it is rumoured. Charles.
C
From whence did you get this?
A
Room, I pray?
B
Lady Jersey, who is reputed to have got it from the Marquis of Stane, who, upon his own admittance, declares to have received it from young Worcester himself.
C
Are you certain, my dear, that this is not some hoax from our friend Theodore Cook, esquire?
B
No, Charles, I do assure you this is a most serious situation. And one which is in need of the swiftest action.
A
Meanwhile, in an upper room in a small terraced house on the Brighton seafront.
B
But, Henry, my dearest, I am happy in my present situation.
D
I do not see that you can be truly happy without the security of title.
B
But my needs are simple, my dear, and ladylike pursuits never did sit well upon me.
D
Ay, you are a wild creature, to be sure. At home, more in the royal orchard than the royal bedchamber.
B
That capricious romp is done with. Besides, prinny found my ways too tiring. He's grown somewhat fat of late.
D
I was not Aware that you had favoured his Highness when it was a chance jest I threw out. I did not.
B
Poor Henry. My dearest, if you'd not catch whales, you would do well to throw out shorter lines. Is my dear one out of countenance? Come, let me soothe your ruffled feathers.
A
But Henry was not to be comforted. It was whilst still in this present mood that the maid announced the arrival of Henry's uncle, Lord Charles Somerset. He had called expressly to learn if the rumours he'd heard were indeed true. At first, Henry was not to be drawn until Lord Charles pointed out something of the family heritage.
C
I might remind you, my boy, that you are descended from one of the noblest families in the realm.
A
You.
C
You are a Plantagenet, descended from the kings of England. Do you tell me that you intend creating this demi mondaine a duchess?
D
How dare you refer to the woman I love?
C
Yes, sir. Fiddlesticks. Do you or do you not intend making this creature Lady Beaufort?
D
Yes, Uncle, I do.
C
How dare you, sir? How dare you insult the Beaufort in such an outrageous manner? I shall see you horsewhipped.
D
Might I remind your lordship that you yourself eloped with a person of inferior breeding?
A
Lord Charles was quite rightly incensed by this outrageous remark, pointing out that Lady Somerset was a Courtenay and that it was simply the manner of their marriage that caused such a scandal. However, Henry's uncle decided that firmer measures must be sought to deal with this wayward nephew of his and said as much to the boy's father, the Duke.
C
Quite right, Charles. Firmer measures shall not only be sought, but also employed. Might one ask what you intend? Ship him off somewhere. Don't you think he might be followed? That creature pursued him as far as Brighton. I've enlisted the aid of Arthur Wellesley, whom I understand had a like brush with the lady. I was not aware of that. No, indeed. And Arthur has responded by accepting Henry's services in the Peninsular campaign. Henry set sail with them on Friday. He's to join the British troops in their struggle against the French. Vimiero. And I'd like to see Harry Wilson follow him there.
A
So the young man was packed off for the Spanish peninsula to assist in the affray against Napoleon's allies. Harriet was more than a little disturbance at hearing this news.
B
But what if you are killed?
D
Not an uncommon hazard for soldiers to face. My dear.
B
It is I who have brought this upon you.
D
No, my dear.
B
Harriet. Yes, Henry. Your father is sending you away. Even to your death, if needs be. In an effort to Part us.
C
I shall return.
B
No, Henry. Within a month you would have forgotten me.
D
I shall never forget you, Harriet.
B
How many times have I heard those words? When do you leave?
D
I join the prince's regiment tomorrow. We sail upon the Redoubtable on the first tide for Friday. I'm sorry, my dearest.
B
I had best help you put together your things.
D
Time enough for that with a whole day.
B
A day? Heavens. A veritable lifetime.
A
Harriet.
B
Oh, Henry.
A
And so the days and the weeks and the months went by. Harriet returned to her London apartments and locked herself away, seeing no one and writing copious letters to her beloved Henry. And then one day, her maid announced a visitor. The one whom she'd best received, she advised, for it was the duke himself. She received his grace in her boudoir, for, as she observed, he'd surely seen a lady's boudoir ere now.
B
Obviously this is not meant to be taken as a social visit. Would it please your grace, therefore, to come straight to the point?
C
The point, madam, is these.
A
And he flopped down a neat bundle of letters that. That Harriet at once recognized as those she had sent to her beloved Henry. His grace then explained that he had had all their letters intercepted and now requested that she return to him his son's letters to her. Harriet was bewildered.
B
But did you not say you would have them intercepted?
C
I refer to his previous correspondence with you before your liaison.
A
Heavens.
B
Would you leave me nothing?
C
Nothing with which you might harm him?
B
You think so ill of me? Does it not occur to your grace that I might love him too greatly to bring him home?
C
I am a sceptic. I fear when faced with penury, I believe any means of sustenance might be employed.
B
I have no need of blackmail. I have other more lucrative means, no doubt, and of an honest nature.
C
I am a generous man, Ms. Wilson. I mean to compensate you.
B
I doubt that you have sufficient funds to compensate me for the pain you have already caused. Tell me of this compensation.
C
What price do you place upon my son's literary efforts?
B
Price? Shall we settle at 100 guineas?
C
Excellent.
B
Per letter?
C
What?
B
And I assure your grace, the marquis is a prolific correspondent. I have in my possession 53 of his letters.
C
You'll ruin me.
B
I should like to think so, your grace. Certainly.
A
Almost a year had elapsed, and Harriet waited patiently, certain in her heart that in spite of the duke's intervention, her dear Henry would find some means of returning to her. However, upon a bleak, wintry day, Harriet's maid brought her the London gazetteer. The pages turned conveniently to the center paragraphs. Harriet read the passage indicated with growing disbelief.
B
The marriage is announced of the most honourable Lord Henry Charles Beaufort, Marquess of Worcester, to Georgina Frederica Fitzroy, daughter of Lord and Lady Southampton and niece to the renowned Duke of Queenton. Marriage is to take place. I shall never forget you, Harriet. Indeed you shall not, Henry, nor any other fine gentleman who have accused me. Madam, are you ill? Ill? No. But I have a plan, Nell, A most lucrative one. You are aware of what occupies me each day? Your memoirs, madam, I know perceive their true worth. Madam has found a publisher. When I have done, I shall have publishers by the score, clamouring for my book. Yet it shall be the subjects themselves who clamour most. I don't take madam's meaning. The gentleman within these pages now shall pay most handsomely for the privilege of being omitted. Was that wise then, madam? How else might a defenceless woman make her way in this wicked world? I am well past my 30th year. I must look to the future. A woman's charms are not immortal, much as we endeavour to make them so. A fresh start, I think. A somewhat more direct approach. Memoirs of herself and others by Mistress Harriet Wilson.
C
But madam, you cannot publish such a document. I shall be banned from the House of Lords.
B
Ah, but Sir William. You may purchase the relevant chapters that say 2000 Guineas. Come now, my Lord. 2000 Guineas or I publish. What is it to be? But your grace, a further 3,000 is not exorbitant. Not to save your son's reputation. Lord Lambton paid almost double that amount.
C
But this is blackmail, madam. Blackmail?
B
Not in the least. I merely offer your grace the opportunity of purchasing an original manuscript to do it. As you will.
A
And so Harriet Wilson made infinite gain from her notorious memoirs that afforded her easy comfort for the rest of her days. As the years passed, she avoided the dubious pleasure of gentlemanly escorts, choosing comfort rather from her ever loyal maid and companion, Nell. It was the year 1820, a fine spring day, and Henry and his father, the Duke, were enjoying a ride together down Rotten row when Henry suddenly let out a startled cry.
C
Great Scots. What is it, Henry? On the pavement there, I thought not a ghost, Henry. That was Harriet Wilson. The years, I fear, have not been kind to her.
B
Was I mistaken, Nell? Or was it. No, madam, that was his Grace and his son, the Marquis. In the carriage that passed, he looked well. Yes, madam. Come. It doesn't do to dwell on what might have been. Let me help you in the carriage. All the same, I could have wished. Oh, well, take me home now.
A
It was a week later, and by careful inquiry, Henry had discovered the present whereabouts of his erstwhile mistress.
B
There, Henry. Your favorite Madeira. A taste you gave me all those years ago. I'll have no other in the house.
D
And a fine house it is. You live well, Harriet.
B
My past acquaintances have proved most generous.
D
Skills living on the proceeds of your memoirs.
B
Ah, indeed. Though I would rather have lived simpler with the one I loved.
D
Many years have passed. Perhaps we were both a trifle foolish.
C
On your memoirs.
D
I was surprised that you had not.
B
Approached Lord Arthur, the Duke of Wellington. But I did. He declined my offer.
D
What did he say?
B
Publish and be damned. So I did. I consider it my best chapter. Truth will out, Henry.
A
Indeed, Harriet.
C
Indeed.
A
Wouldn't you care to read Ms. Wilson's memoirs? They make a most intriguing read. Here, take the volume. Do drop by again. Good afternoon. That is Tales of Antiquity, written and produced by Kenneth Hendrik.
Podcast: Harold's Old Time Radio
Date: September 14, 2025
Episode Theme:
A dramatized retelling of the infamous memoirs of Harriet Wilson, her romantic entanglement with Lord Henry Somerset, and her shrewd navigation of early 19th-century English society. The story reveals themes of scandal, class, reputation, and the power of the written word—culminating in the phrase “Publish and be damned.”
The episode presents a lively recreation of historic scandal, set during England’s Regency era, focusing on Harriet Wilson, a notorious courtesan whose memoirs threatened the aristocracy with exposure. The episode deftly illustrates how personal relationships intersected with reputation and power, and how Harriet turned potential ruin into lasting security through her writing.
“A smart, saucy girl with good eyes and dark hair and the manners of a wild schoolboy.” — Narrator (01:17)
“I shall never forget you, Harriet.” — Henry (06:26)
“How many times have I heard those words?” — Harriet (06:28)
“Shall we settle at 100 guineas?” — Harriet (08:39)
“Per letter?” — Harriet, emphasizing her bargaining power (08:44)
“The gentleman within these pages now shall pay most handsomely for the privilege of being omitted.” — Harriet (10:15)
“But this is blackmail, madam.” — Nobleman (11:52)
“Not in the least. I merely offer your grace the opportunity of purchasing an original manuscript.” — Harriet (11:55–11:58)
“But I did. He declined my offer.” — Harriet
“What did he say?” — Henry
“Publish and be damned. So I did.” — Harriet (14:14–14:19)
“Though I would rather have lived simpler with the one I loved.” — Harriet (13:54)
“I consider it my best chapter. Truth will out, Henry.” — Harriet (14:22)
“You are a wild creature, to be sure. At home, more in the royal orchard than the royal bedchamber.” — Henry (03:10)
“Might I remind your lordship that you yourself eloped with a person of inferior breeding?” — Henry (04:36)
“A woman’s charms are not immortal, much as we endeavour to make them so. A fresh start, I think. A somewhat more direct approach. Memoirs of herself and others by Mistress Harriet Wilson.” — Harriet (11:02)
“Publish and be damned. So I did. I consider it my best chapter. Truth will out, Henry.” — Harriet (14:16–14:22)
The episode adopts the witty, flirtatious, and dramatic language of Regency England, mixing narration with lively character dialogue. It balances historical context with personal drama, all delivered with a knowing, slightly mischievous tone befitting both the subject matter and the title character.
This episode of Tales Of Antiquity weaves history and drama into a story of wit, resilience, and the weaponization of reputation—animated by the indomitable Harriet Wilson. It’s a reflective, sharply humorous glimpse into a past where secrets were currency and “publish and be damned” was both a warning and a battle cry for those, especially women, determined to claim their agency.