Harriette Wilson does, what a courtesan should never do, she falls in love

For weeks now Harriette Wilson has recorded in her memoirs that she is obsessed with one gentleman she’s never spoken to. Yet they’ve shared looks, and followed each other, silently playing a game of interest and admiration.

After Lord Ponsonby’s long absence from town, when Harriette saw him passing her home and glancing into her drawing room window, can you imagine her heart palpitations. Her friends do not leave fast enough, and then she cannot sleep that night.

When she rings for her maid in the morning, she is tired, and yet still full of that inexplicable excitement engendered by a strong attraction.

This excitement only climbs when a letter arrives.

I have long been very desirous to make your acquaintance: will you let me? A friend of mine has told me something about you; but I am afraid you were then only laughing at me; ‘et il sepeut, qu’un home passe, ne sait bon, que pour cela!’ I hope, at all events, that you will write me one line, to say you forgive me, and direct it to my house in town. P.

From Lord Ponsonby. Harriette was delirious with joy, and desperate with anticipation. Last week I spoke about Harriette’s comments about the wives of the men she had intrigues (affairs) with. And here again we get a hint of remorse, as she wrote these memoirs in hindsight, and she speaks of not being able to explain her thoughtlessness, as she buried any concern for the fate of Lord Ponsonby’s beautiful, innocent wife, and lets her thoughts race with desire. She admits, it was a heart bound infatuation.

So let me quickly recap on the history of this blog, before I go on, for anyone joining my blog today. As usual if you have already read this, please continue reading after the italics, from where I have highlighted the text in bold letters.

In 1825 Harriette Wilson, a courtesan, published a series of stories as her memoirs in a British broad sheet paper. The Regency gentleman’s clubs were a buzz, waiting to see the next names mentioned each week. While barriers had to be set up outside the shop of her publisher, Stockdale, to hold back the disapproving mob.

Harriette was born Harriette Debochet, she chose the name Harriette Wilson as her professional name, in the same way Emma Hart, who I’ve blogged about previously, had changed her name. Unlike Emma, it isn’t known why or when Harriette changed her name.

She was one of nine surviving children. Her father was a watchmaker and her mother a stocking repairer, and both were believed to be from illegitimate origin.

Three of Harriette’s sisters also became courtesans. Amy, Fanny and Sophia (who I have written about before). So the tales I am about to begin in my blogs will include some elements from their lives too.

For a start you’ll need to understand the world of the 19^th Century Courtesan. It was all about show and not just about sex. The idle rich of the upper class aspired to spending time in the company of courtesans, it was fashionable, the thing to do.

You were envied if you were linked to one of the most popular courtesans or you discovered a new unknown beauty to be admired by others.

Courtesans were also part of the competitive nature of the regency period too, gambling was a large element of the life of the idle rich and courtesans were won and lost and bartered and fought for.

So courtesans obviously aspired to be one of the most popular, and to achieve it they learnt how to play music, read widely, so they could debate, and tried to shine in personality too. They wanted to be a favoured ’original’.

The eccentric and outspoken was admired by gentlemen who liked to consort with boxers and jockeys, and coachmen, so courtesans did not aim for placid but were quite happy to insult and mock men who courted them, and demand money for any small favour.

Harriette ends her declaration of future regrets, by saying, ‘I should have stopped there, and then what pain and bitter anguish I had been spared; but I declare to my reader, that Lady Fanny Ponsonby, never entered my head.

I had seen little or nothing of the world, I never possessed a really wise friend, to set me right, advise or admonish me. My mother had always ever seemed happiest in my father’s absence, nor did she vex or trouble herself to watch his steps; and I did not know, or at all events, I did not think, my making Lord Ponsonby’s acquaintance would be likely to injure any one of my fellow-creatures; or I am sure such reflection must have embittered that pure state of happiness I now enjoyed.’

So, having admitted she thought only of herself, and that she was overflowing with obsession and adoration for this man, Harriette replied,

‘For the last five months I have scarcely lived but in your sight, and everything I have done or wished, or hoped, or thought about, has had a reference to you and your happiness. Now tell me what you wish.’

If you have read my earlier blogs on Harriette, you can hear the difference in her words being whispered from the page. It is clear she thinks very differently of Lord Ponsonby than any other man. All her other letters have been brisk, and witty, and held men at a distance, tempting them to try harder to win her favour. This immediately lays her feelings bare. She isn’t playing games with Lord Ponsonby, she is willing to accept him on his terms, on any terms, just to have him as her lover.

His reply,

‘I fancy, though we never met, that you and I are, in fact, acquainted, and understand each other perfectly. If I did not affect to disbelieve you, you will not say I am vain; and, when I tell you that we cannot meet immediately, owing to a very sever domestic calamity, you will not say I am cold. In the meantime, will you write to me?’

Lord Ponsonby, explains his domestic calamity, saying his father is on his death bed, and has been ill for five months, and is so reliant on his son, that Lord Ponsonby declares the small watch he has sent Harriette as a gift, is unworthy, but states he could not find a worthy one because his father counts the minutes he is absent from the bedside.

So Harriette must continue waiting. But immediately she understood his solitary rides, with his dog, his paleness, and his melancholy expression of countenance. It was this state of his appearance which had drawn Harriette to him.

She learned from his letters, that the night she had seen him at the opera some weeks before, his father had recovered for a short period, only to then become worse.

Harriette states that her happiness, while this correspondence went on, was ‘the purest.’

And then, at last, he writes and asks to meet her, calling her, ‘his dearest’, and admitting he is so very exhausted, but his father is now scarcely aware of his presence, and so he will ask his brother George to take over, and come to meet her at nine.

Harriette went into panic. It would be the first time they had met close too. She speaks of fearing looking into his bright eyes, she feared she was dreaming, she feared he might die before she met him.

When she describes her feelings, I remember when I fell in love with this intensity. When it was an uncontrollable obsession, that seemed to take me over and have a life of it’s own. I can here this feeling in Harriette’s words. I can feel her heart racing, and her skin sweating, and the emotion racing in her blood which would make it impossible to stay still as she waited. See, again, one of the abiding themes of my blogs. The life about people was different when we look back in time, but feelings and thoughts, were the same.

She hears his footsteps on the stairs to her room, and then she sees him.

It was the fashion for pale skin, in the 1800s, and the most desired state was for a man’s skin, was to be a translucent grey. It was said that Lord Byron used to starve himself to try to obtain this pallor. Lord Ponsonby had this colouring. Harriette speaks of his expressive mouth, and a slight blush in his cheeks, and then she cries, overwhelmed to face him at last.

“My dear, dear little Harriette.” Lord Ponsonby draws her to him, with his arm about her waist. “Let us be happy now we are met.”

John Ponsonby, 4th Earl of Bessborough

I do not think Lord Ponsonby a player either, as Lord Lorne, Harriette’s last real interest had been, unless perhaps he was extremely good at pretending heartfelt feeling.

Harriette says on this first occasion they just talked, all night, and it was as if they had known each other forever. And she says, she sat beside him with her head resting on his chest as they spoke.

He told her that while she had been afflicted with a desire for him for the last few months, his own adoration had run for two years. He had seen her when she lived with Frederick Lamb, and had watched her in the days she was under the protection of Lord Lorne. He speaks of her coming out at the opera, and then becoming notorious, and him trying to forget about her, because she had become someone everyone desired and he was no longer certain he wished to know her. But then he had seen her in the park, and again been attracted to the young vibrant, unusual woman, who walked alone and gave money to the poor.

Yes she admits to longing for a kiss, but says he did not kiss her, but said, “No, not tonight! I could no bear your kiss tonight. We will dream about it until tomorrow.”

They make declarations of love, ‘neither in doubt of the others affection,’ Harriette said. Then Harriette talks of having wished to keep her love from her memoirs, to hold it as her secret, suggesting again that it was something very precious and real, but her editor insisted this story must be included, or otherwise the memoirs would not be published.

I’m glad she put it in. It gives a far greater insight into the life of a courtesan… To capture a real understanding of her feelings…

Well, I’ll continue the story of Harriette’s love affair, next week…

Jane Lark is a writer of authentic, passionate and emotional love stories.

See the side bar for details of Jane’s books, and Jane’s website www.janelark.co.uk to learn more about Jane. Or click ‘like’ on Jane’s Facebook page to see photo’s and learn historical facts from the Georgian, Regency and Victorian eras, which Jane publishes there. You can also follow Jane on twitter at @janelark

Harriette Wilson, a 19th Century courtesan, grows tired of fame and longs for love

Last week Harriette discovered the identity of the man she had been secretly admiring for weeks, and having seen him at the Opera she considered herself utterly in love, but this is the first time we then hear her speak of wives.

The men she had established arrangements with before this period in her life had been unmarried at the time. But both the Duke of Wellington, with whom she had set up regular intrigues, and this man, for whom she carried a hard burning torch, were married.

But before I tell you more, let me recap on the history of this series of blogs for anyone joining today – as usual if you have already read this, read on from after the Italics.

She was one of nine surviving children. Her father was a watchmaker and her mother a stocking repairer, and both were believed to be from illegitimate origin.

You were envied if you were linked to one of the most popular courtesans or you discovered a new unknown beauty to be admired by others.

Not only did Harriette’s friend Julia, share that Lord Ponsonby, Harriette’s desired beau, was considered the most handsome man in England, but she also shared that Harriette probably had little chance with him, because his wife was equally considered the most loveliest creature on earth. ‘I have always been told, very near perfection.’

Harriette’s response during their carriage ride home was that she was glad she had not seen his wife, and hoped she would never see her ‘as long as she lived.’

But Harriette’s obsession with Lord Ponsoby was to be held at bay. He left town. She discovered his absence when deliberately walking past his house a few days after the Opera, only to see the shutters were closed, and therefore the house was empty.

So she was left to continue the constant supplication of men she had little interest in, but endured for the money they paid her.

Beau Brummell

She comments on a letter from Beau Brummel, begging to be admitted to her home, ‘beautiful Harriette’, and claiming he would willingly prostrate himself in public before her, on the pavement, if she would only agree. But she claims his words touched her so little she cannot remember the rest.

Then she speaks of another young man, who was not wealthy, and not in fashion, but had waited to see her at her home, and pleaded passionately for her favour. Although Harriette doubts his true emotion and says, she assumes perhaps he merely pleaded so dramatically as he was under the belief, ‘faint heart never won fair lady.’ Still she turned him away, convincing him he was not for her, (she was well past her days of accepting penniless men) and shook hands with the poor desperate young man, only agreeing to be his friend.

The Duke of Wellington

When Wellington called though, in the morning, and said he had thought of Harriette in bed the night before, she dryly responds with, ‘How very polite to the Duchess.’ Proving again, although a man’s wife does not stop her making arrangements with a gentleman, she must have thought of their wives.

But she must have had very mixed emotions for the Duke of Wellington. She says again when he comes to tell her that he is leaving for the continent that she does feel for him, because he had given her a considerable amount of money, and saved her from many duns. She even cries, although she says her melancholy mood may be as much to do with Lord Ponsonby still being out of town. Yet she compares the quality of Wellington’s company to her first protector, Lord Craven, who bored her silly. Implying Wellington is hard to speak with, she tell us how she talks on every subject to get him talking and then he will just throw in a random comment. ‘(By the by, ignorant people are always wondering)’. Harriette’s words 🙂

Reading between the lines of this period of Harriette’s life, although she still had her fame, and the adoration of many men, it seems to me she found that adoration shallow. What she longed for now was love, she wanted Lord Ponsonby, who she had a passion for, and in comparison, enduring the hollow flattery of men who claimed to love her, but probably did not, seemed tiring and miserable. And that is probably why she cried when Wellington left, because by then she could not walk away from that life, she needed the money these men were giving her, she could not go back and chose a different path, and Wellington’s going probably meant she must put herself about even more.

As I said last week, when Harriette wrote these memoirs, she blackmailed many gentlemen asking them to pay her to keep their stories out of hers, the king among them, and at this point I would guess Harriette speaks of one of the men she blackmailed. Subtly she drops in a comment about a man she arranged to meet at Julia’s, who, as when she met Wellington, had not given his name. Therefore someone so greatly distinguished he did not wish to be known or seen to be making an arrangement with her.

When he arrived, he still refused to give his name, saying ‘it did not signify’. When she’d met Wellington he’d played the same game. But Harriette could not stand to be so insulted, and treated with disdain, so, as she did with Wellington, she sent word to say, ‘Go and tell him that I think it does signify; and that I will not receive people who are ashamed either of me, or themselves.’ When the servant feared giving the message, she wrote it down.

The paper was brought back to her with one word written on the other side.

She sent word back to say, ‘I don’t know anyone in that shire.’

The word would have been the county for which the man must hold a title, like Wiltshire, or Devonshire… But we know it wouldn’t have been the Duke of Devonshire, because she had a passionate dislike of Hart, who was profoundly deaf.

When the peer sent up his calling card, Harriette did see him, but only to hold him to account and ask for an apology, for a previously unmentioned event, when she accuses him of mistaking her house for a tavern, or something worse (presumably a brothel).

This scene, which she picks to mention now, I think again highlights how tired she is getting with this life. Previously she had always had an arrangement with just one man, but with Lord Lorne (her last protector) still away in Scotland, and an expensive lifestyle she wishes to keep, she had ended up drawn into a way of life that must have felt much more like true prostitution. She was entertaining several men, and she seems to be fighting to keep her self-respect by fighting to maintain the level of respect she achieves from the men who court her. She does not wish to associate herself with whores.

John Ponsonby, 4th Earl of Bessborough

So when she is entertaining with her friends and looks out her window to see Lord Ponsonby riding slowly past and looking in, her heart was again soaring with longing for something far more than what she has.

Continued next week…

Jane Lark is a writer of authentic, passionate and emotional love stories.