to Writings by Other Women1693 - 1756
From
The Female Spectator
A Young Widow of my Acquaintance, rich, beautiful and gay, had scare sully'd the Blackness of her Weeds, before she ventur'd to take for a second Husband a Man, who, had she once consider'd on what she was about to do, she would have found had no one Quality that could promise her any Felicity with him. --He had not been married a Month before he loaded her with the most gross Abuse, turned her innocent Babes out of Doors, and affronted all her Friends who came to reason with him on the Injustice and Cruelty of his Behaviour. --The unadvised Step she had taken indeed but little merited Compassion for the Event, but the Sweetness of Disposition with which she had always treated all who knew her, render'd it impossible not to have a Fellow-feeling of the Calamities she labour'd under. A particular Friend of her's, however, took one Day the Liberty of asking how she could throw away herself on a Person so every way undeserving of her? To which she made this short, but sincere Reply: --Ah! said she, it is a sad thing to live alone. To this the other might have returned, that she could not be said to be alone who had a Mother to advise, and three sweet Children to divert her most melancholly Hours; but this would have been only adding to her Affliction, and her Condition being now irremidable required Consolation.
Perhaps the reading this short Detail of the Misfortune her Inadvertency had brought upon her, may give her some Palpitations which I should be sorry to occasion; but as she is a much-lamented Instance of the Danger to which any one may be subjected through want of a due Reflection, I could not forbear mentioning it as a Warning to others.
When this immoderate Desire of Company remains in Persons of an advanced Age, tho' it threatens less Mischief, is more ridiculous than in the younger sort. I know a Lady, who by her own Confession, is no less than fifty-five, yet in all that long Length of Time has treasured up nothing in her Mind wherewith she can entertain herself two Minutes. --She has been a Widow for several Years, has a Jointure sufficient to support a handsome Equipage, is without Children, or any other Incumbrance, and might live as much respected by the World as she is really contemned, could she prevail on herself to reflect what sort of Behaviour would be most becoming in a Woman of her Age and Circumstances.
But instead of living in a regular decent manner, she roams from Place to Place, --hires Lodgings at three or four different Houses at the same time, lies one Night at St. James's, another at Covent-Garden, a third perhaps at Westminster, and a fourth in the City. --Nor does she look on this as a sufficient Variety. --She has at this Moment Apartments at Richmond, --Hammersmith, --Kensington and Chelsea, each of which she visits two or three times at least every Month, so that her Time is pass'd in a continual Whirl from one Home to another if any can be justly called so; but it seems as if she had an Aversion to the very Name, for the Rooms she pays for, she dwells in the least; seldom eats in any of them, and forces herself as it were into those of other People, where she sends in a Stock of Provision sufficient for the whole Family, in order to purchase for herself a Welcome. But as People of any Figure in the World would not accept of such Favours, and those of good Sense not endure to be depriv'd of the Privilege of thinking their own Thoughts and entertaining their own Friends, it can be only the extremely Necessitous, or those who have as little in their Heads as herself, that will submit to have their Lodgings and Time taken up in this manner.
Poor Woman! How does she lavish away a handsome Income? --How forfeit all Pretensions to good Understanding and good Breeding, merely for the sake of being permitted to talk as much as she pleases without Contradiction, and being never alone but when asleep. -- I have been told by those who are to be depended upon, that the Moment she is out of Bed, she runs with her Stays and Petticoats into the next Neighbour's Chamber, not being able to live without Company even till she is dress'd.
There are People so uncharitable, as to believe some latent Crime hangs heavy on the Minds of all those who take so much Pains to avoid being alone; but I am far from being of that Number: --It is my Opinion that neither this old Rattle I have mentioned, nor many others who act in the same manner, ever did a real Hurt to any one. --Those who are incapable of Thinking, are certainly incapable of any premeditated Mischief; and, as I have already said, seem to me a Set of Insensibles, who never act of themselves, but are acted upon by others.
Before one passes so cruel a Censure, one should therefore examine, I mean not the Lives and Characters, for they may deceive us, but at what Point of Time this Aversion to Solitude commenced: --If from Childhood, and so continued even to the extremest old Age, it can proceed only from a Weakness in the Mind, and is deserving our Compassion; but if from taking that Satisfaction in Contemplation and Retirement, which every reasonable Soul finds in it, one sees a Person has turned to the reverse, --starts even while in Company at the bare mention of quitting it, and flies Solitude as a House on Fire, one may very well suspect some secret Crime has wrought so great a Transition, and that any Conversation, tho' the most insipid and worthless, seems preferable to that which the guilty Breast can furnish to itself.
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