She was not mistaken. Godwin has recorded in his diary that he was at the theatre on that particular occasion. They not only did not inform each other of their movements, but they even considered it unnecessary to speak when they met by chance. Godwin’s realization of his theory further confirmed him in the belief that in this particular he was right. When he wrote “St. Leon,” he is supposed to have intended Marguerite, the heroine, for the picture of his wife. In that novel, in his account of the hero’s domestic affairs, he indirectly testifies to the merits of his own home-life. St. Leon says:—
“We had each our separate pursuits, whether for the cultivation of our minds or the promotion of our mutual interests. Separation gave us respectability in each other’s eyes, while it prepared us to enter with fresh ardor into society and conversation.”
The peculiar terms on which they lived had at least one advantage. They were the means of giving to later generations a clear insight into their domestic relations. For, as the two occupied separate lodgings and were apart during the greater part of the day, they often wrote to each other concerning matters which people so united usually settle by word of mouth. Godwin’s diary was a record of bare facts. Mary never kept one. There was no one else to describe their every-day life. This is exactly what is accomplished by the notes which thus, while they are without absolute merit, are of relative importance. They are really little informal conversations on paper. To read them is like listening to some one talking. They show how ready Mary was to enlist Godwin’s sympathy on all occasions, small as well as great, and how equally ready he was to be interested. It is always a surprise to find that the children of light are, despite their high mission, made of the same stuff as other men. It is therefore strange to hear these two apostles of reform talking much in the same strain as ordinary mortals, making engagements to dine on beef, groaning over petty ailments and miseries, and greeting each other in true bon compagnon style. Mary’s notes, like her letters to Imlay, are essentially feminine. Short as they are, they are full of womanly tenderness and weakness. Sometimes she wrote to invite Godwin to dinner or to notify him that she intended calling at his apartments, at the same time sending a bulletin of her health and of her plans for the day. At others she seems to have written simply because she could not wait, even a few hours, to make a desired explanation, to express an irrepressible complaint, or to acquaint him with some domestic contretemps. The following are fair specimens of this correspondence:—
Jan. 5, 1797.
Thursday morning.—I was very glad that you were not with me last night, for I could not rouse myself. To say the truth, I was unwell and out of spirits; I am better to-day.
I shall take a walk before dinner, and expect to see you this evening, chez moi, about eight, if you have no objection.
Jan. 12, 1797.
Thursday morning.—I am better this morning, but it snows so incessantly that I do not know how I shall be able to keep my appointment this evening. What say you? But you have no petticoats to dangle in the snow. Poor women,—how they are beset with plagues within and without!
Jan. 13, 1797.
Friday morning.—I believe I ought to beg your pardon for talking at you last night, though it was in sheer simplicity of heart, and I have been asking myself why it so happened. Faith and troth, it was because there was nobody else worth attacking, or who could converse. C. had wearied me before you entered. But be assured, when I find a man that has anything in him, I shall let my every-day dish alone.