correct what I disapprove. Experience of this renders me, in the first case a frightened fool, and in the last a passionate
ass.
Godwin hired a female housekeeper to take care of the children while he was working. His friend James Marshall, who often
served as Godwin’s secretary and literary agent, took the place of a parent when Godwin was away on long trips. Godwin tried
to keep in touch with his family through letters. On one occasion he wrote to Marshall:
Their talking about me, as you say they do, makes me wish to be with them, and will probably have some effect in inducing
me to shorten my visit. It is the first time I have been seriously separated from them since they lost their mother. . . .
Tell Mary I will not give her away, and she shall be nobody’s little girl but papa’s. Papa is gone away, but papa will very
soon come back again.
As Mary grew from infancy to childhood, she desperately wanted to please her father and resented his offering any attention
to others. His method of disciplining her when he disapproved of her behavior was to retreat into a calm silence. Such treatment
devastated Mary. Craving affection, she received coldness. Later, in her most personal novel,
Mathilda,
written at a time of loss and desolation in her private life, she would portray an incestuous father-daughter relationship.
Mathilda’s mother died a few days after her birth, intensifying the relationship between father and daughter, which appears
to have been close to wish fulfillment.
W
hen Mary was four, Godwin found a second wife—or rather, she found him. At the time, the Godwins lived at the Polygon, a recently
built housing development on the outskirts of London. The community was a set of balconied houses on the edge of a field.
One day in 1801, Godwin’s new next-door neighbor, an attractive woman in her mid-thirties named Mary Jane Clairmont, called
to him from her balcony: “Is it possible that I behold the immortal Godwin?” What man could resist?
Clairmont was a bit of a mystery woman. She called herself a widow, but the identity (and fate) of her two children’s father
or fathers is uncertain. Even her last name is in doubt—she registered herself under two different names when she and Godwin
were married. Clairmont had a three-year-old daughter named Clara Mary Jane; this child would later call herself Claire. Mrs.
Clairmont also had a son about Fanny’s age named Charles. Charles was apparently the son of Karl Gaulis, a Swiss, but Clara
Mary Jane may have had a different father. In later life Claire tried many times to find out the secrets of her birth, apparently
without success.
Godwin was quite a catch for Mary Jane Clairmont, and she soon reeled him in. They were married in a church, apparently the
bride’s decision, in December of that year. James Marshall was the only witness present. The new Mrs. Godwin soon expelled
him from the household.
Four-year-old Mary was devastated by her father’s remarriage. She resented having to share his love with another and was jealous
of her new mother. Moreover, there were obvious signs of the new bond between husband and wife: Jane was soon pregnant. Their
first child was stillborn, but that was followed by a second child, born March 28, 1803. He was christened William—the namesake
that William Godwin had expected from his first wife, the boy that little Mary had not been.
In Mary’s eyes, Jane Clairmont would always compete with her mother’s ghost. The two women were very different people—Wollstonecraft
was emotional, almost manic-depressive, but Clairmont was shrewd and competent, ambitious, and a manager. She proved to have
a head for business, but lacked warmth, at least toward her stepchildren. Many of Godwin’s friends shared his daughter’s dislike
for her new mother. The children’s book author Charles Lamb referred to her as the “widow with green spectacles,” comparing
her to
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