On 30 August 1797, Mary Wollstonecraft gave birth to her daughter, the future Mary Shelley.
To mark this date, here are some accounts of her life and death.
In his Memoirs of the Author of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1798), her husband William Godwin writes:
‘She was taken in labour on Wednesday, the thirtieth of August. […] She was so far from being under any apprehension as to the difficulties of child-birth, as frequently to ridicule the fashion of ladies in England, who keep their chamber for one full month after delivery. For herself, she proposed coming down to dinner on the day immediately following. She had already had some experience on the subject in the case of Fanny; and I cheerfully submitted in every point to her judgment and her wisdom. She hired no nurse. Influenced by ideas of decorum, which certainly ought to have no place, at least in cases of danger, she determined to have a woman to attend her in the capacity of midwife. […] At five o’clock in the morning of the day of delivery, she felt what she conceived to be some notices of the approaching labour. Mrs. Blenkinsop, matron and midwife to the Westminster Lying-in Hospital, who had seen Mary several times previous to her delivery, was soon after sent for, and arrived about nine. During the whole day Mary was perfectly cheerful. Her pains came on slowly; and in the morning, she wrote several notes, three addressed to me, who had gone, as usual, to my apartments, for the purpose of study. About two o’clock in the afternoon, she went up to her chamber, — never more to descend.’ (pp. 178-180)
Her (occasional) acquaintance Elizabeth Inchbald mentions Wollstonecraft’s labour and death in a letter:
‘She was attended by a woman, whether from partiality or economy I can’t tell — but from no affected prudery I am sure. She had a very bad time, and they at last sent for an intimate acquaintance of his, Mr. Carlisle, a man of talents. He delivered her; she thanked him, and told him he had saved her life: he left her for two hours — returned, and pronounced she must die. Still she languished three of four days. This is the account I have heard, but not from him [Godwin]; he has written to me several times since; but they are more like distracted lines than any thing rational.’ (Memoirs of Mrs. Inchbald, London: Bentley, 1833, pp. 14/15)
Mary Shelley, who only knew her mother from her writings, portraits, and her gravestone, later wrote about her:
‘The writings of this celebrated woman are monuments of her moral and intellectual superiority. Her lofty spirit, her eager assertion of the claims of her sex, animate the “Vindication of the Rights of Woman;” while the sweetness and taste displayed in her “Letters from Norway” depict the softer qualities of her admirable character. Even now, those who have survived her so many years, never speak of her but with uncontrollable enthusiasm. Her unwearied exertions for the benefit of others, her rectitude, her independence, joined to a warm affectionate heart, and the most refined softness of manners, made her the idol of all who knew her. Mr Godwin was not allowed long to enjoy the happiness he reaped from this union. Mary Wollstonecraft died the 10th September 1797, having given birth to a daughter, the present Mrs. Shelley.’ (‘Memoirs of William Godwin’, in Caleb Williams, (London: Bentley, 1831), p. ix)
And finally, some of Mary Wollstonecraft’s own thoughts on motherhood:
‘To be a good mother — a woman must have sense, and that independence of mind which few women possess who are taught to depend entirely on their husbands. […] Females, it is true, in all countries, are too much under the dominion of their parents; and few parents think of addressing their children in the following manner, though it is in this reasonable way that Heaven seems to command the whole human race. It is your interest to obey me till you can judge for yourself; and the Almighty Father of all has implanted an affection in me to serve as a guard to you whilst your reason is unfolding; but when your mind arrives at maturity, you must only obey me, or rather respect my opinions, so far as they coincide with the light that is breaking in on your own mind.’ (A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, pp. 233/237)
The Women's Playhouse 