Fabulous women of the Restoration era
Mary “Moll” Davis (1648-1708)
Unlike pretty, witty Nelly, Moll Davis was almost universally despised during her time as King Charles II’s mistress, though the pair were similar in origin and creed. Moll was considered common, uncouth, ambitious beyond her station and as nothing more than a gutter strumpet. The truth, however, is much less unfavourable. If Moll had been alive today, she may have graced the pages of the tabloid press or tried her luck as a glamour model or W.A.G. She radiates the kind of sexually charged charisma, bedecked with gaudy jewellery, that is so intrinsic to the personality of Restoration women. And yet, she is probably one of the least well-documented of Charles II’s main lovers.
Despite her seemingly unworthy origins, Moll (born Mary Davis) was actually the bastard daughter of one of the Earls of Berkshire. Historians aren’t sure which: Samuel Pepys believed she was the daughter of the third earl but some have argued she is more likely to be the daughter of his uncle, the second earl. Whatever her specific parentage, this meant Moll Davis was an illegitimate member of the Howard family, one of the most illustrious in the country and with a glorious and dynamic history. In the 1660s, when Moll was a teenager, she became one of the first women on the English stage, taking up a role as an actress in the Duke’s Company under Sir. William Davenant. Ironically, Nell Gwynn was a member of the King’s Company, the rival acting troupe at this time. Moll was a marvellous dancer, singer and entertainer. She was sparky, sexy and charismatic. In her appearance, she was exactly what men at the time considered to be their dream woman: brunette, plump, large-chested and dimpled. Just like Nell Gwynn, Moll too was deemed to be irresistible and voluptuous when she donned her male fop outfit. Men adored her for her vulgarity: she was unashamed to play up her considerable assets when working the stage.
Moll met Charles II at a coffee-house in 1667, though the King was probably aware of her existence prior to this meeting considering her popularity on the stage. She became his mistress soon after, much to the annoyance of Charles’ noble-born mistress, Barbara Villiers, who detested Moll with a passion. One of the biggest criticisms of Moll’s character comes from her lack of modesty in showing off her earnings as a royal mistress. She flaunted her wealth: Samuel Pepys notes how she would often show off her expensive coach and a ring, worth £600, a phenomenal sum in those days. All of these had been presents from the king and Moll was seemingly unashamed to proclaim thus. Samuel Pepys’ wife, we hear, thought her “the most impertinent slut in the world.” Indeed, she seemed to relish in public drama and scandal. In December 1668, Moll was sat in a theatre box above the king, though the pair spent the entire time making eyes at one another. Barbara Villiers, sat in her usual place alongside Charles, was apparently consumed with “fire” when she realised her royal lover was parading himself with this upstart young actress with delusions of grandeur. Other than that, Moll swore, she did not moderate her voice, her language or her accent, and held no sort of reverence for the intricacies of court life.
Charles was in love enough with Moll to purchase her a fine house very early on in their relationships and contemporaries did note his fondness for her. She left the stage permanently in 1668 to focus her attentions solely on her royal lover and in 1669, Moll gave birth to a daughter by Charles, named Lady Mary Tudor (probably a creation of Moll’s, in reference to her Howard ancestry and her daughter’s royal blood.) Despite this, it was not to last. Around this time, Charles became infatuated with the witty and unequalled Nell Gwynn, a rival from Moll’s acting days. History tells us that Nell would be, arguably, the love of Charles’ life, but Moll was determined to put a stop to it. Nell, however, had other ideas. In a plan concocted by Nell and the playwright, Aphra Behn, Nell served up Moll laxatives in a pie and in tea on the day she was to spend a night with the king. Of course, Moll was much afflicted and had to decline the king’s request to see her and Charles spent the night with Nell instead. It was potentially the final nail in Moll’s coffin, though Charles, ever-generous and grateful, awarded her a lifelong annual pension of £1000 and in, in 1672, had a fine house furnished for her in London.
Moll drops off the records for a bit, until 1686, a year after the death of her royal lover. Moll had fallen in love with and married a young French musician and composer, James/Jacques Peasible. Though Moll was clearly devoted to the young virtuoso, contemporaries took the opportunity to lambast her once again. Sir. George Etherege wrote: Mrs Davies has given proof of the great passion she always had for music, and Monsieur Peasible has another bass to thrum than that he played so well upon. Moll and her husband would later join Charles II’s exiled brother, James II, at his pseudo-court in St. Germain-en-Laye, though the pair would return to England in 1693 to remain in the employ of James’ daughter, Princess Anne (later Queen Anne of Great Britain.) Moll died in 1708, but unlike Charles’ other mistresses, her death caused little fanfare or talk. She passed peacefully from this world to the next, quite unlike the life she had lived.
Moll left her greatest legacy in her daughter, Lady Mary Tudor, who would cause quite a scandal in the early 18th century when she sought a divorce from her husband and whose children, James and Charles, would be executed gruesomely for their dedication to Jacobitism. But Moll also left us a pressing question: why does she gain such scorn, from her contemporaries but also from historians too? She was just as bold and brazen as Nell Gwynn, just as beautiful and grasping as Barbara Villiers, just as scandalous as Hortense Mancini, and just as flaunting and smug as Louise de Kerouaille. But Moll is forever underpinned as nothing more than a royal concubine, a quick tumble in straw for a King so addicted to pretty women. Her vulgarity is played up to maximum level, as if the Restoration stage where she was crafted wasn’t the very pinnacle of bawdiness. In the few paintings we have left of Moll by the court painter, Sir. Peter Lely (such as the one pictured), we see a posed pretty woman, very clearly a royal mistress but almost always depicted sitting next to a golden jar: it is the gold unguent jar of Mary Magdalene, symbolically implying that Moll is a reformed sinner. Of course, it is a pun at Moll’s expense. And it is a pun that seems to have pervaded through the centuries, making this very fascinating young woman, one who led the charge for females on the stage and one who was confident in herself enough to spend an evening making eyes at the King of England in front of the whole world, even harder to study.
