Queens and Power in Medieval and Early Modern England

13. The "Stomach of a Queen," or Size Matters: Gender, Body Image, and the Historical Reputation of Queen Anne

13 The “Stomach of a Queen,” or Size Matters Gender, Body Image, and the Historical Reputation of Queen Anne robert bucholz The year 2002 marked the 300th anniversary of the accession of Queen Anne. Unlike 2003’s extravaganza of Elizabethan necrophilia, which saw three major international exhibits and a host of commemorative publications, the accession anniversary of the first and last Stuart queen of Great Britain passed virtually without notice, even by the academic world.1 There were but two conferences, one in Florida, the other in Portugal, and seemingly no significant commemorative publications.2 Of all the women who ever ruled in Britain, Queen Anne is probably the most obscure. Most educated people know—or think they know—the others: Mary I as a pathetic monster of religious bigotry and cruelty—the “Bloody Mary” of legend; Mary, Queen of Scots, as beautiful but capricious, glamorous but inept; Elizabeth I as an unattainable mistress of Renaissance realpolitik and improbable feminist icon; and Victoria as a sober-sided matron and unthreatening constitutional monarch. In every case, the achievements and failures of the reign in question have been popularly attributed, either directly or indirectly, to the virtues and defects of 243 the “stomach of a queen,” or size matters each ruler’s personality. Indeed, the two success stories in the above list—Elizabeth and Victoria—became symbols of the nation while they lived and gave their names to their eras after they died. In contrast, Queen Anne has made little impact on our collective historical consciousness, whether popular or professional. Most of the styles and objects named after her—lace, bodices, chairs, even houses—have nothing to do with their namesake. Nor did Anne get to lend her name to her period, which is generally called Augustan after some long-dead Roman Emperor. In short, Queen Anne lacks even her own adjective. And yet it was during Anne’s reign that the British state strode onto the European stage to assume a position of leadership that it would retain, for good or ill, for two centuries. When Elizabeth died in 1603, despite the Armada victory, England was at best a second-rate power still under threat from larger neighbors, but when Anne died in 1714, following the victories of Marlborough and the gains of Utrecht, Britain was the arbiter of Europe. Historians and their readers have generally absolved Anne of responsibility for this. The achievements of her reign have been credited to her subjects, accomplished independently of the stolid presence on the throne. In the words of Justin McCarthy, “When we speak of the age of Queen Anne we cannot possibly associate the greatness of the era with any genius of inspiration coming from the woman whose name it bears.” Or, as Beatrice Curtis Brown argues in her lugubriously entitled Alas, Queen Anne: “Anne as a historical pivot does not exist.”3 Those who have noticed the last Stuart queen have rarely been complimentary. Fairly typical is the following passage from a current (and, it must be said, generally judicious) survey of English history: ฀244 robert bucholz Princess Anne, daughter of James II, ascended the throne in 1702. She was 37 years old, exceedingly fat, red and spotted in complexion , and wracked by gout. She had to be carried to her coronation. She was slow-witted, uninformed, obstinate, and narrow-minded; yet also pious, sensible, good-natured, and kind. She bore fifteen children and buried them all. She loved the Church and those who defended it, but had no interest in art, music, plays, or books. Her one hobby was eating; her husband’s, drinking.4 Despite the rehabilitative efforts of her definitive biographer, Edward Gregg, and other scholars of the caliber of G. S. Holmes and W. A. Speck, this has remained the dominant view of Anne for most of the past 300 years.5 It has been enshrined in the most learned scholarly treatises and in such popular entertainments as The First Churchills and even Monty Python’s Yellowbeard—in which the last Stuart sovereign of Great Britain suffers the supreme indignity of being played for laughs by a man in drag. Elizabeth I versus Anne: Setting the Distaff High Why have historians and their readers discounted Anne? One obvious answer is gender prejudice: as much recent work has reminded us, political power is generally constructed as male.6 But, then, what are we to make...