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Inconsolable Majesty

Inconsolable Majesty

INCONSOLABLE MAJESTY

Jessica Edwards

Coburg and and

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House ofSaxe House

House ofHanover House

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DRAMATIS PERSONAE Queen – Queen of and Ireland, Head of the Church of Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha -

Victoria and Albert’s children: Victoria (Vicky), (born 1840) Prince Albert (Bertie), Prince of , later: Edward VII (born 1841) Princess Alice (born 1843) Prince Alfred (born 1844) Princess Helena (born 1846) Princess Louise (born 1848) Prince Arthur (born 1850) Prince Leopold (born 1853) (born 1857)

Prince Edward, of Kent and Strathearn – ’s father, son of George III Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg- and – Queen Victoria’s mother John Ponsonby Conroy, 1st – Former Consort to the Duchess of Kent from 1817 - 1837 Baroness Louise Lehzen – Queen Victoria’s governess, advisor and companion from 1827 to 1841 Henry John Temple, 3rd Palmerston (Palmerston) – Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and Ireland (1855-1858, 1859-1865) Leopold I of (Uncle Leopold) Christian Friedrich Stockmar (Stockmar) Dr William Baly - Queen Victoria’s appointed physician in 1859, in succession to Dr Clark Sir James Clark (Dr. Clark) - Queen Victoria’s appointed physician in 1837 Sir William Jenner (Dr. Jenner) - Queen Victoria’s appointed physician in 1861, in succession to Dr Baly Jane Alexander, Countess of Caledon (Jane) – -in-waiting to Queen Victoria Rev. Dr. Goodford - Vicar

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INCONSOLABLE MAJESTY

A Short Historical Novel about Queen Victoria Including extracts from the Court Circular and Queen Victoria’s diaries and letters

I heard a sound by night that chilled my blood And smote upon each sense; And as I hurried by I sudden stood In listening most intense.

Lord Rosslyn, 14th December 1861

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1861

To rule over a great nation is a matter of strategy and passion. A must have the skill to win both the trust of Parliament and the affections of the people. The prejudice that came with my rise to the throne as a Queen was tedious to overcome. The last woman to grace the throne was Queen Anne, who reigned over a hundred years previously. But she did not fulfil her duty as queen and child bearer, for she failed to produce an heir. Poor woman! She lost no fewer than seventeen children, whether through miscarriage or death in early childhood.

Because of this Parliament found itself obliged to ask the related House of Hanover to take over the throne; the alternative of a Catholic descendant of James II would surely have ended in bloody strife.

I have not always had my way as ruler of this country. Yet it is a glorious nation and I am filled with satisfaction that during my reign it has prospered greatly. After twenty-two years on the throne, I realise how ruling has awakened in me a motherly care for my people that I never knew existed. Running a family is another matter though, which in truth I find to be more demanding. As my dearest husband Albert never fails to remind me, there is indeed room to improve in the performance of my duties as a wife and a mother. Even after bearing four sons and five daughters, I struggle to make conversation with my children. Their minds work so differently - they find excitement in the most humdrum things, whereas activities that are truly fulfilling seem dull to them. They address me as a common woman, rather than as Queen of

Great Britain and Ireland and the defender of the faith.

I enjoyed little freedom as a child, being oppressed by my own mother and by her cruel advisor

Sir . Yet I believe that this strict upbringing was for my good and I shall certainly not pamper my own children. They must grow to maturity knowing their destiny as future

Kings and Queens of Europe. It is their special duty to ensure that blue blood of the House of

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Hanover flows through the veins of Europe’s Rulers. Albert rightly takes great interest in protecting the reputation of the . He has taught me to value the morals of our court, domestic harmony and the good education of our children.

My beloved Albert! I doubt that any woman can have greater love for her husband than I. We have been married for almost twenty years and I confess that my wretched self has become the better through our union. Bless him! Since the birth of our last daughter Beatrice in 1857 my temper has improved greatly, as Albert himself tells me. Oh, how I wish I could be a better wife to him, for he is so good to me. What would I do without him? I pray to God that he may outlive me, for I believe I would die of grief without him. That is something I dare not contemplate.

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JANUARY 1861

I once overheard a chattering say that a cold wind blowing from East on New Year’s Eve predicted a loved-one’s death. The children present gasped in horror and I demanded her to refrain from such profane gossip. Then one day the maid was gone and no one could tell me why she left or where she went. But even now, as the New Year begins, I remember her foolish superstition. I refuse to believe such nonsense, of course, but must confess to crossing my fingers and praying secretly for God’s protection.

This morning we attend the New Year’s Day church service in St George's Chapel. Albert and

I, arm in arm, lead the way, with the rest of our family and retinue behind us. I declare we are a handsome couple: Albert - tall and military in bearing, with a neatly trimmed beard - and I – though perhaps not beautiful – yet of pleasing countenance and great decorum. For twenty years now, we have shared the unimaginable joy of each other’s company. For all his great abilities, Albert seems content to be the consort of one blessed with fewer talents than he. But time is my enemy and I must witness the signs of aging, with a new wrinkle or grey hair appearing almost daily. I fear the strains of motherhood are taking their toll upon my health and complexion.

I myself had an unhappy childhood. My father, the and youngest son of King

George III, died when I was but a few months old, making me first in line to the throne. As a child, I had no brothers or sisters to play with and no friends. I was even kept away from the

Royal Court so from a young age I learnt to entertain myself. I was raised in Kensington by my mother, the Duchess of Kent and her confidante Sir John Conroy. They saw me only as a source of power and never as a lonely child. They developed a plan called the Kensington

System which would have made my mother and Sir John Conroy her advisor when I

7 came to the throne. But they did not succeed in their intentions and when I was crowned Queen,

I had Sir John removed from my sight.

In retrospect, I believe I was my mother’s most prized treasure, for without me she would have been nothing. As a child, she never let me out of her sight, saying that she knew what was best for me. But I never believed her. I now know that it was just her method to coerce me into doing what she and that horrid Sir John wanted. She never loved me as a mother should. She was the lover, servant and puppet of Sir John, but no mother to me. I never felt the luxury of a mother’s affection and it is thanks to these circumstances of my childhood that I am the person

– and Queen - I am today.

The weather has not improved greatly since last night’s storm and the heavy clouds in the sky are pressing down on us. Albert seems lost in thought, having said nothing since we left the palace. Perhaps he is feeling unwell since he is still recovering from a gastric attack.

Finding myself unable to engage in conversation, I reflect upon what we represent as leaders of this family, kingdom, empire and church. I imagine how we must appear through the eyes of the spectators who throng the streets; two magnificent, untouchable, almost divine creatures, moving and acting as one soul. How privileged I feel to have such a man at my side. My thoughts are interrupted by a shriek from behind, followed by a baby’s cry. In my irritation I turn abruptly, but with a squeeze of the hand Albert gently reminds me to preserve my composure. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Princess Louise has once again pinched her little sister and her maid is desperately trying to placate them both.

‘Oh, that naughty girl, Louise!’ I whisper. ‘She is putting herself in the centre of attention again. I doubt I shall ever see the day when she learns modesty. It is as if she were destined to be rebellious.’

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Since Albert does not reply, I continue: ‘Well you must agree with me, darling! No man will ever be foolish enough to marry her if she continues to behave like this. Were she not blessed with such an agreeable countenance, I highly doubt that I could tolerate her.’

Albert frowns, not looking at me and I do not know whether his annoyance is caused by Louise’s behaviour or my comment in return.

‘Albert, you must know I only want what is best for her,’ I say apologetically, trying to excuse my sudden outburst.

‘Choose your words wisely, my dear,’ is his only comment.

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FEBUARY 1861

London Evening Standard – Court Circular

Wednesday 06 February 1861

The statement that the Queen intends spending her birthday this year at Balmoral

is without foundation.

It is understood that the Queen will hold a Drawing-room at St. James’s Palace, on

Thursday, the 21st of March next. Her Majesty the Queen went yesterday to the

House of to open the Session of Parliament with Speech from the Throne.

Wednesday 20 February 1861

The Queen and Prince Consort walked yesterday morning in the garden of Buckingham

Palace. His the Prince Consort presided yesterday forenoon at the meeting of the Royal Commission for promoting and encouraging the fine arts in the rebuilding the .

This winter is cold and grey. I spend my days reading Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope, which I find rather dull. I lay the book aside and sigh, looking out of the window. How I dislike these dark days. I would much rather enjoy a sunny spring day, going for walks with Albert and having picnics in the palace gardens. It is a shame that, as Queen, I am unable to command the weather.

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Albert has been unwell these past few days, suffering from a severe toothache and swollen glands. To make matters worse, our esteemed physician, Dr. William Baly, is no longer with us, having been killed in a railway crash at Wimbledon a few weeks ago. Thankfully, his predecessor Dr. Clark was able to take over immediately, but he is an elderly man and I wonder how much longer he will last. Albert seems to have been much affected by Dr. Baly’s death and is busying himself more than ever. To distract himself from his loss, Albert went out early today to visit the Fine Arts Commission. Although he really needs to rest, nothing I could say would have stopped him. So I let him go, though I resolved to show my displeasure upon his return.

I decide to catch some fresh air before meeting the Prime Minister to talk about the wedding arrangements of the . By chance I encountered Dr. Clark with a stranger on my way to the gardens.

‘Your Majesty,’ they say in unison as they bow.

‘Good day, Dr. Clark, I am sorry to disappoint you if you have come for the Prince

Consort as my husband is out for the day.’

‘No, indeed, that was not the only cause for my visit. Allow me to introduce you to Dr.

William Jenner, a most renowned and capable physician. It was he who discovered the causes of typhus and .’

I had often heard of typhoid fever as a very aggressive and painful sickness. I inspect the man closely, without showing any sign of my curiosity. God may indeed have blessed him with intelligence, but not with good looks. His eyes are too small for his face and his hairline appears to have slid to the back of his head.

‘It is an honour to meet you, Your Majesty,’ he says as he humbly bows.

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‘I am here to make a suggestion, Your Majesty,’ Dr. Clark starts. I nod, inviting him to continue.

‘I take the liberty to propose Dr. Jenner as my successor for I am past the age of retirement. I know of no-one more capable, your Majesty.’

‘I will discuss matters with the Prince Consort and you will be informed of our decision as soon as possible.’ In encouragement I add, ‘I feel sure you are an accomplished physician,

Dr. Jenner. There may well be work for you here in the future.’

Due to this encounter, Palmerston was kept waiting before I was ready to receive him. I find the old man ugly and disgusting - though I am told he fancies his ability to charm the .

Of all my Prime Ministers he is the one who has caused me least trouble. He was quite a nightmare as Foreign Secretary, but since becoming Prime Minister has repeatedly surprised me with his helpfulness.

We end our conversation by confirming my earlier decision regarding my son Albert’s marriage: The Prince of Wales shall marry Princess Alexandra of , who, by all accounts, is a woman of great beauty. In my opinion, Bertie is unworthy of her, being no match for her either in beauty or intelligence; but as heir to the British throne, he would be the most eligible bridegroom for any princess in Europe.

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MARCH 1861

London Evening Standard – Court Circular

Monday 04 March 1861

Osborne

The Queen, Prince Consort, Princess Alice, Princess Helena, Princess Louise, Prince

Arthur and Prince Leopold attended Divine service this morning at Osborne. The

Ladies and Gentlemen in Waiting and the domestic household were also present.

The Rev. George Prothero officiated.

I received word of my mother’s ill health and her transfer to a few days ago. Today

I finally find the time - and, I admit, the mental strength - to visit her. I learn that she has had an abscess which the doctors thought it best to operate upon. As I enter the sick-room I am shocked at what I see. My mother lies in bed, surrounded by three physicians. She is pale and her eyes are fixed upon the ceiling, as if paralysed. A shiver runs down my spine and I hurry over to kneel beside her grasping her hand. ‘Oh Mama!’ I gasp.

I stay with her all day and night until Albert finally convinces me to rest. But I cannot. I lie in my bed, drowning in shame and worry: shame for the hatred I had stored in my heart and worry for the little time I have left with my mother. When Albert is asleep, I return to her room, aghast at the sight of her dying face in the light of my lamp. I pray all night, unable to close my eyes.

I wish fervently that this is just a nightmare and that tomorrow will be a new day filled with happiness.

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My mother died at Frogmore on the 16th March and the whole family returned to Windsor. An old lady, probably the Chief Housekeeper gives me some letters and my mother’s diaries. ‘Your

Majesty,’ she says, bowing her head slightly, ‘One of our maids was given these books by the

Queen Mother. It was her wish for Your Majesty to have them.’ She hands them over to me and I take them feebly, unable to express any words in thanks. On our way back to Windsor, I keep myself occupied with little Princess Beatrice, while grieving all the time for my mother.

Only after supper do I find the time to be alone to inspect my mother’s diaries. As I open one of them, the air fills with the familiar fragrance of my mother’s favourite perfume. It evokes in me an unexpected sense of belonging and safety. My eyes are moist as I read the pages.

Unaware of the passing of time, I devour the words as if they could restore the love I had missed so much during my childhood. All of a sudden, I feel Albert’s touch from behind me.

That small gesture of affection triggers my emotions and, with tears of grief, I fall into my husband’s arms. We stand in the middle of the room for a few minutes before he sits me down gently,

‘There, there,’ he whispers.

‘I did not know…,’ I start, ‘I never understood.’

‘Do not tire yourself, my love,’ he urges. ‘We will be there for each other and we will learn to cope with your great loss.’

‘I always knew she was not perfect, but…,’ I sob. He kisses my head. ‘It will be all right in the end.’

I raise my face to his so that I can look into his eyes, which are also filled with tears. ‘I never understood… how much she loved me.’

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JULY 1861

I am bereft. My mother is dead. I blame my childhood governess Lehzen for twisting my mind, leading me to believe my mother was a monster; and I blame Sir John for preventing my mother from showing her true affections. Were it not for Albert, I believe I would have had them both thrown into prison.

Time passes but my grief remains as raw as ever. In the great drawing room at , the ladies-in-waiting tip-toe past me, trying not to disturb me in my solitude. Since my mother’s death, I have withdrawn from public affairs and I spend my time staring out of the window, not noticing how the days go by. Albert, on the other hand, is busier than ever. He feels obliged to work twice as hard to make up for my absence and I lack the strength to stop him. Even little

Princess Beatrice has taken notice of his activities. One day I asked Jane to bring her to me but

Beatrice refused, saying that she was too busy writing letters.

Albert makes various attempts to revive my spirits by organising a visit to London and he is also planning to take us to Ireland and Scotland, just to get my mind off Frogmore. I hear that rumours are spreading regarding my madness, though these do not trouble me as they would have done in the past. Vicky, Palmerston and even Uncle Leopold urge me to prove these rumours false by returning to public life. They consider it unhealthy for me to cling onto the past, but that is just my nature and they cannot possibly understand what it is to suffer such a loss.

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AUGUST 1861

London Evening Standard – Court Circular

Saturday 03 August 1861

Osborne

Her Majesty, his Royal Highness the Prince Consort and the Royal family, passed

the day yesterday in complete retirement, in consequence of the solemn event which

took place yesterday morning at Frogmore.

The and Countess of Lacroma arrived this morning from London on a visit

to her Majesty.

It is so different this year, nothing festive. We celebrated Albert’s birthday on 26 August, but it was very dull. I am in such low spirits; I cannot stand noise, but solitude brings me no comfort either. Oh, Albert is trying very hard to make me happy. Without his help, who knows if I will ever recover.

My dearly beloved Uncle,

Before I thank you for your dear letter of the 14th, or at least before I answer it, I wish to tell you how soothed I was by that visit to that lovely peaceful Mausoleum at Frogmore.

We parted from our dear children and grandchildren with heavy hearts at seven on the morning of the 16th, for their visit, excepting the blank which clouds over everything, has been most peaceful and satisfactory and we have learnt to know and most highly appreciate the great excellence of dear Fritz's character; noble, high-principled, so anxious to do what is right and

16 to improve in every way and so sweet- tempered and affectionate--so, beyond everything, devoted to Vicky.

We went that afternoon (16th) to Frogmore, where we slept. The first evening was terribly trying and I must say quite overpowered me for a short time; all looked like life and yet she was not there! But I got calmer; the very fact of being surrounded by all she liked and of seeing the dear pretty house inhabited again, was a satisfaction and the next morning was beautiful and we went after breakfast with wreaths up to the Mausoleum and into the vault which is a plain-pied and so pretty--so airy--so grand and simple, that, affecting as it is, there was no anguish or bitterness of grief, but calm repose! We placed the wreaths upon the splendid granite sarcophagus and at its feet and felt that only the earthly robe we loved so much was there. The pure, tender, loving spirit which loved us so tenderly, is above us-- loving us, praying for us and free from all suffering and woe-- yes, that is a comfort and that first birthday in another world must have been a far brighter one than any in this poor world below! I only grieve now that we should be going so far away from Frogmore, as I long to go there; only

Alice and dear Augusta Bruce (who feels as a daughter of hers) went with us. The morning was so beautiful and the garden so lovely! . . .

The news from Austria are very sad and make one very anxious. The King of Sweden is full of wild notions put into his head by the , for whom he has the greatest admiration! . . .

It is high time I should end my long letter. With Albert's affectionate love, ever your devoted

Niece,

VICTORIA R.

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OCTOBER 1861

London Evening Standard – Court Circular

Saturday 05 October 1861

Balmoral

The Queen, accompanied by the Princess Helena and attended by Lady Churchill

and Lady Augusta Bruce, drove yesterday to Loch Calater.

The Prince Consort and the Prince of Wales and Prince Louis of Hesse went to the

Bailoch Buie Woods, which were driven for deer. Prince Arthur went out riding.

My state of mind has improved slightly. Albert and I have passed several wonderful days in the beautiful Scottish countryside and are enjoying our last day at Balmoral. I dare say that I have partially regained my sense of enjoyment of life. Our visit reminded me of my early years of marriage, when we used to go to Scotland to escape from the demands of state. Alas, the precious moments of solitude we enjoyed then have become all too few since duties and the demands of children now dominate our lives.

Before our departure, we visit the chapel to pray for a safe journey back to England.

‘The sermon was quite intriguing today was it not?’ I say after the service.

‘Prepare to meet thy God,’ Albert mimics in the voice of the old vicar.

I laugh. ‘But in truth, it reassured me for it helps me come to terms with my mother’s death.’

‘Yes, he really managed to capture the beauty of the afterlife.’

‘Knowing that she is in a better place is a great consolation to me,’ I say.

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‘After all, this is all just a valley of tears,’ he jokes, but still half serious. ‘To me the life hereafter is so much more desirable. I really do not comprehend those who cling so tenaciously to this earthly life.’

I do not know what to make of that remark. I feel like a profane creature next to my husband, who is a true saint. Trying to hide the slight offence his comment causes, I say:

‘But, well the two of us are living proof that life on earth can sometimes be beautiful.’

‘Very true, my dear, a valley of tears with an occasional bit of warm sunshine,’ he laughs squeezing my hand.

We return to Windsor a few days later. As I enter the building, I sense again the ghost of my mother roaming amongst our household and shiver in remembrance. I have been able to move on, yet the return to daily life also means returning to the same old problems. It may not be possible to forget the past but with the support of my dearest Albert, I believe I can now look forwards.

Taking a break from being a Queen is impossible and I return to my duties soon after arriving.

Time does not fly like the leaves in the wind but passes slowly like the cold winter creeping in.

I fear falling back into my sadness. I notice how Albert and I now spend less time together and how our conversations have become rather formal. He even speaks about giving me a

‘certificate of improvement’, a document testifying to my emotional progress since my mother’s death. Such remarks not satisfy my need for consolation, but he seems not to notice.

He works harder than ever and appears to feel responsible for anything and everything. In a letter to my eldest daughter I write: ‘Sometimes I feel quite inferior to him, as he does more work than the Queen herself’.

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NOVEMBER 1861

London Evening Standard – Court Circular

Tuesday 05 November 1861

Windsor Castle

The Queen drove out this morning in a carriage and four, attended by the Lady in

Waiting and Lieut. Kingscote.

His Royal Highness the Prince Consort went to the Wellington College, attended by

Colonel the Hon. A. Hardirge.

His Royal Highness Prince Leopold, attended by General Sir Edward Bowater and

Dr. Gaunter, left Windsor Castle early in the morning for Folkestone, to embark

for the Continent.

Princess Alice, Princess Helena and Princess Louise rode in the riding-house.

An eerie wind blows from the East and I find it hard to sleep. It is very early in the morning. I toss and turn, forcing my eyes to stay shut, but I remain wide awake. Next to me Albert is sound asleep, exhausted from yesterday’s exertions. Being someone for whom nothing is worse than being alone, I have to resist the urge to rouse him from his sleep. His chest rises and falls slowly with an occasional gasp for air and I hear nothing abnormal in his breathing. It has been a long week, with disturbing news arriving almost daily. At this moment, I feel strangely agitated and find myself wanting to chatter about trivia such as the weather. So as not to disturb my husband, I decide to go for an early morning stroll in the gardens. I summon my lady-in- waiting, who selects for me a suitably comfortable attire. Our staff is already busily preparing everything for the day and I tip-toe past them so that I shall not distract them from their work

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(I normally awaken at eight o’clock). On my way down, I hear two scullery maids cleaning the chimney in one of the drawing rooms while incessantly talking. I curiously stop to eaves-drop through the gap of the door.

‘’ave you ‘eard, the Portuguese Royals ‘ave been struck by typhoid, a deadly bug. They says everyone is dying off and soon enough they’ll all be gone.’

‘Well, well, they must’ve done somethin’ terribly bad then. Bless ‘em’

‘The king must’ve killed ‘undreds of innocent children!’

‘P’raps, there’s a curse on the family, oh lawks, God’s judgement day is nearin’!’

‘Or…’

‘Silence, you two, or I shall have you both dismissed!’ Unable to keep calm for any longer, I make myself known to the two petrified young maids.

‘I beg for your forgiveness your Majesty…,’ one of them stammers. ‘We did not know you were here. Otherwise we wouldn’t have dreamed of…’

‘You should not spread false rumours about such things, whether I am present or not.

It is an offence to the Crown.’

‘We surely very sorry, Your Majesty and it will never happen again,’ says the other, with the first maid nodding in agreement.

I dismiss them and they scurry away in different directions. Despite my irritation, there was truth in what the girls said. The King of Portugal is very ill, much to Albert’s dismay for they are very good friends. Seeing Albert like this bothers me. While I am getting stronger daily, I see him slowly weakening. Like a real saint, he never complains, but I know him too well for him to hide the worry from his face.

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The following day is probably the worst of my life. At breakfast, we receive word of King

Pedro and Prince Ferdinand of Portugal’s death. The silence that follows is truly depressing. I feel as though I am about to faint and Albert turns white as if he had seen a ghost, his face hollow and his eyes blank. This is indeed a grievous loss, following so soon upon the death of my dear mother. It is has become a sad year and a sad winter, unlike any we have known before.

In the afternoon, I turn to my letters in the hope of distracting myself from today’s news. On top of the pile lies a message from Stockmar, our old friend from Coburg and an ‘unofficial counsellor’. After a few unimportant lines on the weather in , he writes:

I have heard some shocking rumours which are spreading rapidly across the continent regarding your eldest son, the Prince of Wales. As you well know, he is now serving in the army in Ireland. This occupation is very appropriate for a young man of his age, for it strengthens the mind as well as the body. Nevertheless, there is always a risk that young men away from home will fall into bad company. To come to the point, it is said that he has had an amorous escapade at Curragh Camp and that he has eloped with a commoner, a woman of low repute. I know not whether these allegations are true, which is why I write. I do not wish to unsettle you if this is new to you, but I feel I must express my concern for the future King’s reputation, which I know to be as important for you as it is for me.

Yours most sincerely,

Christian Friedrich Baron Stockmar

I am in a state of shock. I sit for what feels an eternity, unable to gather my thoughts. How dare he! How dare he do this to his parents and his heritage! I have no doubt that what Stockmar says is true for I know Bertie. He is an impulsive and stupid boy. In this instant I am so furious

22 that I would gladly sail to Ireland myself and shoot him and his whore. Suddenly, Albert enters my chamber. He surely knocked but I was too distraught to notice.

‘Our eldest is destroying his birth-right!,’ I gasp. ‘Stockmar informs me that he has had an amorous escapade with a woman of low repute. Has he no thought for the dignity of our family? We will be the laughing stock of Europe - and what will the King of Denmark say regarding his proposed marriage to his daughter? We should never have let him go to Ireland.’

Albert hesitates before replying. ‘I am disappointed,’ he says. ‘But be calm, my dear. I will resolve the problem.’

London Evening Standard – Court Circular

Tuesday 19 November 1861

Windsor Castle

The Queen and Prince Consort walked in the Home Park this morning.

Methuen, Lord-in-Waiting to the Queen and Colonel Seymour, Groom-in-Waiting

to the Prince Consort, left Southampton today for Lisbon, with letters of condolence

from her Majesty and his Royal Highness to the King and Royal family of Portugal,

on the death of the late King.

Her Majesty the Queen will hold a Privy Council tomorrow at Windsor Castle.

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My dearly beloved Uncle,

As you must know these past few weeks have been very trying. Albert is currently in Cambridge visiting Bertie to discuss matters regarding the Curragh incident.

We try to distract ourselves from the horrid past few weeks and the whole court joined in to memorable a weekend of entertainments with music, dancing, food and enjoyment. Our youngest daughter, Beatrice had her ears pierced and it was the talk of the evening. Everybody applauded her for being such a brave girl and I took great pride in her. Albert was unable to find much enjoyment in any of the celebrations as he is not feeling well. He has been suffering from a cold and lack of sleep for weeks. To make things worse, on his return from the College at Sandhurst, after inspecting the new staff members, it started pouring with rain and he returned soaked and shivering. This sickness has made him very irritable and trying at times and I constantly try my best to raise his spirits in these situations. Albert is a little rheumatic now, which is a plague--but it is very difficult not to have something or other of this kind in this season, with these rapid changes of temperature; unberufen, unberufen, he is much better this winter than he was the preceding years.

I pray for you and wish you all the best for this coming Christmas season.

Ever your devoted Niece,

VICTORIA R.

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In our weekly audience, Palmerston informed me that we are on the brink of war with the

Americas. This is bad news indeed, yet my greatest worry is for my husband. He looks terrible, though Dr. Jenner assures me that his condition will improve.

This Sunday morning I awake to find my husband is not beside me. I leave my bed and hurry to his office where I find him meekly seated at his desk.

‘Albert, you should rest!’ I exclaim. ‘The affairs of Government can wait, they are not your responsibility.’ I do not think he heard me.

He slowly takes a pen into his hand, oh ever so slowly and gently dips it into the ink. ‘I am so weak, I can hardly hold a pen.’

‘Albert, I beg you, come back to bed.’ The desperation makes my voice crack. That day he does not eat, but still attempts to keep everyone in good spirits. He lies shivering throughout the night and the next morning I call for the physician. Yet again Dr. Jenner assures me that he can detect nothing of concern and that the shivering is just the part of recovery.

That night Albert and I greet our guests for dinner. The Rev. Dr. Goodford, a good-natured man with quite an opulent physique, remarks: ‘Our dear Prince Consort is keeping himself very well for his age; he is so very youthful and slim. I am almost given to jealousy, though I would consider it a far greater sin to reject the blessings of nature that God has given us.’ The reverend laughs a little too loudly at his own joke and in a very ungentlemanly manner. In response to my stern look, his round face turns a bright red and he diverts his attention towards a platter of roast beef.

Albert is the centre of attention that night, laughing and entertaining our guests. I relax, believing that being in high spirits is the key to a quick recovery. He will recover, I tell myself.

I gaze around the table and my eyes rest on our daughter Alice as she watches her father closely.

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I notice the apprehension in her eyes and, suddenly, like a blow in the stomach, I feel her anxiety. Something is terribly wrong.

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DECEMBER 1861

London Evening Standard – Court Circular

Monday 02 December 1861

Windsor Castle

The Royal dinner party yesterday included the Princess Alice, the Duke of

Nemours, the Prince and Princess of Leiningen, the Marquis of Tullibardine, Scots

Fusilier Guards, the of Carlisle, the Right Hon. W. E. and Mrs. Gladstone, the

Hon. John H. T. Manners Sutton, the Provost of Eton, the Rev. Dr. Goodford and

Mr. Ross. The band of the Scots Fusilier Guards played during the dinner.

The times we spend at on the are some of the happiest of our lives. Albert and I bought the estate and rebuilt the house to our liking. It is a place where our family can escape from the pressures of stately affairs. Albert decided to build a small house in the grounds in the of a Swiss cottage where we could enjoy a simpler way of life. He also gave each of our children a patch of garden where they could learn the elements of horticulture and tend their own plants and flowers. The grounds of Osborne House run down to a beach and I used to delight in using my bathing machine to enter the cool water in high

Summer. We would sing and dance and talk and laugh and walk and paint, taking pleasure in a more relaxed way of life.

At Windsor Castle we are preparing for Christmas and every person there seems to be busy.

The Royal apartments are filled with the scent of cinnamon, ginger, cloves and other oriental spices from faraway lands, about which I have heard so much yet have never been able to visit.

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Children’s voices can still be heard outside, laughing and playing in the snow. Everything seems as it should be, but it is not. For next to the Christmas preparations, there is also gossip spreading in our household. Every day I see the physicians as they visit to check on Albert’s health. When we speak, they use imposing phrases to describe his condition, while all the time assuring me that his recovery is certain. Most of the time I feel utterly alone. I desperately want to believe the physicians. I write to Vicky, who is in Germany, trying to convince us both that there is no cause for alarm.

I am more than exhausted. For the past two nights my poor Albert has wandered from room to room. I have tried desperately to get him to rest but to no avail. This morning I called for Dr.

Jenner and he administered opium to ease his suffering. That was an hour and a half ago and now Alice and I are seated in the drawing room, doing needle-work and comforting each other.

Albert enters, fully dressed in his usual attire, as if nothing untoward had happened. I open my mouth and then close it, not knowing what to say. ‘Will you read to me, Alice?,’ he asks. Alice arises and walks to a bookcase. ‘Of course, Father. What would you like to hear?’

‘I let you decide. I trust your taste’. I watch as Alice picks out a book and takes a seat next to her father. She begins to read. Albert closes his eyes and rests his head on the back of the chair.

‘A poem by Sir Walter Scott...’

‘Oh, no!’

Both Alice and I look up in surprise. ‘Will this not do, Papa?’

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‘Alice, my dearest! My spirit is too agitated to listen to any of Scott’s poems. I beg you, let us have none of that.’

‘How about Shakespeare, Papa?’

‘No, no, something more intellectually satisfying.’

She turns the pages of her book and tries again.

‘Sohrab Dead by Matthew Arnold?’ She looks at Albert as if seeking his approval. He does not move.

‘So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead;

And the great Rustum drew his horseman’s cloak

Down o’er his face and sate by his dead son…’

‘This is too morbid, Alice. Arnold’s poems are either too jolly or too gruesome or just uninteresting. I would rather hear a short story. Do you not agree, Victoria?’

He addresses me for the first time since entering the room. Alice rises and chooses a different book.

‘The Fall of the House of Usher,’ she begins. ‘During the whole of a dull, dark and soundless day in autumns of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary…’

‘This just will not do, Alice! Please, recite a psalm from the Holy Bible.’ He closes his eyes again.

‘O Lord our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! Who hast set thy glory above the heavens. Out of the mouth of babes and suckling hast though ordained strength

29 because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger. When I consider thy heavens…’

Albert begins to breathe regularly. I nudge Alice with my elbow to make her see that he has fallen asleep.

My dearly beloved Uncle,

The whole house is preparing for Christmas. I try to use my time wisely in spiritual growth, reading the Holy Bible in preparation for the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.

I enclose you Clark's report, which I think you may like to hear. Our beloved invalid goes on well - but it must be tedious and I need not tell you what a trial it is to me. Every day, however, is bringing us nearer the end of this tiresome illness, which is much what I had at Ramsgate, only that I was much worse and not at first well attended to. He is attended by the best physicians in the Kingdom and they assure me his condition is nothing serious. Regrettably,

Dr. Clark’s wife has also fallen ill and he is forced to divide his time between Windsor and his own house. Dr. Jenner, our new physician, is an introverted man and certainly in no position to challenge Dr. Clark, who has served us for many years. I expect you have already heard that our daughter Victoria is expecting her third child and will soon begin her confinement. I pray you are well and wish you a delightful Christmas season.

I must now wish you good-bye. With Albert's affectionate love, ever your devoted Niece,

VICTORIA R.

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It seems just a few years ago that I visited an exhibition in London with Vicky. But that would have been before her engagement to Frederick. Albert has always taken great pride in maintaining good relations between us and the working class and we made it a habit to greet our people on the streets on our way into the carriage whenever the circumstances allowed it.

There was a cold breeze and the wind was picking the fallen leaves and scattering them as if on Autumn’s dance-floor. I recall a group of people standing on the sidewalk, too shy to approach us, but at the same time too curious to walk away. My attention was caught by an old woman, dressed in rags, who was holding the hand of a young girl. The child, who cannot have been more than ten, looked at me with the same curiosity as so many others in the crowd. But the old woman’s features conveyed a different emotion: in her direct stare I could read an emotion that was quite unexpected - pity. She pitied me! Queen over the British Isles and its

Dominions! When I remember this incident, it seems incredible, but her pity hurt my pride and caused pain at the same time. I quickened my pace, tugging at Vicky to make haste, whilst trying to appear indifferent to this old woman.

I am waiting outside Albert’s bedroom with Dr. Jenner. I believe I have not slept the night through since the shameful incident with Bertie at Curragh. But these last two nights have been worse than most. The burden of Albert’s illness weighs heavily upon me and I have no interest in my appearance.

‘Your Majesty, I know it has been a long night for both of us, but I suggest you rest.

You have many duties to attend to as Queen.’ Dr. Jenner also looks exhausted.

‘That is impossible, Doctor Jenner. Albert...’ In the neighbouring room we hear a bout of coughing, followed by a pain-filled moan. The looks we exchange convey far more than we are able to say.

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‘Your Majesty, I will not leave the Prince tonight. I will ensure his bed is changed as often as needed and that ether drops are given to him only if truly necessary. He will have the best care.’

‘Doctor, you must know that he is everything to me,’ I whisper, glad that the darkness is hiding the tear rolling down my face.

My dearest Uncle,

I have many excuses to make for not writing yesterday, but I had a good deal to do, as my poor dear Albert's rheumatism has turned out to be a regular influenza, which has pulled and lowered him very much. Since Monday he has been confined to his room. It affects his appetite and sleep, which is very disagreeable and you know he is always so depressed when anything is the matter with him. However, he is decidedly better to-day and I hope in two or three days he will be quite himself again. It is extremely vexatious, as he was so particularly well till he caught these colds, which came upon worries of various kinds.

Ever your devoted Niece,

VICTORIA R.

Albert awakes but he is delirious and mumbles in German about his childhood home in

Rosenau. I hurry to him and take his hand.

‘Wer ist das?’ he says, addressing his valet. It feels like a slap in the face. He does not recognise me.

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‘It is me, your wife Victoria, dearest, have you forgotten?’ I say, trying to remain strong for him.

He stares at the ceiling. ‘Weibchen,’ his lips mouthing something, or are they just shaking, I do not know. ‘Das ist recht,’ he says, his eyes fluttering.

Outside his bedroom, Dr. Jenner tells me the truth about my dear Albert’s condition: ‘Your

Majesty, I regret to inform you that his Highness is suffering from gastric fever. The same condition that has afflicted your relatives in Portugal.’

Even the Prime Minister now knows of Albert’s declining health and insists that he is attended by other physicians, of his choosing. I no longer have the strength to argue with him. That evening, I do not even have the heart to write into my diary.

Alice and I spend all our time in Albert’s room. This Monday he behaves more like a child than the strong man I have always known.

‘It is very comfortable like that dear child.’ He lays his burning head on my shoulder.

‘Where did this illness come from?’ he asks.

‘Overwork, dearest, as much as worry and annoyance. The Horticulture Garden was too much for you. Curragh tired you out, as well as your need to be overly helpful. You are too good. But it is not that alone, it is your own concerns that are doing this to you, Albert. But now it is too much, you must speak to the ministers.’

‘Let us pray to the Almighty!’

‘You always do and He has not been very helpful lately, I think.’

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‘But we have not prayed together.’

He then turns to Alice and asks: ‘Have you told your sister anything?’

She swallows. ‘Yes Papa, I told her you are very ill.’

Silence.

‘You did wrong: You should have told her that I am dying,’ She gasps. ‘Yes, I am dying.’

Dearest Uncle,

I can report another good night and no loss of strength and continued satisfactory symptoms.

But more we dare not expect for some days; not losing ground is a gain, now, of every day.

It is very sad and trying for me, but I am well and I think really very courageous; for it is the first time that I ever witnessed anything of this kind though I suffered from the same at

Ramsgate and was much worse. The trial in every way is so very trying, for I have lost my guide, my support, my all, for a time--as we can't ask or tell him anything. Many thanks for your kind letter received yesterday. We have been reading The Memoirs of Varnhagen von

Ense’s book to Albert; but it is not worth much. He likes very much being read to as it soothes him. W. Scott is also read to him. You shall hear again to-morrow, dearest Uncle and, please God! each day will be more cheering. Ever your devoted Niece,

VICTORIA R.

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It is too much for me that night. In my exhaustion, I fail in my duty as a wife and leave my dear

Albert’s bedside to rest. I regret my decision the next day for his condition is worsening by the hour. His face yellow and pale, his eyes blank, wide open, breathing in shallow gasps. His gaunt body is stretched out in the bed and tremors run through it from time to time.

I hardly notice what is happening around me. Bertie arrives at some point in the day and, in my despair, I forget the anger I felt towards him. I go to dinner unchanged, only noticing later that neither of my ladies-in-waiting had even mentioned this omission. The greatest sorrow is that the physicians, in their concern to prevent contagion, do not allow me to approach my own husband. Alice and I must be content to sit at the foot of his bed, watching the physicians giving him brandy every half hour in an attempt to reduce his pain.

That night, our children enter Albert’s room one at a time to kiss his hand. The procession resembles a funeral, except that there is no corpse. And there will not be. Albert is delirious again, but I cling to the belief that this is just part of his recovery.

I lie down on the chaise longue in the adjoining room, from where I can hear him breathing heavily. Outside, I hear the Keeper of the Privy Purse and Master of Household speaking quietly. The physicians insist on giving Albert brandy, though I do not think it a good treatment for his ailment.

My thoughts are racing but I cannot find the will to silence them. I am fearing the worst for my dearest Albert and I cannot be consoled. My love for him cannot be described in words, he is not only my husband and friend but my father, my mother, my advisor, my companion, my everything. Oh, if only…

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Then suddenly, I hear his whispering voice, ‘Es ist das kleine Frauchen…Ein Kuss…’

Without hesitation, I run to him. Throwing myself on the floor, I hear dear faithful Alice call me to return. I am alone with Albert for the first time in weeks, though this is not the reunion I expected. It feels as if an icy wind is blowing through the room, although the fire is glowing in different colours of orange, red and blue.

‘Oh, this is death!’ I take his weak hand, kneeling next to him. Reason had told me to hope, but my heart had known all along. ‘I know it, I have seen this before.’

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EPILOGUE

London Evening Standard

Death of his Royal Highness the Prince Consort

Monday 16 December 1861

At ten minutes before eleven o’clock on Saturday night the Prince Consort died at

Windsor Castle. This deeply melancholy event has come upon the Royal family and

on the nation at large with startling rapidity. It was known, indeed, that the Prince

had for some days (we believe, indeed from the period of his recent visit to

Cambridge) been somewhat indisposed, but little heed was given to the

circumstance. The first intimation of an uneasy feeling on the subject was given last

week, when the Court Circular stated that a party that had been invited to Windsor

Castle had been countermanded on account of the state of his Royal Highness’

health. On Wednesday the first bulletin was issued, but it, and the one on the

following day were confident in their tone and gave the hope of recovery. The alarm

was first communicated by the bulletin of Friday; and on Saturday, the last day of

the Prince’s life, the published reports oscillated strangely between the issues of life

and death.[…] The town of Windsor was in a state of great agitation through the

whole of Saturday and the hopes or fears predominated during the day. The greatest

grief was manifested in the evening when it was known that there was no longer

hope and when the death was announced every inhabitant felt as if he had lost a

personal friend.

After Albert’s death Queen Victoria was heart-broken and fell into a severe depression. She stayed absent from public affairs for months, withdrawing to Osborne and Balmoral whenever

37 she could. She laid out Albert’s clothes every day and dressed in for the remaining forty years of her life. She documents Albert’s death in her diary:

‘Two or three long but perfectly gentle breaths were drawn, the hand clasping mind & (oh! it turns me sick to write it) all all was over…I stood up, kissing his dear heavenly forehead & called out in a bitter agonising cry. ‘Oh! My dear Darling!’ & then dropped on my knees in mute, distracted despair, unable to utter a word or shed a tear!’

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References, in order of appearance

1. Longford, Elizabeth (1964, 1987, 1998). Victoria R. I.. Abascus (2000), p. 327; Inconsolable Majesty: p. 4

2. London Evening Standard - Wednesday 06 February 1861. The BNA. Available under: https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk [Accessed: 01.08.2018]; I.M.: p. 10

3. London Evening Standard - Wednesday 20 February 1861. The BNA. Available under: https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk [Accessed: 01.08.2018]; I.M.: p. 10

4. London Evening Standard – Monday 04 March 1861. The BNA. Available under: https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk [Accessed: 01.08.2018]; I.M.: p. 13

5. London Evening Standard - Saturday 03 August 1861. The BNA. Available under: https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk [Accessed: 01.08.2018]; I.M.: p. 16

6. Extracts from Longford, Elizabeth (1964, 1987, 1998). Victoria R. I.. Abascus (2000), p. 316; I.M.: p. 16

7. Queen Victoria. Queen Victoria to the King of the Belgians, OSBORNE, 20th August 1861. questia. Available under: https://www.questia.com/read/4621985/the-letters-of- queen-victoria-a-selection-from-her [Accessed: 29.07.2018]; I.M.: p. 16-17

8. London Evening Standard - Tuesday 05 October 1861. The BNA. Available under: https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk [Accessed: 01.08.2018]; I.M.: p. 18

9. London Evening Standard - Tuesday 05 November 1861. The BNA. Available under: https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk [Accessed: 01.08.2018]; I.M.: p. 20

10. London Evening Standard - Tuesday 19 November 1861. The BNA. Available under: https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk [Accessed: 01.08.2018]; I.M.: p. 23

11. Queen Victoria. Queen Victoria to the King of the Belgians, WINDSOR CASTLE, 26th November 1861. questia. Available under: https://www.questia.com/read/4621985/the-letters-of-queen-victoria-a-selection-from- her [Accessed: 29.07.2018]; I.M.: p. 24

12. Extracts from Longford, Elizabeth (1964, 1987, 1998). Victoria R. I.. Abascus (2000), p.319 from Journal, 2 December 1861; I.M.: p. 25

13. London Evening Standard - Monday 02 December 1861. The BNA. Available under: https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk [Accessed: 01.08.2018]; I.M.: p. 27

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14. Gardner, Helen (1972). The New Oxford Book of English Verse. Oxford University Press, p. 29

15. Pritchett, Sir Victor (1981). The Oxford Book of Short Stories. Oxford University Press, p. 29

16. Queen Victoria. Queen Victoria to the. King of the Belgians, WINDSOR CASTLE, 9th December 1861. questia. Available under: https://www.questia.com/read/4621985/the-letters-of-queen-victoria-a-selection-from- her [Accessed: 30.07.2018]; I.M.: p. 30

17. Queen Victoria. Queen Victoria to the King of the Belgians, WINDSOR CASTLE, 4th December 1861. questia. Available under: https://www.questia.com/read/4621985/the-letters-of-queen-victoria-a-selection-from- her [Accessed: 29.07.2018]; I.M.: p. 32

18. Extracts from Longford, Elizabeth (1964, 1987, 1998). Victoria R. I.. Abascus (2000), p. 322 from , Windsor Castle. Z142, 8 December 1861; I.M.: p. 32-33

19. Extracts from Longford, Elizabeth (1964, 1987, 1998). Victoria R. I.. Abascus (2000), p. 323 from Royal Archives, Windsor Castle. Z142, 6 December 1861, ‘Death of Prince Consort’, an account written by Queen Victoria in 1872 based on extracts from her Journal, 9 November to 14 December 1861; I.M.: p. 33

20. Extracts from Longford, Elizabeth (1964, 1987, 1998). Victoria R. I.. Abascus (2000), p. 323 from Royal Archives, Windsor Castle. Z142, 11 December 1861; I.M.: p. 34

21. Queen Victoria. Queen Victoria to the King of the Belgians, WINDSOR CASTLE, 11th December 1861. questia. Available under: https://www.questia.com/read/4621985/the-letters-of-queen-victoria-a-selection-from- her [Accessed: 29.07.2018]; I.M.: p. 34

22. Extracts from Longford, Elizabeth (1964, 1987, 1998). Victoria R. I.. Abascus (2000), p. 325; I.M. p. 36

23. London Evening Standard - Monday 16 December 1861. The BNA. Available under: https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk [Accessed: 01.08.2018]; I.M.: p. 37

24. Extracts from Longford, Elizabeth (1964, 1987, 1998). Victoria R. I.. Abascus (2000), 36-37 from Royal Archives, Windsor Castle. Z142, 14 December 1861, p. 326; I.M. p. 38

Illustration

Queen Victoria and Albert (1861) ...... 1 https://fr.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fichier:Queen_Victoria_and_Prince_Albert_1861.jpg

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