Sculpture of the Day: The Atholl Inkstand, 1844-45

The Atholl Inkstand
Commissioned by Prince Albert, 1844
Presented to Queen Victoria, Christmas, 1845
Silver, silver gilt, granite, marble, quartz,
stag teeth, cairngorm, amethystine quartz
Kitching & Abud
The Royal Collection

Prince Albert, consort of Queen Victoria, was a remarkably intelligent man with many varied interests and a keen appreciation for the arts. He was also, however, quite fond of shooting animals. This was pretty standard for a young nobleman in a culture which traditionally encouraged its lads to participate in “field sports” and hunting. But, ever the clever fellow, Albert found ways to combine all of his many interests while being attentive to his greatest love—Victoria herself.


The prince often enjoyed incorporating the teeth of the animals he killed (mostly stag) into works of art and jewelry. He delighted in presenting these trophies to friends and loved ones and enjoyed the permanence they offered in the commemoration of a special event or relationship.

In 1844, when Albert and Queen Victoria vacationed in the Scottish Highlands, Victoria called their visit was, “a little Arcadia for a few weeks” as the prince decried that the Highlands, “act as a tonic to the nerves and gladdens the heart of a lover like myself of field sports and of nature.” So enchanted with Scotland were the Royal couple (a love which led them to purchase Balmoral) that Prince commissioned this ornate inkstand to present to the Queen as a souvenir of their peaceful holiday.

A silver sculpture of a stag stands proudly atop an inkwell encased in a casket of silver gilt, granite, marble, quartz, stag teeth, cairngorm, amethystine quartz. Two silver plaques on the casket read, “In Remembrance of the Highlands 1844 and This inkstand, designed under the direction of His Royal Highness Prince Albert, as a memorial of the Highlands, is ornamented with pebbles picked up at Blair Athol by Her Majesty and His Royal Highness, and with teeth taken from the deer shot by His Royal Highness during their visit in the autumn of 1844. Executed by Kitching and Abud.”

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square Will Continue Monday

Poor Mr. Punch.  He had a few weeks of peace with Robert and Colin after they returned to England from New Orleans.  They'd settled in nicely to Punch's/the Duke's handsome Belgrave Square mansion, hired a pleasant governess for Colin and enjoyed a dutiful staff (with the exception of one nasty house maid called Hortence).  Punch even managed to navigate a meeting with Prince Albert without revealing the fact that he was two men in one.

All seemed to be going well.  Punch was designing a gift for Queen Victoria (with stag's teeth from Prince Albert's kills) and had all sorts of good food to eat courtesy of their cook, Mrs. Pepper.  Colin seemed content with his new governess and his old friend, Gamilla.  Robert was establishing himself as a popular physician (he only lost one patient--the old Lord Glencaron) and was very happy with his new life with Mr. Punch.  Gerard and Charles were grateful form their new positions.  Even Dog Toby had no complaints.

But, then, Hortence was caught by Ellen, the governess, snooping around the Duke's door.  So, of course Robert had to dismiss her.  The nasty maid threatened to go to the press with a story of the Duke's "madness" and the relationship between the Duke and Robert.  Robert didn't want to worry Punch with this, so he kept it to himself. 

Things became a little more tense when Ellen received a mysterious gift of flowers from a man named "Victor."  Could Victor have been Victor Geddes, the Baron of Lensdown--Ellen's former employer with whom she was rumored to have had an affair?  The man who delivered the flowers, according to the kitchen-maid, Jenny, bore no resemblance to the baron.

Ellen was further rattled to find a letter addressed to the Duke on the front steps.  Mr. Punch discovered that unsigned letter was a threat to expose him as "mad" and Ellen suggested that Hortence was behind it.  Punch was shocked to learn that Robert had hidden Hortence's threats from him, but the two made up.

Later, Punch was disturbed by the arrival of two visitors.  One was the nosy Lady Constance whose dinner invitation seemed to hide a darker intention.  The other was a man who called himself, Victor Geddes.  But this man was clearly not the baron of the same name.

A mystery is brewing at No.65 Belgrave Square which promises to further compromise the peaceful home life of Robert and Mr. Punch.  Matters will become more complicated when Punch is summoned by a very pregnant Queen Victoria.  What does Her Majesty have to do with these peculiar events?  Meanwhile, Ellen finds herself in the middle of a war which could ruin her.  Charles finds a new friend and Gerard will be tempted by an old friend.  Furthermore, a face from Robert's past will cause some trouble for Belgravia's most popular doctor.

We ended the week with Mr. Punch being choked by the man who called himself Victor Geddes.  Ellen, on the other hand, referred to the man as “Roger,” when she begged him to unhand her employer.  Could this dangerous fellow really be her brother?  There’s a lot in store for you this week.  You won’t want to miss a chapter. 

If you've missed any chapters of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, you can read them in the Chapter Archive and short summaries of each chapter give you an advanced taste.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

For the Best

“Bloody rotten teeth,” Mr. Punch grumbled as he counted out the contents of the little velvet pouch which Prince Albert had thrown at him.  

He looked up at Robert who sat nearby.  “Does he really think the Queen’s gonna want to wear a brooch all hung full of teeth?”

Robert smiled, looking up from his copy of “The Illustrated London News.”  “Didn’t you once make a bracelet for Her Majesty which included the milk teeth of Princess Victoria and Prince Bertie?”

“No,”  Punch shook his head.  He paused for a moment, “Or did I?”  he scratched his head, frowning.  “Coulda done.  To be sure, chum, I don’t remember all what Julian did—not with the business.  When he were doin’ jeweler things, I tended to stop payin’ attention.  ‘Spose I could look through his records.”  He grunted.  “Wait a tick. No, I know we didn’t do that.  I’d remember that.  Musta been Garrard’s.  No wonder Her Majesty granted them the task of cuttin’ the Koh-i-Noor last  year.  They earned it with all them little infant teeth.”

“Ah,”  Robert nodded, folding his paper and walking across the luxurious library of No. 65 Belgrave Square to put his hands gently on Punch’s shoulders.  “I’m impressed that you remember that.  I didn’t even know that about the Koh-i-noor.”

“Funny what I remember and what I don’t, ain’t it?  Long ago I gave me-self the task of bein’ the keeper o’ information.”  He sniffed.  “Sure, I’m certain I didn’t have nothin’ to do with that baby tooth bracelet.  It were a bracelet.  I know it.  It were Garard’s.”

“I imagine one would recall handling a sack of little royal teeth.”  Robert joked, rubbing Punch’s shoulders.

“At least those teeth woulda been small, they would.  These are big.  Big and ugly.”

“Animal teeth aren’t the most attractive.”  Robert nodded, reaching down to pick up one of them.  He studied it and chuckled, replacing it on the velvet cloth which Punch had placed over the japanned table at which he sat.  “How many are there.”

“Thirty-two.”  Punch snorted.  “How many stags did the bloke have to kill to get all these teeth?”

“I’m not sure how many teeth a stag has.”  Robert shrugged.  “I didn’t study stag anatomy.  Only people.”

“All I know is that there’s far too many for a brooch, less we want it to be drippin’ with the things.  And, I don’t think she’ll want to wear that.  Maybe I’ll make a necklace, too.  Poor woman, Queen or not, she’s with child.  Ain’t no woman with a baby in her belly gonna want to wear a necklace o’ teeth nor even a pin.”

“She’ll have borne the child by the anniversary of her own birth.”  Robert patted Punch’s shoulder.

“Is that so?”

“I just read about it, in fact,” Robert nodded, pulling out the chair next to Punch’s and taking a seat at the table.  “She should give birth in early April.”

“Lot of children, them two.”  Punch nodded.  He wrinkled his nose.  “Here, you think Colin’ll want a brother or sister?”

Robert smiled.  “Regardless of whether or not he does, I highly doubt we’ll be having more children.”

“Oh…right.”  Punch sighed.  “We can’t do that.”

“No.”  Robert laughed. 

“For the best, then.”  Mr. Punch replied.  “That way, Colin’ll always get all our love and ‘tention.”

“Yes,” Robert nodded.

Robert watched as Mr. Punch squinted at the velvet cloth covered in teeth.  Very carefully and methodically, Punch arranged five of the teeth into a cluster in one corner, and, then, with just his index finger, dragged each of the twenty-seven remaining bits into an arc in the center.”

“I think…”  Punch muttered.  “The necklace could be done in the Etruscan style…with little drops in rose gold in between.  Maybe garnets, too.  Wee garnets.  Or demantoid--them's green garnets.  Her Majesty likes them, she does.”  He looked up and nodded, smiling.  “What you think?”

“Sounds attractive.”

"Red or green?"  Mr. Punch asked.

"Red."  Robert smiled.  "Punch red."

“Coo!"  Mr. Punch chirped gaily.  "And, then, at the clasp, we could hang a wee gold oak leaf to match the pin.”  Mr. Punch grinned.

“You’re quite clever at this.”

Mr. Punch shrugged.  “Never thought so. It’s Julian what’s clever.  I just…you know…like I did today.  I’m parroting him.”

“But, Julian didn’t just have that idea.  Did he?  You came up with that design on your own.”

“I did, I ‘spose.  Only because that’s what he’d do.”

“So, you’re not just parroting.  You’re thinking independently.”

“If you say so,”  Mr. Punch laughed.

Robert paused for a moment to weigh his words—all the while he could hear his brother’s voice in his head.  “Robert, you must write your book.  Write of Mr. Punch.  Tell his story so that others like him can be helped.  You can’t truly imagine he’s the only one like him.”

Punch looked up.  “There you go, ‘gain, Chum.  What you thinkin’ ‘bout so hard?”

“I was just wondering about something.”

“What?”

“Do you ever…”  He sighed.  “Do you ever wonder how it works?”

“It?”  Mr. Punch widened his eyes.  “What…it?”

“You.  You and Julian?”

“And the others.”  Punch raised an eyebrow.

“Well, they’ve been very quiet since we returned, but, yes, them, too.  You all live together in that body.  You’ve told me that you can hear them speaking.”

“Sometimes.  Not all the time.  Mostly Julian.”

“And, you recall things that Julian saw and did.”  Robert continued.  “That’s how, in your own words, you’re able to do what you’re doing now and how you were able to so brilliantly navigate our interview with His Majesty this morning.  And how you've been able to converse in French with Adrienne...”

Mr. Punch nodded.

“So, how does it all function?  You’re in control of them all.”

Mr. Punch frowned.  “I don’t know and I don’t much like thinkin’ ‘bout it, Chum.  Ain’t a concern how it works long as it does.”  His bottom lip began to quiver.  "Ain't..."  He gulped.  "Ain't nothin' long as it works..."

With a snort, Mr. Punch rose from his chair and walked away from the table, retreating behind the papier mache screen in the corner of the room.

Robert rose, too.  His eyes feeling hot.  He wanted to cry.

“Dear, dear Punch,”  Robert called out, following his companion.  He found Punch seated—his back against the wall—behind the screen, his knees drawn up to his chest and his face resting on his knees.  He was crying softly.

“Oh, my dear.”  Robert knelt down next to Punch.  “Forgive me.  I didn’t mean to upset you.  I truly didn’t.  I’d never wish to do anything to upset you.  Please, forgive me.”

Mr. Punch looked up, tears running down his face.  He wiped his eyes on his sleeve.  “I know.  Only I don’t like thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“I’m sorry that I asked.  It’s just that I’m…well, I’m curious.  Remember, I’m a doctor.  I’m a scientist.  So, naturally, my mind becomes curious…”

“I un’erstand.”  Punch nodded.  “Only…”

Robert smiled.

“Only I don’t got no answers.  I’m doin’ the best what I can.”

“You’re doing brilliantly—splendidly.  I was so impressed today.  You were exquisite.  You always are.”

Mr. Punch shook his head and frowned. “I ain’t though.  I’m an imitation.  I ain’t really Julian.  I’m a fake.”

“No.”  Robert said firmly.  “You are no such thing.  You’re your own man—clever and talented in your own right.  You’re loving and kind and good.”

“But, I ain’t Julian.”  Mr. Punch answered, wiping his eyes again.

“No.”  Robert replied.

“Do you wish I was?”

“No.”  Robert took Mr. Punch’s hand.

“It were him what you loved first.  Not me.  You gotta miss him.”

“I do miss him, but I don’t love him more than you.  I’d say that I loved you  both equally, but it’s not true.”

“I thought so.”

“Hear me out, dear Punch.”  Robert said quickly.  “I love you more.  It’s a fact.  Honestly, dear Punch, my time with Julian was short.  Most of this time has been spent with you.  It was you I was with mostly in America and it was with you I came here to make a home.  Julian is something of a memory now.  You share a body with him, so, of course, you’re similar looking.  But, despite the shared shell, you even look different.  You’re the one I chose to live with, to raise Colin with.  It’s you that I love.  When I ask questions it’s not because I want Julian back, it’s because I care about you and I wonder how…it…how your mind, how everything works for you.  It’s because I want to maintain your happiness and health.  For no other reason.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”  Robert replied, rising to his feet and offering both hands to Punch. 

Punch took Robert’s hands and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

Robert embraced Punch.  “Never doubt my affection and loyalty.  Nothing will ever change that and I want nothing more than to share each moment with you—dear Punch.”

“Only it’s got to be difficult for ya.”  Punch pulled back a bit.

Robert held on tightly. 

“I wouldn’t say that it’s difficult.  I’d say that it’s exciting and interesting.  And, I know I’d not want it to be any other way.”

Punch chuckled happily.  “Sorry I were a actin' like a baby just now.”

“I’m sorry that I upset you.”

“Nah.”  Mr. Punch sniffed.  “Ain’t nothin’ to worry ‘bout.  I ‘spose it’s already been a long day for both of us.  Maybe we're all on edge.  First, you had to dismiss that awful Hortence…”

“Yes,”  Robert sighed, leading Punch from out behind the screen and into the library.

“And, then, we had the Prince who, let’s be honest, ain’t the most pleasant company.”

“No.”  Robert laughed.

“You know what we need?”

“What’s that?”  Robert asked.

“Let’s take tea in the nursery with Colin and Miss Barrett and Dog Toby.”

“I think that’s a grand idea.”

“We can tell ‘em both ‘bout the Palace and all them…” he frowned, glancing at the table… “teeth.”

“Let’s.”  Robert nodded.

As they walked from the library, Robert glanced up at the many books which lined the walls.  He resolved then that his own would never be among them.

Did you miss Chapters 1-14?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 16 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square. 

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

The Rest of the Stag

Mr. Punch tried very carefully to ensure that he didn’t open his eyes too widely.  After all, Robert had always told him that it was his typical wide-eyed gaze which usually gave him away.  Julian, as Robert explained, didn’t open his eyes that much.  And, so, Mr. Punch attempted to keep his eyelids in a position which would neither give him a countenance of surprise nor, conversely, one of drowsiness.

The two men sat, rather uncomfortably, in a long, narrow corridor in Buckingham Palace.  Mr. Punch didn’t much like the upholstery which lined the soaring walls, but he didn’t dare say anything about it to Robert.  He looked over to his companion mischievously.  Robert stifled a small smile and the two nodded at one another, silently deciding between them to discuss the appointments of the palace’s little-seen, somewhat damp and drafty, apartments privately once they arrived home.

Robert looked around.  For a moment, he couldn’t contain his excitement and a childish grin crept over his face as he considered the reality that he, Robert Halifax of Wimbledon,  was seated not only in Buck House, but in the passage which led to the private rooms of the Prince Consort.  He itched to laugh out loud.  Still, he  knew that Punch’s composure hinged on his own, so, he kept silent, tapping his knees with the palms of his hands in order to steady himself.

A rather stiff, disgruntled-looking footman appeared from an unseen corridor around a heavily plastered corner.  The footman was followed by an older gentleman who looked quite exhausted.

The footman paused in front of Robert and Punch/The Duke and asked softly.  “Do you require anything, Your Grace?  Sir?”

“No, thank you,”  Punch replied in his best impersonation of Julian, the Duke of Fallbridge.  Afterwards, he looked sideways at Robert and winked quickly.

“No.”  Robert nodded.

As the footman scurried off, the older man approached.

“His Majesty will see you now, Your Grace.”

Mr. Punch rose.  “Thank you.”

“This way,”  the man began.  He paused and turned around, looking at Robert.  “Does he know how to address the Prince?”

“Yes.”  Mr. Punch replied curtly.

“Of course, Your Grace.”  The man nodded.

Mr. Punch wondered who this man was.  He didn’t remember seeing the baggy-eyed bloke the last time he’d been at the palace—well, the last time he’d been there and watched from within the body he shared with the Duke.  Mr. Punch clenched his hands into fists, overcome with a desire to belt the old man across the back of the head.  He knew that he couldn’t, but…oh, it would have felt so very nice.

Robert and Punch followed the old gentleman to a gilt and heavily carved door.  The man paused, bowing his head before opening the door.

“Your Majesty?”  The man said softly.

“Come!”  A very German, but surprisingly quiet voice responded.

“His Grace, Julian, Duke of Fallbridge and Doctor Robert Halifax.”  The man said, bowing and allowing Punch, first, and, then, Robert to pass.

“Your Majesty,”  Mr. Punch smiled, imitating Julian.  He bowed his head quickly and only slightly.  Robert, however, staying silent, bowed longer and more deeply—perhaps a little too deeply, but it didn’t matter since Prince Albert was only focused on the Duke.

“Sit.”  Prince Albert said sharply.

Punch sat, indicating to Robert to sit next to him on the long settee in front of the fireplace at the farthest end of the Prince’s study.  Mr. Punch raised his eyebrows slightly to remind Robert not to sit until the Prince Consort did.  Once the two other men were seated—the Prince in a rather rigid, highly ornamented armchair adjacent to the settee—Robert joined his companion.

“Fallbridge--who is this man?”  Prince Albert asked.

Mr. Punch smiled politely wishing he could shout, “He’s me chum!”  Instead, he answered in an even, mannered voice, “This, Your Majesty, is Dr. Robert Halifax—my companion.”

“Are you ill?”  Prince Albert growled.

“No, Sir.”  Punch replied, forcing himself not to frown.

“Why, then, do you require a physician companion?”

“I do not require him, Your Majesty. I enjoy his company.”  Mr. Punch replied as coolly as he could.

“Ah.”  Prince Albert narrowed his eyes.  “It is said, Fallbridge, that you are mad.  Are you?”

Mr. Punch took a deep breath and continued smiling.  He could feel Robert’s discomfort and wanted to shout at the Prince Consort.  “It is said that you think the Queen will allow you to rule the Empire!  Which one of us, then, is mad?”

He didn’t, however.

Instead, Mr. Punch replied simply, “It is said that many a great man is mad.  Those who are beneath us wish to discredit us.  I suspect that I should be thankful that those who gossip still think me important enough to manufacture rumors against me.  Otherwise, I should worry that I had no place in Society at all.”

Robert drew in air audibly—terribly impressed with his companion’s response.

“Good show, Fallbridge.  You’re as sharp as ever.”  The Prince answered.  He looked over at Robert.  “Your companion, Fallbridge,” the Prince continued, speaking to Punch, though looking at Robert, “is very handsome.  Very handsome indeed.”

“He is, Sir.”

“He appears as if he has stepped from a work of an Italian Master. Botticelli, I think.”

Mr. Punch felt that itch in his hands and wished he could grab the small parian bust of the Queen from off of the gilt table next to the settee and smash it across the Prince’s head. 

Instead, he only nodded.  “Dr. Halifax is more handsome than that, I think.”

“Perhaps,”  Prince Albert sniffed.  “I imagine he’s popular with the ladies in court.”

With this, Mr. Punch could not resist chuckling aloud.  Robert blushed. 

Punch forced himself to sober up by rubbing his palms quickly against his velvet breeches.  “The doctor has no time for such things.  He is dedicated to his life as a healer as well as to keeping me company.”

“A loyal man, then.”  Prince Albert nodded approvingly.  “Not distracted by sinful pursuits.”

Mr. Punch glanced at Robert who was doing his best to not look as miserable as he felt.  “You could say that,” Punch replied slyly.  He seized that opportunity to change the subject by trotting out the little speech he had so diligently rehearsed. 

He began, “We were ever-so overjoyed by your invitation.  I must confess, I was quite pleased at the chance to see you again, Your Majesty, and, more so, to introduce my companion to you as I suspect that you share similar sensibilities.  Like you, Sir, Dr. Halifax is a man of both the arts and sciences.  His influence has aided me tremendously, allowing me to serve you all the better.”

“Fine,”  Prince Albert replied dryly.  He looked again at Robert—this time finally speaking to him directly, “I am pleased to know you.”

“I am honored, Your Majesty,” Robert replied, opening his mouth for the first time since they entered the Prince’s chamber.

Prince Albert cleared his throat.  “As you know, Fallbridge, the anniversary of Her Majesty’s birth is coming in May.  The twenty-fourth to be exact.  I wish to make a special gift to her.  It must be very special.”

“How may I help you, Sir?”  Mr. Punch asked.

Robert gazed affectionately at Punch, so proud of the way the man was carrying himself in that terribly stressful encounter.

“I want for you to make her a lovely jewel.”

“I would be delighted, Your Majesty,”  Punch replied, still speaking as Julian might.  “Have you something in mind?”

“Of course!”  Prince Albert spat.  “I want a pin.  A lovely pin of golden oak leaves.”

“That would be brilliant.”  Punch smiled.  “I should be thrilled to show you several designs.”

“Not just gold, mind…”  Prince Albert warned.

“Certainly not.”  Mr. Punch nodded.  “I know how Her Majesty loves diamonds.  Perhaps with emeralds and lovely Persian turquoise.  Or blue sapphires to sparkle in Her Majesty’s eyes.”

“No!”  Prince Albert growled.  “None of those.”

“Do you have a certain stone you’d prefer?”

“Yes!”

“Will you provide them to me, or shall I purloin them for Your Majesty?”  Mr. Punch asked.

“These,”  Prince Albert frowned, reaching into his coat pocket and removing a small, red velvet pouch.  He tossed the pouch to the Duke/Mr. Punch who caught it deftly before it hit his lap.

“Open it.”  Prince Albert nodded.

Mr. Punch carefully opened the pouch and poured the contents into his hand.

For all the world, poor, poor Punch wished he could cry out and laugh—“Bloody hell!  It’s a sack of teeth!”  But, he didn’t.

Punch could feel Robert’s eyes widening.

Mr. Punch inhaled and forced another smile.  “How very interesting, Your Majesty.  Teeth.  And, what lovely…large…teeth they are.”

“Stag’s teeth!”  Prince Albert barked.  “From my own kills.  My own trophies.  All of them from Balmoral.  The Queen loves reminders of my skill.”

“I think that these will make a very...interesting...brooch, Sir.”  Punch continued.

“How will you do it?”

“I think, perhaps, the teeth would be displayed as acorns amongst golden oak leaves.”

“Fine,”  The Prince replied. 

Mr. Punch carefully returned the teeth to their pouch.  He wished desperately to wipe his hands on his stockings, but he refrained.

“It is settled.  I wish to see sketches in one week.  Thank you for your time.  You are dismissed.”

Mr. Punch and Robert exchanged glances as Prince Albert rose and returned to his desk.

Bowing slightly, Mr. Punch grinned.  “Good day, Your Majesty.”

Robert did the same.  Together, they backed out of the room.  The footman closed the door behind them.

Walking slowly down the  corridor, they waited until they were a safe distance from the Prince’s door before Punch chuckled long and low.  “Coo!”  He whispered.  “It’s a bloody sack of teeth.”

“I wonder what he did with the rest of the stag.”  Robert whispered.

“Probably gnawed it to pieces with his own teeth.”  Mr. Punch teased quietly.  “’Spose I should be bloody grateful he didn’t give me a sack of antlers and hooves.”

Robert giggled softly.

“You did real good, chum.”  Punch whispered.

“Thank you,”  Robert replied.  “My dear Punch, you have no idea how brilliant you were.  I could not be more impressed.”

“Here, I were pretty brilliant, weren’t I?”  Punch whispered.  “Now, come on, chum, let’s go make a terrible ugly brooch.”

Did you miss Chapters 1-13?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 15 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.

"So, stag teeth, Joseph?" you ask.  "Yes," I respond.  It was a Prince Albert thing.

Sculpture of the Day: The Atholl Inkstand, 1844-45

The Atholl Inkstand
Commissioned by Prince Albert, 1844
Presented to Queen Victoria, Christmas, 1845
Silver, silver gilt, granite, marble, quartz,
stag teeth, cairngorm, amethystine quartz
Kitching & Abud
The Royal Collection

Prince Albert, consort of Queen Victoria, was a remarkably intelligent man with many varied interests and a keen appreciation for the arts. He was also, however, quite fond of shooting animals. This was pretty standard for a young nobleman in a culture which traditionally encouraged its lads to participate in “field sports” and hunting. But, ever the clever fellow, Albert found ways to combine all of his many interests while being attentive to his greatest love—Victoria herself.


The prince often enjoyed incorporating the teeth of the animals he killed (mostly stag) into works of art and jewelry. He delighted in presenting these trophies to friends and loved ones and enjoyed the permanence they offered in the commemoration of a special event or relationship.

In 1844, when Albert and Queen Victoria vacationed in the Scottish Highlands, Victoria called their visit was, “a little Arcadia for a few weeks” as the prince decried that the Highlands, “act as a tonic to the nerves and gladdens the heart of a lover like myself of field sports and of nature.” So enchanted with Scotland were the Royal couple (a love which led them to purchase Balmoral) that Prince commissioned this ornate inkstand to present to the Queen as a souvenir of their peaceful holiday.

A silver sculpture of a stag stands proudly atop an inkwell encased in a casket of silver gilt, granite, marble, quartz, stag teeth, cairngorm, amethystine quartz. Two silver plaques on the casket read, “In Remembrance of the Highlands 1844 and This inkstand, designed under the direction of His Royal Highness Prince Albert, as a memorial of the Highlands, is ornamented with pebbles picked up at Blair Athol by Her Majesty and His Royal Highness, and with teeth taken from the deer shot by His Royal Highness during their visit in the autumn of 1844. Executed by Kitching and Abud.”

Unusual Artifacts: A Gold Brooch Adorned With Teeth, 1853

Gold Brooch With Stag Teeth
R. and S. Garrard and Company, 1853
Presented to Queen Victoria by Prince Albert
The Royal Collection

Prince Albert was an avid hunter.  He spent winters at Windsor Castle and summers at Balmoral in pursuit of game.  One of his favorite little “signatures,” was the presentation of stags’ teeth to friends and loved ones.  He felt that the gift of these teeth was a fitting memento of himself.  While it’s rather peculiar, the idea was a an appropriate one as these teeth do neatly represent Albert’s spirit.  Prince Albert regularly sent parcels of stags’ teeth to Garrards (the Royal jeweler during Victoria’s time on the throne) so that they could be mounted.  He would often present favorite friends and members of the staff with gold pins or buttons which set the teeth like acorns nestled among the leaves.  Queen Victoria was the frequent recipient of Albert’s dental trophies.  She enjoyed them for sentimental reasons.  On Christmas of 1853, Prince Albert presented Queen Victoria with this specially designed brooch of polished teeth mounted with gold oak leaves.  She was a fortunate wife and queen that year—he also gave her a matching necklace and earrings, presumably with more teeth.