"Two things there are in some of the reviews which the Queen wishes Mr Martin could find means to get rectified and explained: 1. That the Queen wrote The Early Years.[3] Pray, have that contradicted. 2. That it is the Queen's sorrow that keeps her secluded to a certain extent. Now, it is her overwhelming work and her health, which is greatly shaken by her sorrow, and the totally overwhelming amount of work and responsibility—work which she feels really wears her out. Alice Helps was wonder-struck at the Queen's room; and if Mrs Martin will look at it, she can tell Mr Martin what surrounds her. From the hour she gets out of bed till she gets into it again there is work, work, work—letter-boxes, questions, &c., which are dreadfully exhausting—and if she had not comparative rest and quiet in the evening, she would most likely not be alive. Her brain is constantly overtaxed. Could this truth not be openly put before people? So much has been told them, they should know this very important fact, for some day she may quite break down."
It was not till a subsequent visit that I had an opportunity of seeing, in Her Majesty's working-room, the huge piles of despatch-boxes arriving daily from every department of the Government, by which she was surrounded. But Mrs Martin saw them during this visit, and this is what she wrote of them to a friend: "Her Majesty took me into her own room one morning to show me the piles of despatch-boxes, all of them full of work for her, and all requiring immediate attention; and this goes on from day to day. It is the Queen's great aim to follow the Prince's plan, which was to sign nothing until he had read and made notes upon what he signed. You may imagine how such conscientiousness swallows up the Royal leisure."
We were still at Osborne when a gloom was cast over the Palace by the sudden and very alarming illness of Prince Leopold. Only the day before he had been in our room full of life and spirit, and when we were told of his illness we were also told that the very worst was feared. The prevailing grief showed in a very touching way how much he was beloved. The Queen was deeply moved; but she bore up with the courage and hopefulness which was a part of her character, and which, it is well known, upon occasion put courage and hope into the hearts of her Ministers, when these were wanted, at times of crisis in either home or foreign affairs. She had seen crises as bad, or worse, and remembered their details, and she could remind them how these had been successfully grappled with and got over. Just so, she had previously seen Prince Leopold in danger quite as great, and he had recovered. While, then, those around him were almost in despair, she never lost heart and hope. The first tidings of a decided change for the better came to us in a little note from the Queen sent to my room on the evening of the 31st of January, saying, "Our dear child is going on very satisfactorily, thank God!"
When we left Osborne three days afterwards, the Prince was out of danger, and we started for London with a lighter heart than we should otherwise have done. We had been permitted to share in the anxiety of the Royal family, and their joy at its removal was a joy to us also.
The Queen pressed us hard to delay our journey, but the quiet of home was absolutely necessary for my complete recovery. We had made our formal adieus to Her Majesty the previous evening. She had not returned from her morning drive when we left Osborne. But the following letter overtook us by special messenger at Southampton:—
"Feb. 3, 1868.
"The Queen was much vexed to find, on coming home, that Mr and Mrs Martin had already left, as she was anxious to wish them good-bye, and give Mrs Martin the accompanying souvenir of her stay here.[4] The Queen thought they would hardly venture across to-day with this high wind and in the public boat. She trusts, however, the journey will be performed with comparatively little suffering, and that Mr Martin will not be the worse. Prince Leopold is going on as well as possible."
On reaching London we wrote to the Queen, and our letters brought the following reply:—
"The Queen thanks Mr and Mrs Martin both very much for their kind letters. She rejoices so much to hear of Mr Martin not having suffered, and hopes he and Mrs Martin may frequently revisit Osborne under more pleasant circumstances."
The circumstances of our long visit to Osborne on this occasion might have been in a sense more "pleasant," had they not been dashed, as they were, by the brief but alarming illness of Prince Leopold, and by the very painful accident to myself. But more auspicious they could not have been for my purpose as biographer of the Prince Consort, or my relations to Her Majesty and the Royal Family. Their kind natures were drawn to me by sympathy, as, but for my accident, they might not have been, and one and all vied in making both my wife and myself feel thoroughly at home. With regard to the Queen herself, frequent personal interviews did what no amount of correspondence could have done. They served to confirm the confidence with which I had been previously regarded, a confidence essential to the successful execution of my task. Insincerity, selfishness, obsequiousness could not live before her, and when her trust was given, her own sincere, sensitive, womanly nature was stirred, and it revealed itself with a frankness, a considerateness, and a courtesy that were irresistibly fascinating, and raised loyalty to chivalrous devotion.