bel! I won't have him:" she
was reported to have said. Eventually she was induced to send him an
invitation; but she made no attempt to conceal the bitterness of her
feelings, and the Duke himself was only too well aware of all that had
passed.

Nor was it only against the Tories that her irritation rose. As the time
for her wedding approached, her temper grew steadily sharper and
more arbitrary. Queen Adelaide annoyed her. King Leopold, too, was
"ungracious" in his correspondence; "Dear Uncle," she told Albert, "is
given to believe that he must rule the roost everywhere. However," she
added with asperity, "that is not a necessity." Even Albert himself
was not impeccable. Engulfed in Coburgs, he failed to appreciate
the complexity of English affairs. There were difficulties about his
household. He had a notion that he ought not to be surrounded by
violent Whigs; very likely, but he would not understand that the only
alternatives to violent Whigs were violent Tories; and it would be
preposterous if his Lords and Gentlemen were to be found voting against
the Queen's. He wanted to appoint his own Private Secretary. But how
could he choose the right person? Lord M. was obviously best qualified
to make the appointment; and Lord M. had decided that the Prince should
take over his own Private Secretary--George Anson, a staunch Whig.
Albert protested, but it was useless; Victoria simply announced that
Anson was appointed, and instructed Lehzen to send the Prince an
explanation of the details of the case.

Then, again, he had written anxiously upon the necessity of maintaining
unspotted the moral purity of the Court. Lord M's pupil considered that
dear Albert was strait-laced, and, in a brisk Anglo-German missive, set
forth her own views. "I like Lady A. very much," she told him, "only she
is a little strict awl particular, and too severe towards others, which
is not right; for I think one ought always to be indulgent towards other
people, as I always think, if we had not been well taken care of, we
might also have gone astray. That is always my feeling. Yet it is always
right to show that one does not like to see what is obviously wrong; but
it is very dangerous to be too severe, and I am certain that as a rule
such people always greatly regret that in their youth they have not been
so careful as they ought to have been. I have explained this so badly
and written it so badly, that I fear you will hardly be able to make it
out