tered his foes upon the field
of battle, with very much the same feeling with which he would meet an
opponent in a game of chess. These wars were fierce conflicts between the
kings and the people; and Napoleon was not angry with the kings for
defending strongly their own cause. There were of course moments of
irritation, but his prevailing feeling was that his foes were to be
conquered, not condemned. At one time he expressed much surprise in
perceiving that Alexander of Russia had allowed feelings of personal
hostility to enter into the conflict. A chess-player could not have
manifested more unaffected wonder, in finding his opponent in a rage at
the check of his king. Napoleon does not appear often to have acted from a
deep sense of moral obligation. His justice, generosity, and magnanimity
were rather the instinctive impulses of a noble nature, than the result of
a profound conviction of duty. We see but few indications, in the life of
Napoleon, of tenderness of conscience. That faculty needs a kind of
culture which Napoleon never enjoyed.

He also cherished the conviction that his opponents were urged on by the
same destiny by which he believed himself to be impelled. "I am well
taught," said Dryfesdale, "and strong in the belief, that man does naught
of himself. He is but the foam upon the billow, which rises, bubbles, and
bursts, not by its own efforts, but by the mightier impulse of fate, which
urges him." The doctrine called _destiny_ by Napoleon, and _philosophical
necessity_ by Priestley, and _divine decrees_ by Calvin, assuming in each
mind characteristic modifications, indicated by the name which each
assigned to it, is a doctrine which often nerves to the most heroic and
virtuous endeavors, and which is also capable of the most awful
perversion.

Napoleon was an inveterate enemy to dueling, and strongly prohibited it in
the army. One evening in Egypt, at a convivial party, General Lanusse
spoke sarcastically respecting the condition of the army. Junot,
understanding his remarks to reflect upon Napoleon, whom he almost
worshiped, was instantly in a flame, and stigmatized Lanusse as a traitor.
Lanusse retorted by calling Junot a scoundrel. Instantly swords were
drawn, and all were upon their feet, for such words demanded blood.
"Hearken," said Junot, sternly, "I called you a traitor; I do not think
that you are one. You called me a scoundrel; you know that I am not such.
But we must fight. One of us must die