It has been generally supposed that Napoleon was a believer in the doctrine of predestination.  The following conversation with Las Cases clearly decides that point.  “Pray,” said he, “am I not thought to be given to a belief in predestination?”—­“Yes, Sire; at least by many people.”—­“Well, well! let them say what they please, one may sometimes be tempted to set a part, and it may occasionally be useful.  But what are men?  How much easier is it to occupy their attention and to strike their imaginations by absurdities than by rational ideas!  But can a man of sound sense listen for one moment to such a doctrine?  Either predestination admits the existence of free-will, or it rejects it.  If it admits it, what kind of predetermined result can that he which a simple resolution, a step, a word, may alter or modify ad infinitum?  If predestination, on the contrary, rejects the existence of free-will it is quite another question; in that case a child need only be thrown into its cradle as soon as it is born, there is no necessity for bestowing the least care upon it, for if it be irrevocably decreed that it is to live, it will grow though no food should be given to it.  You see that such a doctrine cannot be maintained; predestination is but a word without meaning.  The Turks themselves, the professors of predestination, are not convinced of the doctrine, for in that case medicine would not exist in Turkey, and a man residing in a third floor would not take the trouble of going down stairs, but would immediately throw himself out of the window.  You see to what a string of absurdities that will lead?”

The following traits are characteristic of the man.  In the common intercourse of life, and his familiar conversation, Napoleon mutilated the names most familiar to him, even French names; yet this would not have occurred on any public occasion.  He has been heard many times during his walks to repeat the celebrated speech of Augustus in Corneille’s tragedy, and he has never missed saying, “Take a seat, Sylla,” instead of Cinna.  He would frequently create names according to his fancy, and when he had once adopted them they remained fixed in his mind, although they were pronounced properly a hundred times a day in his hearing; but he would have been struck if others had used them as he had altered them.  It was the same thing with respect to orthography; in general he did not attend to it, yet if the copies which were made contained any faults of spelling he would have complained of it.  One day Napoleon said to Las Cases, “Your orthography is not correct, is it?” This question gave occasion to a sarcastic smile from a person who stood near, who thought it was meant to convey a reproach.  The Emperor, who saw this, continued, “At least I suppose it is not, for a man occupied with important public business, a minister, for instance, cannot and need not attend to orthography.  His ideas must flow faster than his hand can trace them, he has only time to dwell upon essentials; he