This was not done without a struggle. His life had not been blameless, and much once dear had to be surrendered. But henceforward his court became a model of purity; and moreover his fear of God showed itself in an increase of gentleness towards man. He made great efforts to control his naturally passionate temper; and if, after this period, he was betrayed into a hasty expression, he would frankly apologize, not only to a member of his suite, but even to the humblest of his attendants. He had always known that his enormous power was intrusted to him for the good of others, not for his own happiness or glory. “Fifty millions of men are worth more than one man,” had been an axiom with him from the beginning of his reign. But now he knew himself the steward of God, responsible to _him_ for its exercise. “You should be in my place,” he said to a friend, “to understand what is the responsibility of a sovereign, and what I feel when I reflect that one day I must render an account of the life of every one of my soldiers.” Amongst the commands of Christ which impressed him most deeply were these: “Love your enemies: do good to them that hate you.” He learned to forgive personal injuries, “which in other reigns would have drawn down thunder.” One instance amongst many may be given. Admiral Tchichagof, one of his ministers, quarrelled with his colleagues, and at length withdrew to Paris, where he said many bitter and injurious things about the Czar, which were all reported to him, and probably exaggerated. Just before the outbreak of the war, Tchichagof’s wife died, and, in accordance with her last request, he brought her body to St. Petersburg for interment. He wrote to the Czar to inform him of his return and its reason; and Alexander replied by an autograph letter, which Tchichagof showed in confidence to his friend De Maistre. “What a letter!” wrote the Sardinian ambassador to his sovereign. “The most tender and most delicate friend could not have written otherwise.” And he said to Tchichagof, as he handed back the precious paper, “You ought to die for the prince who wrote you that letter.” An interview followed, in which the reconciliation was cemented. “I know what you have said of me,” said Alexander, “but I attribute all to a good motive.” Need it be added that henceforward Tchichagof served him faithfully? But what of the French--of Napoleon? What of his desolated country, his murdered subjects, his fair and favourite city laid in ashes? Could these things be forgiven? Or is it true, as many would tell us, that the precepts of Christ are admirably suited for women and children, perhaps, at the utmost, for men in their private relations each with the other, but a nullity or a failure when applied to larger scenes and interests, utterly ineffectual to guide and control the statesman in his cabinet or the monarch on his throne? We shall see how far the story of Alexander answers this question.