In the evening, after dinner, the conversation turned upon religion. The Emperor dwelt on the subject at length. The following is a faithful summary of his arguments; I give it as being quite characteristic upon a point which has probably often excited the curiosity of many.
The Emperor, after having spoken for some time with warmth and animation, said: “Every thing proclaims the existence of a God, _that_ cannot be questioned; but all our religions are evidently the work of men. Why are there so many?—Why has ours not always existed?—Why does it consider itself exclusively the right one?—What becomes in that case of all the virtuous men who have gone before us?—Why do these religions revile, oppose, exterminate one another?—Why has this been the case ever and every where?—Because men are ever men; because priests have ever and every where introduced fraud and falsehood. However, as soon as I had power, I immediately re-established religion. I made it the ground-work and foundation upon which I built. I considered it as the support of sound principles and good morality, both in doctrine and in practice. Besides, such is the restlessness of man, that his mind requires that something undefined and marvellous which religion offers; and it is better for him to find it there, than to seek it of Cagliostro, of Mademoiselle Lenormand, or of the fortune-tellers and impostors.” Somebody having ventured to say to him that he might possibly in the end become devout, the Emperor answered, with an air of conviction, that he feared not, and that it was with regret he said it; for it was no doubt a great source of consolation; but that his incredulity did not proceed from perverseness or from licentiousness of mind, but from the strength of his reason. “Yet,” added he, “no man can answer for what will happen, particularly in his last moments. At present I certainly believe that I shall die without a confessor; and yet there is one (pointing to one of us) who will perhaps receive my confession. I am assuredly very far from being an atheist, but I cannot believe all that I am taught in spite of my reason, without being false and a hypocrite. When I became Emperor, and particularly after my marriage with Maria Louisa, every effort was made to induce me to go with great pomp, according to the custom of the Kings of France, to take the sacrament at the church of Notre Dame; but this I positively refused to do: I did not believe in the act sufficiently to derive any benefit from it, and yet I believed too much in it to run the risk of committing a profanation.” On this occasion a certain person was alluded to, who had boasted, as it were, that he had never taken the sacrament. “That is very wrong,” said the Emperor; “either he has not fulfilled the intention of his education, or his education was neglected.” Then, resuming the subject, he said, “To explain where I come from, what I am, and whither I go, is above my comprehension; and yet all that is. I am like the watch that exists, without possessing the consciousness of existence. However, the sentiment of religion is so consolatory that it must be considered as a gift of Heaven: what a resource would it not be for us here to possess it! What influence could men and events exercise over me, if, bearing my misfortunes as if inflicted by God, I expected to be compensated by him with happiness hereafter! What rewards have _I_ not a right to expect who have run a career so extraordinary, so tempestuous, without committing a single crime, and yet how many might I not have been guilty of? I can appear before the tribunal of God, I can await his judgment without fear. He will not find my conscience stained with the thoughts of murder and poisonings, with the infliction of violent and premeditated death, events so common in the history of those whose lives have resembled mine. I have striven only for the glory, the power, the greatness of France. All my faculties, all my efforts, all my moments, were directed to the attainment of that object. These cannot be crimes; to me they appeared acts of virtue. What then would be my happiness, if the bright prospect of futurity presented itself to crown the last moments of my existence!”