At the National Assembly meeting on October 10, Bishop Talleyrand, once a representative of the First Estate and now a deputy for the district of Autun, asked to speak.
Amid applause that was either sincere or feigned, the archbishop, dressed in a black bishop's robe, climbed onto the rostrum. Unlike another chameleon who had also come from a seminary and later became famous for his fickleness, Bishop Talleyrand was very good at giving speeches. After all, it was all a matter of fooling people. Every trick that could deceive the faithful from the pulpit was just as useful for deceiving the public in a speech.
"Everyone knows that although the new system has been established, and His Majesty the King has recognized the Declaration of the Rights of Man and declared his loyalty to the constitution, France still faces a tremendous crisis. Some conservative nobles have fled abroad, where they are contacting Europe's other autocratic monarchs and plotting to use their power to overthrow the Revolution. At home, rebellions and bandits are everywhere, and insurgents run rampant, wantonly wreaking havoc across our France. These crises are so grave—can we really turn a blind eye and deaf ear?"
"No!"
"No!"
The deputies shouted in reply. From the left side of the rostrum, someone even yelled, "Hang those bastards! String them all up from the lampposts!"
Bishop Talleyrand's expression remained calm, though he very much disliked the fellows sitting on the left.
"But we also face a tremendous difficulty: we have no money." Talleyrand continued, "Because of the royal family's extravagance and waste, France is now burdened with debts of as much as four and a half billion livres. Paying the interest alone will drain our coffers dry. Without money, how can we arm our soldiers and defend our Revolution?"
"Then what