(p. 4) The time came to elect our representative. In the first round, the Marquis d’Apochon got a plurality [but not a majority] and a few votes were cast for me. In the second round, I got as many as he did and in the third, I was elected. I admit that I was as surprised as I was flattered for while I had served at court as an officer in the Comte d’Artois’s Guard, I was neither a schemer nor a courtesan. One example will give you an idea of my character: in 1785, they persuaded me that for the sake of my own position and that of my family, I should take advantage of the honors available to the oldest families. I proved my descent and was allowed to ride in the king’s carriages—but barely had I gotten out of the carriage that I got back into my own and went home. I had not been to court since then.

(p. 8) On the twenty-sixth [of June, 1789] there was general consternation in the nobles’ chamber when we learned that some of our members had defected [to the National Assembly]. … as for the twenty-seventh, it would be more accurate to say that I was driven into the common chamber than that I went of my own volition. … My cahier specifically forbade me from being part of the Estates if voting “by head” were adopted. There were still meetings that I could attend in the Chamber of the Nobility, however. Small printed invitations were given to each of our deputies as he left the General Assembly; they said “Monsieur the Duke of Luxembourg, president of the Order of the Nobility, invites you to attend a meeting in the Order’s regular room.” (p. 9) The number of members was smaller everyday, however, such that of the 158 who were there on the third of July, there were only 80 on the ninth.
      Monsieur Guillotin, who had been put in charge of office space, had the idea of dividing up our room to make offices. In my presence, the vicomte of la Châtre welcomed him and treated him better than a slave, such that Guillotin left the measurements behind him and went down the stairs on all fours. Then the Duke of Luxembourg had the door closed and said “the nobility have not given up their right to meet.” We reached several decisions in these meetings, among others to preserve the rights of the Second Estate and to maintain legal distinctions between all three orders. We wanted the decisions to be signed by all of us, but we agreed it would be better if it were only the president’s signature, in order for it to be less obvious how many of our members had defected.

(p. 11) As I witnessed the King’s humiliating arrival in the Assembly on the fifteenth [July 1789], I may have been tormented by a desire for vengeance, but I was tenderly moved at the sight of this unfortunate monarch willingly giving himself over to traitors….(pp. 12-13) On the seventeenth, I looked out a window to watch the King’s departure for Paris. What a sight! This same King, who two months ago had opened the Estates-General with all the magnificence and pageantry due to the greatest prince of Europe, was on this day in a simple carriage: two squires, twelve guards, and a single carriage after his—just as if he was going out to hunt. About two hundred badly dressed men on foot, with floppy hats and rifles over their shoulders, preceded and followed him, instead of the handsome Swiss Hundred and the faithful guards he used to have.

(p. 20) By the 29th of August, we were beginning to see who we were: those of us attached to their King and their Religion positioned ourselves to the right of the presiding member, in order to avoid the shouting and the indecent language coming from the other side. Ther were about 150 members of the clergy, as many from the nobility, and eighty from the Third Estate. Several times I tried sitting in different parts of the room, in order to be more the master of my own opinion, but I absolutely could not sit on the left. If I sat there, I was the only around who voted as I did and so was subjected to the mockery of the galleries. On the 7th of September, the speakers were considering the question of the royal veto and it was in the middle of this pressing matter that a number of "virtuous citizenesses" were allowed to enter and offer us their toys and their trinkets. We [on the right] called out to object, but to no avail and the whole episode was truly humiliating.

(p. 30) On the twelfth of October, the Bishop of Autun [Talleyrand] asked his famous question about to whom the clergy’s property belonged… the good clerics remained silent, the good nobles had no doubt. (p. 31) A list was made of who wanted to speak for or against, but they only listened patiently to the former. They sent little notes, like the one the abbé d’Eymar opened in my presence. It said: “if you speak in favor of the clergy, you are dead.”

(p. 31) On the nineteenth [October 1789], we met for the first time in Paris. Our [temporary] meeting hall in the Archbishop’s Palace was so small that we could no longer divide ourselves: good and bad, we were all mixed together. Bailly [mayor of Paris] and Lafayette [commander of National Guard] came to tell us that we were safe and free—this! even as they were making bread scarcer in order to stir the people into mobs and prepare future events. … (32) Our discussions were constantly interrupted by deputations from the Paris Commune, or from the districts, all of which thought they were the equals of the Assembly where laws were being made. Monsieur Chapelier was starting to say that we should not miss an opportunity to show that distinction by order was a monstrous perversion of the French monarchy, when part of the railing above us came crashing down beside me. Twenty-five people fell from the balcony onto the deputies; we had to stop our meeting to help the injured.
       On the thirtieth, we returned to the question of the clergy’s properties. No reasoning was admitted, not even the abbé Maury’s; all that mattered was the “rights of man”—that is, the rights of the strongest. … On the thirty-first, an enormous crowd filled the square in front of the Archbishop’s Palace; some in the crowd were armed with rocks and various members of the clergy had been abused and insulted the day before… (p. 33) On the second [of November 1789], the crowd was even bigger: I could barely squeeze through to get into the Assembly. The plotters thought their majority was still not sure enough and the Comte of Mirabeau, who played the main role in this, first proposed several amendments and then suddenly changed the wording so it was no longer a question of owning but of managing the property—and he implied that the salary of parish clergy depended on this. It came to a roll-call vote: I saw even several bishops be fooled by this editing. On the sixth, a day reserved for financial matters, all indicated that the Royal Treasury was empty. The Neckers, the Mirabeaus, the Labordes—in a word, all the speculators, including most members of the Finance Committee—proposed creating banks, public funds, paper money. But they were just sowing the seeds then that would bear fruit later.

(p. 43) On the eighteenth [February 1790], we continued discussing what would become of the religious orders. Two gavels were broken—so indignant was one side and so crazed, the other. Our evening session was dedicated to hearing disastrous news from all parts of the kingdom. Barely did someone have time to outline a piece of legislation when he was interrupted by a schoolmistress who wanted to propose a plan for national education…

(pp. 57-58) We quickly passed several decrees concerning criminal law… and then we came to the hunt. It appeared that we had improved on Monsieur Robespierre’s proposals, but really we adopted the spirit of them. That was the way the Jacobins did things: they sent one of their most enragé [enraged, mad] members to make a really violent proposal, which the Right protested to the utmost. Then, they sent a second one with a motion that looked softer and with this comparison in mind, many wise men who wanted to avoid the greater evil decided to vote for the second. So we thought we had gained a lot with a decree that prohibited hunting on others’ land, but in allowing everyone to be armed the Left had won and people hunted no matter where.   

(p. 66) On the seventeenth of May (1790), the question was: Does the King have the right to declare war or peace? That was really no question at all from the viewpoint of the French, but it was a very important one for the enragés. It was discussed from all perspectives, but all of them were republican. The reigns of Henri IV, of Louis XIV, and of Louis XV were all brought into the fray and even their thoughts were interpreted. … Repeatedly speakers had to be called to order and the debate heated up as absolutely opposing opinions hit each other… (p. 67) On the twenty-second, we returned to the question of war and peace. Crowds grew all around and in the room where Robespierre was blaspheming [the Jacobin Club]. The abbé Maury distinguished himself by incredible efforts of logic and memory but all we could do was to hope that our orators could get the question postponed in the hope that time for reflection would result in a decision that was not only wise, but politic. The Jacobins wanted the right of declaring war and peace to belong solely to the nation; we wanted it to participate, but the people had been promised and they were there. And what did the Count of Mirabeau do? He tried to tie his popularity to his ambition, his character to his spirit, by making a proposal that was in the middle. It is thanks to him that we did not have to oppose the final version completely: the first article said that the right of declaring war or peace belonged to the nation—a phrase that the enragés made sure to repeat outside—but the King also received a part of what belonged to him. Mirabeau performed a great service for the monarchy on that day.

(p. 70) On the twenty-seventh (May 1790), my health having become worse each day—my body overwhelmed by fatigue and my mind no longer able to stand the violent debates of an assembly whose members were absolutely divided—I wrote to my fellows. I told them that I did not want to be suspected of failing their trust, but that I would leave the assembly on the first of July. That gave them enough time to replace me. On the twenty-eighth, the effects of this anarchy were all the more obvious. On one side, the people were cutting down entire acres of trees; on the other, they were interfering with and pillaging all the grain shipments. We felt that the repression of such abuses belonged to the executive branch alone, but if we sent such cases to it, the monarchy could be compromised. Yet to judge them ourselves was against our principles. Everything proved to us that no good could from such an assembly.