The fleeced flock is to discover finally what is done with its wool. "Sooner or later，" says a parliament of 1764，[21] "the people will learn that the remnants of our finances continue be wasted in donations which are frequently undeserved； in excessive and multiplied pensions for the same persons； in dowries and promises of dowry， and in useless offices and salaries." Sooner or later they will thrust back "these greedy hands which are always open and never full； that insatiable crowd which seems to be born only to seize all and possess nothing， and pitiless as it is shameless." - And when this day arrives the extortioners will find that they stand alone. For the characteristic of an aristocracy which cares only for itself is to live aloof in a closed circle. Having forgotten the public， it also neglects its subordinates； after being separated from the nation it separates itself from its own adherents. Like a group of staff-officers on furlough， it indulges in Sports without giving itself further concern about inferior officers； when the hour of battle comes nobody will march under its orders， and chieftains are sought elsewhere. Such is the isolation of the seigniors of the court and of the prelates among the lower grades of the nobility and the clergy；they appropriate to themselves too large a share， and give nothing， or almost nothing， to the people who are not of their society. For a century a steady murmur against them rising， and goes on expanding until it becomes an uproar， which the old and the new spirit， feudal ideas and philosophic ideas， threaten in unison. "I see，" said the bailiff of Mirabeau，[22] "that the nobility is demeaning itself and becoming a wreck. It is extended to all those children of bloodsuckers， the vagabonds of finance， introduced by La Pompadour， herself the spring of this foulness. One portion of it demeans itself in its servility to the court； the other portion is amalgamated with that quill-driving rabble who are converting the blood of the king's subjects into ink； another perishes stifled beneath vile robes， the ignoble atoms of cabinet-dust which an office drags up out of the mire ；" and all， parvenus of the old or of the new stock， form a band called the court， 'The court！" exclaims D'Argenson. "The entire evil is found in this word， The court has become the senate of the nation；the least of the valets at Versailles is a senator； chambermaids take part in the government， if not to legislate， at least to impede laws and regulations； and by dint of hindrance there are no longer either laws， or rules， or law-makers. . . . Under Henry IV courtiers remained each one at home； they had not entered into ruinous expenditure to belong to the court； favors were not thus due to them as at the present day. . . The court is the sepulcher of the nation." Many noble officers， finding that high grades are only for courtiers， abandon the service， and betake themselves with their discontent to their estates.
Others， who have not left their domains， brood there in discomfort， idleness， and ennui， their ambition embittered by their powerlessness.
In 1789， says the Marquis de Ferrières， most of them "are so weary of the court and of the ministers， they are almost democrats." At least， "they want to withdraw the government from the ministerial oligarchy in whose hands it is concentrated；" there are no grand seigniors for deputies； they set them aside and "absolutely reject them， saying that they would traffic with the interests of the nobles；" they themselves， in their registers， insist that there be no more court nobility.