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Updated: June 11, 2025
'And my young lady is not a lady to be made a fool of, I promise you; nor is my lord likely to make a fool of any woman. 'Bless us all! that's no great praise for any young nobleman. Miss Anne. 'Mrs. le Maistre! Mrs. le Maistre! are you above? cried a footman from the bottom of the stairs; 'my lady's calling for you.
In this point lay the complaint of the Liberals of the Revolution against the Charter, as soon as it appeared. Their adversaries, the supporters of the old rule, assailed it with other reproaches. The most fiery, such as the disciples of M. de Maistre, could scarcely tolerate its existence.
Le Maistre, as she passed Lord Colambre, who was standing motionless in the hall. "I beg a thousand pardons; but I was hunting, high and low, for my lady's numbrella." Lord Colambre did not hear or heed her: his eyes were fixed, and they never moved. Lord Clonbrony was at the open carriage-door, kneeling on the step, and receiving Lady Clonbrony's "more last words" for Mr. Soho.
In short, from beginning to end of this speculation, from which the best kind of ultramontanism has drawn its defence, he evinces a deprecatory anxiety a very rare temper with De Maistre not to fight on the issue of the dogma of infallibility over which Protestants and unbelievers have won an infinite number of cheap victories; that he leaves as a theme more fitted for the disputations of theologians.
Persons who have accustomed themselves to ascertained methods of proof, are apt to look on a man who vows that if a thing has been declared true by some authority whom he respects, then that constitutes proof to him, as either the victim of a preposterous and barely credible infatuation, or else as a flat impostor. Yet De Maistre was no ignorant monk.
"I will spare mademoiselle the painful recital," interrupted the young man, now speaking in French, "for I have understood Monsieur her father." "Who is this man, Fifine?" De Maistre asked nervously. "Is he from the village?"
They worked separately and communicated their ideas to one another. In the first place, what is the Beautiful? For Schelling, it is the infinite expressing itself through the finite; for Reid, an occult quality; for Jouffroy, an indecomposable fact; for De Maistre, that which is pleasing to virtue; for P. André, that which agrees with reason.
Alone, and starving for a cause that is dear to him, he might encounter the grimness of fate with a fortitude in which there should be many elevating and consoling elements. But the destiny is intolerably hard which condemns a man of humane mould, as De Maistre certainly was, to look helplessly on the physical pains of a tender woman and famishing little ones.
Indeed Burke, like Locke, seems to have been convinced that a social sense was impossible in an atheist; and his Letters on a Regicide Peace have a good deal of that relentless illogic which made de Maistre connect the first sign of dissent from ultramontanism with the road to a denial of all faith.
One month had already elapsed, during whose flight Guy had made some important discoveries. He had traced up the bogus parsonage, and had even found, by some lucky accident, the residence of Philip Campbell, the rescuer of Fifine de Maistre. The "Lower Farms" is, of all secluded spots, about the most secluded, and people went there just as Guy did through curiosity.
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