The British Press; or, Morning Literary Advertiser.
London, England, 1821-02-15 00:00:00

mu rat AND COANAOPEN OP M. DS
CONDORCST.
NT MADAME WARD.
-011.-
Mon a lb Now Monthly Magastne."l

trestetedse frow our Paper of Monday lad.]
Ns had asked M. Suard whether he could
and hint an asylum. M. Simard replied, that he
would cheerfully sacrifice his own life for him,
bat Nat he could nut dispose of mine; he would
spa& is me, though he was sure that my senti-
ments would correspond with his. Condorcet
alusertreds "That I sin perfectly convinced of."
" But." ohserved M. Suard, " we live is a very
bed tinotaddie, mid if you were to remain here, you
would yourself be exposed to the greatest danger,
fge we have but one maid-servant, mid her we
commit depend upon : still I hope, without risk
either to you or to my wife, to be able to lodge
yen For on. night. I shall now go immediately to
Paris to see some of our old friends, and if possible
to procure a passport for you. Return ut eight
o'clock this evening, when the maid shall be out
Of the way; we will find you accommodation for
the nights and then, provided with • passport, you
will be able to go wilithee you think proper."
He acknowledged to M. Suard, that he appre-
hended most danger in the early pert of the day,
but weakest concerned about the evening. He did
net dissemtde the pain which he felt on account of
the course of public affairs and the state of the
party to which his •mbrious hopes had isiduced
him to attach himself; and 1 have it in sty power
to affirm that be was certainly not the author of the
scandalous papers against the King, which appeared
in a periodical publication of the time, subscribed
with hien/saw. He had indeed permitted the pub-
lisher to use his name, but this man had abused
that liberty in the most miwarrauteble manner.
M. Sward walked to Paris and returned much
fatigued, but in high spirits, because Cabanis, the
physician, had procured him a passport. My joy
was equal to his. We gave our servant permission
to go oust till ten o'clock, and fastened the door of
the staircase leading to our apartments, so that
there was no other way to them than through the
garden.
Condorcet was acquainted with this arrange-
ment : it was intended that lie should glee:, on the
sofa in the hall, whither provisions, wine, linen,
snuff, and whatever else he could want, were car-
ried. I told M. Suard, dist, as there was danger
(for the municipal officers Wight appear, and
then we should all three have been lust), I would
share it, and see the poor fugitive also : cer-
tain that my sincere pity would give bins pleasure.
M. Suard assented ; but we waited for Into in vain
till ten o'clock. We thought it probable that he
might be gone to Auteuil, where his wife and
daughter resided ; hut on our paying a visit in the
evening of the sleet day to a iseiglibuur, he asked
those about him, among whom was el. Sword, whe-
ther they had heard that the person found dead
that morning in the prison of Bourg-la-Reine was
supposed to he M. de Condorett? M. Suard was
thunderstruck. " Pray, Sir," said lie, " speak
softly, that my wife may not bear you, mid tell me
what you know or the affair." Ile then related that
on the preeeding day a stranger had entered the
Clantort(near -- •

iootroai), and ask.
id for eggs; 'hardy afterwards some municipal
officers arrived, and being struck by Ins dress, they
inquired who he was, whither he was goiwg, and in-
sisted on the production of his paper.. As his
answers betrayed embarrassment, and he had no
passport to exhibit, they declared that they would
take him to Bourg-la-Heine ; but being unable to
walk, he was conveyed thither in a cart, and found
dead next morning in the prison. His Owl, of
very fine hien, was marked with the letter C, and
in hi. pockets were found some money and a Horace.
There circumstances placed the matter beyond all
doubt. The news of his deplorable fate, when af-
terwards communicated to me, cost we many bitter
tears.

1 'hall here take the liberty of introducing a
portrait of M. Condorcet, which 1 sketched lung
before the revolution, and in which nut one quality
or virtue is *scribed to hint that he did nut actually
possess. IVhilut residing in the country, aoou
slier I had become acquaintrel with this philoso-
pher, whose conversation wss highly interesting to
mr, I wrote as follows to Suard

.
My philosopher often convinces me of the
truth of a sentiment which lie yesterday uttered,
namely, that we become better in the society cf a
good mail. We feel indeed good and happy in the
proximity of the mild and kindly virtues. It
seems as though they communicated to those around
them something of their characteristic serenity.
All petty passions are silenced, sorrow is alleviated,
amid the soul feels peace nod content in their con-
verse. This impression I have many times experi-
enced ia the cowpony or our nuttily friend, Coo-
doreet4. The pleasure Obit+ I receite from it does
:tor spring so much from that luxuriarce of ideus
which et the same time entbr.,ers the natural end
moral sciences, all wfateeer behrogs to fancy and
taste; neither dere it result front thst penetration
and sagacity which detect the whole man from a
siegle word that escaper him; while on the other
band he is blind to all the defects of those who are
dear to his heart. The pleasure which his society if.
fords me, arises from the feeling of his steadfast and
invariable kindiress, which may be compared with
ti copious spring, that is coestantly flowing without
ever being exhausted ; it proceeds limn that
friendly attention which ant icipates every wish, and is
the more gratifying, because, from the complete for-
getful:masa self, it has not the slightest aniressarice
of a sacrifice; from the affectionate indulgence
which encourages us to expose to brut a hundred
little foibles, which he pities as if he shared them
with as ; horn that sublime simplicity which seems
not even to suspect the admiration awakened by his
virtues and the astouiehinent excited by the capa-
city mid superiority of his understatirling; from that
natural condeecenthou which, even when iiiteresting
itself in the most tviat things t, loses none of
its characteristic greatness ; it arises from that
perfect composure respecting every thing that

eoneerns himself stone, *herrn lie is roused into
the utmost activity wheomur misfortune or frieod-
'ship claims his aid ; from that pure philanthropy,
which is reedy to exert all its energies sod to
make any sacrifice. even of its own reputation ;
horn that utter indifference to personal wrongs,
while the least injustice done to the objects of his
love kindles in him a zeal which one would not
suppose to he compatible with the natural mildness
of his disposition°. and the excess of which could
not have been excused by his friends themselves,
except because it was in him the excess of a virtue.
In the space of twelve years I have known him to
be guilty of but one great injustice of this kind t,
which pained me mach. because it wouuded one of
the tenderest affections of my heart. But what
would one not forgive so happy • combination of
mildness, generosity i, kindness--of virtues so us.
tural, that the respect due to them is absorbed in
the love which they inspire I"