does not quite see why she received, since her friend, the hostess and queen of the ball, has already changed her lover two or three times during the piece. Misfortunes, says the proverb, never come singly, and hardly can Adèle have got home, when the servant who had been stationed at Frankfort arrives, and announces that Col. d'Hervey will be at Paris almost as soon as himself. Antony hurries to his mistress's house, and endeavours to persuade her to elope with him immediately. ACT V. SCENE III. ANTONY. Well, thou seest remaining here, there is no hope in heaven. Listen, I am free-my fortune will follow me-besides, if it failed, could supply it easily. A carriage is below. Listen and consider, there is no other course. If a heart devoted-if the whole existence of a man cast at thy feet, suffice thee, say "Yes." Italy, England, Germany, offer us an asylum. I tear thee from thy family, from thy country-well, I will be to thee family-country. A change of name will disguise us from the world. No one will know who we were till we are dead. We'll live alone-thou shalt be my fortune, my God, my life. I'll have no will but thine, no happiness but thine. Come, come, we are enough for each other to forget the world. ADELE. Yes, yes-but one word to Clara. ANTONY. We have not a minute to lose. ADELE. My child, my daughter—I must embrace my girlseest thou-this is a last adieu, an eternal farewell! ANTONY. Well, yes!-go, go.-(He pushes her.) My daughter!-leave my daughter!-my daughter, who will be reproached one day with the crime of her mother, who will still live, perhaps, though not for her. My girl! my poor child! who will expect to be presented to the world as innocent, and who will be presented to it as dishonoured as her mother, and dishonoured by her mother's fault. O my God! ANTONY. ADELE. Is it not so? A blot once fallen upon a name is not effaced-it eats into it-it preys upon it--it destroys it. Oh my daughter, my daughter! ANTONY. Well!-we'll take her with us: let her come with us. But yesterday, I should have thought it impossible to love her--the daughter of another-of thee. Well! she shall be my daughter, my adopted child. But come -take her then; every instant is death. What dost thou consider about ?-he is coming, he is coming!-he is yonder! ADELE. Wretch that I am become! Where am I? and where hast thou conducted me? and all this in three months. An honourable man confides his name to me-places his happiness in me-trusts his daughter to me! I adore her -She is his hope, his old age, the being in whom he hopes to survive. Thou comest-it is but three months. My smothered love awakes--I dishonour the name intrusted to me-I destroy the happiness reposed on me; and this is not all-no, this is not enough-I carry away from him the daughter of his heart. I disinherit his old days of his child's caresses, and in exchange of his love I give him shame, sorrow, solitude! Tell me, Antony, is not this infamy? ANTONY. What wouldst the a do then? Antony proposes they should die together-"Blessed be God," he says, Blessed be God, who made my life for unity! Blessed be God that I can quit life without drawing a tear from eyes that love me. Blessed be God for having allowed me, in the age of hope, to have known and been fatigued with every thing . . . One bond alone attached me to this world. . . Thou wert that bond-it breaks-I am content to die, but I would with thee . . . I wish the last beatings of our hearts to respond-our last sighs to mingle. Dost thou understand? A death as soft as sleep-a death happier than our life. . . . Thenwho knows? from pity, perhaps, they'll throw our bodies into the same tomb. ADELE. ... Oh! yes! That would be heaven, if my memory could die with me-but if I die thus, the world will say to my child-" Your mother thought to escape shame by death... and she died in the arms of the man who had dishonoured her"-and if my poor girl say 66 No," they will lift up the stone that covers our grave, and say, "There, see them!" ANTONY. Oh! we are indeed damned, neither to live nor die! ADELE. Yes, yes. I ought to die-I alone-thou seest it... Go then, in the name of heaven-go! ANTONY. Go!... quit thee! ... when he comes . . . to have had thee, and to have lost thee! . . . hell! . . . And were he not to kill thee... were he to pardon thee To have been guilty of rape, violence, adultery-to have possessed thee-and can I hesitate at a new crime, that is, to keep thee?-What! lose my soul for so little! Satan would laugh. Thou art foolish. No, no! Thou art mine as man is misfortune's (seizing her in his arms.) Thou must live for me. . . . I carry thee away.—Evil be on the head of him who would prevent me! Oh! oh! Adele. ANTONY. Cries, tears, it matters not! ADELE. My daughter! my daughter! ANTONY. She's a child, and will laugh to-morrow. (They are just on the point of going out, when a double knock is heard at the street door. ADELE (bursting from Antony's arms). Oh! it's he. . . . Oh! my God! my God! Have pity on me! pardon, pardon! Come, it is over now! ANTONY. ADELE. Somebody's coming up stairs . . . somebody rings(It must be remembered this is a French house, and the knock was at the outer door.)—It's my husband-fly, fly! No, no .. Oh! kill me, for pity's sake! ANTONY. A death that would save thy reputation, that of thy child? ADELE. I'll beg for it on my knees. (A voice from without; " Open, open! break open the door!") ANTONY. And in thy last breath thou wilt not curse thy assassin? ADELE. I'll bless him—but be quick . . . that door. ANTONY. Fear nothing! death shall be here before any one. But reflect on it well-death! ADELE. I beg it--wish it--implore it (throwing herself into his arms)--I come to seek it. Well then, die! Ah! ANTONY (kissing her). (He stabs her with a poniard. ADELE (falling into a fauteuil). (At the same moment the door is forced open. Col. d'Hervey rushes on to the stage. SCENE IV. Col. d'Hervey, Antony, Adèle, and different servants. COL. D'HERVEY. Wretch!-What do I see ?-Adèle ! ANTONY. Dead, yes, dead!—she resisted me, and I assassinated her. (He throws his dagger at the Colonel's feet. |
