JUDITH. Is that you, Allan!...

JUDITH. [Enters from the background, wearing a hooded rain coat and carrying an umbrella; otherwise exquisitely dressed, in long skirt and with her hair put up] Is that you, Allan!

ALLAN. [Turning around, surveys JUDITH carefully] Is that you, Judith?

JUDITH. You don't know me any longer? Where have you been all this time? What are you looking at? My long dress—and my hair—You have not seen me like this before?

ALLAN. No-o——

JUDITH. Do I look like a married woman?

[ALLAN turns away from her.]

JUDITH. [Earnestly] What are you doing here?

ALLAN. I am saying good-bye.

JUDITH. What? You are going—away?

ALLAN. I am transferred to Norrland.

JUDITH. [Dumbfounded] To Norrland? When are you going?

ALLAN. To-day.

JUDITH. Whose doing is this?

ALLAN. Your father's.

JUDITH. That's what I thought! [Walks up and down the floor, stamping her feet] I wish you had stayed over to-day.

ALLAN. In order to meet the Colonel?

JUDITH. What do you know about the Colonel?—Is it certain that you are going?

ALLAN. There is no other choice. And now I want it myself. [Silence.]

JUDITH. Why do you want it now?

ALLAN. I want to get away from here—out into the world!

JUDITH. It's too close here? Yes, Allan, I understand you—it's unbearable here—here, where they speculate—in soda and human beings! [Silence.]

JUDITH. [With genuine emotion] As you know, Allan, I possess that fortunate nature which cannot suffer—but—now I am learning!

ALLAN. You?

JUDITH. Yes—now it's beginning! [She presses both hands to her breast] Oh, how it hurts—oh!

ALLAN. What is it?

JUDITH. I don't know—I choke—I think I'm going to die!

ALLAN. Judith?

JUDITH. [Crying out] Oh! Is this the way it feels? Is this the way—poor boys!

ALLAN. I should smile, if I were as cruel as you are.

JUDITH. I am not cruel, but I didn't know better—You must not go!

ALLAN. I have to!

JUDITH. Go then—but give me a keepsake!

ALLAN. What have I to give you?

JUDITH. [With all the seriousness of deepest suffering] You!—No, I can never live through this! [Cries out, pressing her breast with both hands] I suffer, I suffer—What have you done to me? I don't want to live any longer! Allan, don't go—not alone! Let us go together—we'll take the small boat, the little white one—and we'll sail far out, with the main sheet made fast—the wind is high—and we sail till we founder out there, way out, where there is no eelgrass and no jelly-fish—What do you say?—But we should have washed the sails yesterday—they should be white as snow—for I want to see white in that moment—and you swim with your arm about me until you grow tired—and then we sink—[Turning around] There would be style in that, a good deal more style than in going about here lamenting and smuggling letters that will be opened and jeered at by father—Allan! [She takes hold of both his arms and shakes him] Do you hear?

ALLAN. [Who has been watching her with shining eyes] Judith! Judith! Why were you not like this before?

JUDITH. I didn't know—how could I tell what I didn't know?

ALLAN. And now I must go away from you! But I suppose it is the better, the only thing! I cannot compete with a man—like——

JUDITH. Don't speak of the Colonel!

ALLAN. Is it not true?

JUDITH. It is true—and it is not true.

ALLAN. Can it become wholly untrue?

JUDITH. Yes, so it shall—within an hour!

ALLAN. And you keep your word? I can wait, I can suffer, I can work—Judith!

JUDITH. Don't go yet! How long must I wait?

ALLAN. A year.

JUDITH. [Exultantly] One? I shall wait a thousand years, and if you do not come then, I shall turn the dome of heaven upside down and make the sun rise in the west—Hush, somebody is coming! Allan, we must part—take me into your arms! [They embrace each other] But you must not kiss me. [Turns her head away] There, go now! Go now!

[ALLAN goes toward the background and puts on his cloak. Then they rush into each other's arms so that JUDITH disappears beneath the cloak, and for a moment they exchange kisses. ALLAN rushes out. JUDITH throws herself face downward on the sofa and sobs.]

ALLAN. [Comes back and kneels beside the sofa] No, I cannot go! I cannot go away from you—not now!

JUDITH. [Rising] If you could only see how beautiful you are now! If you could only see yourself!

ALLAN. Oh, no, a man cannot be beautiful. But you, Judith! You—that you—oh, I saw that, when you were kind, another Judith appeared—and she's mine!—But if you don't keep faith with me now, then I shall die!

JUDITH. I think I am dying even now—Oh, that I might die now, just now, when I am so happy——

ALLAN. Somebody is coming!

JUDITH. Let them come! I fear nothing in the world hereafter. But I wish you could take me along under your cloak. [She hides herself in play under his cloak] And then I should fly with you to Norrland. What are we to do in Norrland? Become a Fusilier—one of those that wear plumes on their hats? There's style in that, and it will be becoming to you.

[Plays with his hair. ALLAN kisses the tips of her fingers, one by one—and then he kisses her shoe.]

JUDITH. What are you doing, Mr. Madcap? Your lips will get black. [Rising impetuously] And then I cannot kiss you when you go! Come, and I'll go with you!

ALLAN. No, then I should be placed under arrest.

JUDITH. I'll go with you to the guard-room.

ALLAN. They wouldn't let you! We must part now!

JUDITH. I am going to swim after the steamer—and then you jump in and save me—and it gets into the newspapers, and we become engaged. Shall we do that?

ALLAN. You can still jest?

JUDITH. There will always be time for tears—Say good-bye now!——

[They rush into each other's arms; then ALLAN withdraws slowly through the door in the background, JUDITH following him; the door remains open after them; they embrace again outside, in the rain.]

ALLAN. You'll get wet, Judith.

JUDITH. What do I care!

[They tear themselves away from each other. ALLAN leaves. JUDITH remains behind, exposing herself to the rain and to the wind, which strains at her hair and her clothes while she is waving her handkerchief. Then JUDITH runs back into the room and throws herself on the sofa, with her face buried in her hands.]

August Strindberg, The Dance of Death, Part 2, Plays: First Series, Trans. Edwin Björkman, 1912.