es. All the wickedness on earth is done in their name: where else
but in hell should they have their reward? Have I not told you that the
truly damned are those who are happy in hell?

THE OLD WOMAN. And are you happy here?

DON JUAN. [Springing to his feet] No; and that is the enigma on which I
ponder in darkness. Why am I here? I, who repudiated all duty, trampled
honor underfoot, and laughed at justice!

THE OLD WOMAN. Oh, what do I care why you are here? Why am I here? I,
who sacrificed all my inclinations to womanly virtue and propriety!

DON JUAN. Patience, lady: you will be perfectly happy and at home here.
As with the poet, "Hell is a city much like Seville."

THE OLD WOMAN. Happy! here! where I am nothing! where I am nobody!

DON JUAN. Not at all: you are a lady; and wherever ladies are is hell.
Do not be surprised or terrified: you will find everything here that a
lady can desire, including devils who will serve you from sheer love of
servitude, and magnify your importance for the sake of dignifying their
service--the best of servants.

THE OLD WOMAN. My servants will be devils.

DON JUAN. Have you ever had servants who were not devils?

THE OLD WOMAN. Never: they were devils, perfect devils, all of them. But
that is only a manner of speaking. I thought you meant that my servants
here would be real devils.

DON JUAN. No more real devils than you will be a real lady. Nothing is
real here. That is the horror of damnation.

THE OLD WOMAN. Oh, this is all madness. This is worse than fire and the
worm.

DON JUAN. For you, perhaps, there are consolations. For instance: how
old were you when you changed from time to eternity?

THE OLD WOMAN. Do not ask me how old I was as if I were a thing of the
past. I am 77.

DON JUAN. A ripe age, Senora. But in hell old age is not tolerated. It
is too real. Here we worship Love and Beauty. Our souls being entirely
damned, we cultivate our hearts. As a lady of 77, you would not have a
single acquaintance in hell.

THE OLD WOMAN. How can I help my age, man?

DON JUAN. You forget that you have left your age behind you in the realm
of time. You are no more 77 than you are 7 or 17 or 27.

THE OLD WOMAN. Nonsense!

DON JUAN. Consider, Senora: was not this true even when you lived on
earth? When you were 70, were you really older underneath your wrinkles
and your grey hams than when you were 30?

THE OLD WOMAN. No, younger: at 30 I was a fool. But of what use is i