The wicked are quite comfortable in it: it was made for them.
You tell me you feel no pain.
I conclude you are one of those for whom Hell exists.
THE OLD WOMAN.
Do you feel no pain?
DON JUAN.
I am not one of the wicked, Senora; therefore it bores me, bores me beyond description, beyond belief.
THE OLD WOMAN.
Not one of the wicked!
You said you were a murderer.
DON JUAN.
Only a duel.
I ran my sword through an old man who was trying to run his through me.
THE OLD WOMAN.
If you were a gentleman, that was not a murder.
DON JUAN.
The old man called it murder, because he was, he said, defending his daughter's honor.
By this he meant that because I foolishly fell in love with her and told her so, she screamed; and he tried to assassinate me after calling me insulting names.
THE OLD WOMAN.
You were like all men.
Libertines and murderers all, all, all!
DON JUAN.
And yet we meet here, dear lady.
THE OLD WOMAN.
Listen to me.
My father was slain by just such a wretch as you, in just such a duel, for just such a cause.
I screamed: it was my duty.
My father drew on my assailant: his honor demanded it.
He fell: that was the reward of honor.
I am here: in hell, you tell me that is the reward of duty.
Is there justice in heaven?
DON JUAN.
No; but there is justice in hell: heaven is far above such idle human personalities.
You will be welcome in hell, Senora.
Hell is the home of honor, duty, justice, and the rest of the seven deadly virtues.
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 saith the poet,
"Hell is a city much like Seville."