Man and Superman by George Bernard Shaw (world of reading TXT) 📕

Juan Oh, then there is no mistake: you are intentionally damned. The Old Woman Why do you say that? Don Juan Because Hell, Señora, is a place for the wicked. 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, Señora; 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, Señora. 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.” 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, Señora. 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, Señora: was not this true even when you lived on Earth? When you were 70, were you really older underneath your wrinkles and your grey hairs than when you were 30? The Old Woman No, younger: at 30 I was a fool. But of what use is it to feel younger and look older? Don Juan You see, Señora, the look was only an illusion. Your wrinkles lied, just as the plump smooth skin of many a stupid girl of 17, with heavy spirits and decrepit ideas, lies about her age? Well, here we have no bodies: we see each other as bodies only because we learnt to think about one another under that aspect when we were alive; and we still think in that way, knowing no other. But we can appear to one another at what age we choose. You have but to will any of your old looks back, and back they will come. The Old Woman It cannot be true. Don Juan Try. The Old Woman Seventeen! Don Juan Stop. Before you decide, I had better tell you that these things are a matter of fashion. Occasionally we have a rage for 17; but it does not last long. Just at present the fashionable age is 40⁠—or say 37; but there are signs of a change. If you were at all good-looking at 27, I should suggest your trying that, and setting a new fashion. The Old Woman I do not believe a word you are saying. However, 27 be it. Whisk! The old woman becomes a young one, and so handsome that in the radiance into which her dull yellow halo has suddenly lightened one might almost mistake her for Ann Whitefield. Don Juan Doña Ana de Ulloa! Ana What?