Satni. Yes, I looked for threats, for torture. The kindness of your voice unmans me.
High Priest. Be not distressed. Forget who I am. None hear us. Let us talk together as father and son. Or better, since your learning makes you worthy, as two men. You have proclaimed broadcast that the miracle will not come to pass.
Satni. The goddess is stone. Stone does not move itself. The image will not bow its head unless man intervene.
High Priest. That is evident.
Satni. You admit it?
High Priest. To you, yes. We give to each one the faith he deserves. Had you remained with us, at each step in the priesthood you would have beheld the gods rise with you, become more immaterial, more noble, as you became more learned. We give to the people the gods they can understand. Our god is different. He is the one who exists in essence. The one who lives in substance, the sole procreator who was not engendered, the father of the fathers, the mother of mothers. The one and only. And we crave his pardon for belittling him by miracles. But they are part of that faith which alone contents the simple-minded. You are above them—I admit freely that the miracle could be prevented. You declared it would not take place—you have found the means to make it impossible?
Satni [suspecting the trap] I said that, left to herself, the goddess would not move.
High Priest. To say only that, would not have served you. You intended to prevent the miracle. Come, admit it—it is so.
Satni. Perhaps.
High Priest. By seizing you, I prevent your committing the sacrilege. Your purpose will not be realized. In an hour the festival of the Prodigy will take place, and you are my prisoner. It follows then, the miracle will be performed—you believe that, do you not?