Satni. You would have the peasant remain a child, because you fear the reckoning he would demand of you, if you let him grow up. You know you could not stay him then by showing him the god-jackal, the god-ram, the god-bull, and the rest that do not exist.
High Priest. Are you certain they do not exist?
High Priest. Know you where you are?
Satni. In the temple.
High Priest. In the temple; where you were brought up. There was a time when you dared not have crossed the first sacred enclosure. You are in the third. Look round! There is the holy of holies. At my will the stones that mask the entrance will roll back, and the goddess will be unveiled. Except the High Priest and the Pharaoh, no mortal, if he be not priest himself, may look on her and live—save at the hour of the annual Festival of Prodigies, which is upon us now. Do you believe that you can endure to be alone in her presence?
Satni. I do believe it.
High Priest. We shall see. If you be afraid, call and prostrate yourself. Afterwards you shall go and tell what you have seen, to those whom you deceived.
The High Priest makes a sign. Total darkness. A peal of thunder.
Satni. Ah! [Terrified, he leaps forward. A faint light returns slowly, the temple is empty] I am alone! [He is terrified, standing erect against a pillar facing the audience] Alone in the temple, within sight of the goddess almost. I know 'tis but an image—yet am I steeped in terror, even to the marrow of my bones. [He utters an agonized cry] Ah!—I thought I beheld in the darkness—No—I know that there is nothing—Oh! coward nature! Because I was cradled amid tales of religion, because I grew up in the fear of the gods, because my father and my father's father, and all those from whom I come, were crushed by this terror even from the blackest night of time, I tremble, and my reason totters. All this is false, I know—the god obeys the priest. Yet, from these towering columns, horror and mystery descend upon me—[A thunder clap brings him to his knees. The stones that mask the entrance to the sanctuary roll slowly back. He tries to look] The holy of holies opens—I am afraid—I am afraid—[He mutters words, wipes the sweat from his brow with his hand. He trembles and falls sobbing to the ground. A long pause] 'Tis the beast in me that is afraid—Ah! coward flesh! [Biting his hands] I shall conquer thee—I would chastise my weakness. I am shamed—I am shamed—In spite of all I will look her in the face. I have the will! but I must fight against so many memories, against all the dead whose spirits stir in mine. I shall conquer the dead. My life, and my will—courage!