Another. You would sell Egypt, and 'tis to weaken us you would overthrow our gods.
All. Traitor! Traitor!
Satni. If I am a traitor, 'tis to my own cause! But a while ago I was proud of my deed, thinking I had sacrificed myself to you. Alas! I only sacrificed your future to my pity. I wept for you; to weep for misfortune—what is that but an easy escape from the duty of fighting its cause? I pitied you. Pity is but a weakness, a submission—To perpetuate the falsehood of the miracle, and the life of atonement to come is to drug misery to sleep.
A Man. Misery!—can you give us anything to cure it?
They laugh.
Satni. They have implanted in you, the belief that misery is immortal, invincible. By my falsehood, I too have seemed to admit this; and thus I have helped those, in whose interest it is that misery should last for ever.
A Man. He insults the Pharaoh!
Another. Do not insult our priests!
Satni. Had there been no miracle, you would have despaired—you would have sorrowed. I ought to have faced that. I ought to have faced the death of a few, to save the future of all. We go forward only by destroying. What matter blood and pain! Pain and blood—never a child is born without them! I would—
An angry outburst.