THE ARCHBISHOP. You are not a churchman; but you are a diplomatist and a soldier. Could you make our citizens pay war taxes, or our soldiers sacrifice their lives, if they knew what is really happening instead of what seems to them to be happening? LA TRÉMOUILLE. No, by Saint Dennis: the fat would be in the fire before sundown. THE ARCHBISHOP. Would it not be quite easy to tell them the truth? LA TRÉMOUILLE. Man alive, they wouldnt believe it. THE ARCHBISHOP. Just so. Well, the Church has to rule men for the good of their souls as you have to rule them for the good of their bodies. To do that, the Church must do as you do: nourish their faith by poetry. LA TRÉMOUILLE. Poetry! I should call it humbug. THE ARCHBISHOP. You would be wrong, my friend. Parables are not lies because they describe events that have never happened. Miracles are not frauds because they are often—I do not say always—very simple and innocent contrivances by which the priest fortifies the faith of his flock. When this girl picks out the Dauphin among his courtiers, it will not be a miracle for me, because I shall know how it has been done, and my faith will not be increased. But as for the others, if they feel the thrill of the supernatural, and forget their sinful clay in a sudden sense of the glory of God, it will be a miracle and a blessed one. And you will find that the girl herself will be more affected than anyone else. She will forget how she really picked him out. So, perhaps, will you. LA TRÉMOUILLE. Well, I wish I were clever enough to know how much of you is God’s archbishop and how much the most artful fox in Touraine. Come on, or we shall be late for the fun; and I want to see it, miracle or no miracle. THE ARCHBISHOP [_detaining him a moment_] Do not think that I am a lover of crooked ways. There is a new spirit rising in men: we are at the dawning of a wider epoch. If I were a simple monk, and had not to rule men, I should seek peace for my spirit with Aristotle and Pythagoras rather than with the saints and their miracles. LA TRÉMOUILLE. And who the deuce was Pythagoras? THE ARCHBISHOP. A sage who held that the earth is round, and that it moves round the sun. LA TRÉMOUILLE. What an utter fool! Couldnt he use his eyes?