Whom the gods love

"How much [mercy] had you for me when your lies drove me out to be slave to them on the sugar-plantations? You shudder at that--ah, these tender-hearted saints! This is the man after God's own heart--the man who repents after his sins and lives. No one dies but his son. You say you love me--your love has cost me dear enough! Do you think I can block out everything, and turn into Arthur at a few, soft words? I, that have been dishwasher in filthy half-caste brothels and stable boy to Creole farmers that were worse brutes than their own cattle? I, that have been zany in cap and bells for a strolling variety show--drudge and Jack-of-all-trades to the matadors in the bull-fighting ring; I, that have been slave to every black beast who cared to set his foot on my back; I, that have been starved and spat upon and trampled underfoot; I, that have begged for mouldy scraps and been refused because the dogs had the first right? Oh, what is the use of all of this? How can I tell you what you have brought on to me? And now--you love me! How much do you love me? Enough to give up your god for me? Oh, what has he done for you, this everlasting Jesus--what has he suffered for you, that you should love him more than me? Is it for the pierced hands he is so dear to you? Look at mine! Look here, and here, and here----"

He tore open his shirt and showed his ghastly scars.

"Padre, this god of yours is an impostor. His wounds are sham wounds, his pain is all a farce! It is I that have the right to your heart! Padre, there is no torture you have not put me to; if you could only know what my life has been! And yet, I would not die! I have endured it all, and have possessed my soul in patience, because I would come back and fight this god of yours. I have held this purpose as a shield against my heart, and it has saved me from madness, and from second death. And now, when I come back, I find him still in my place-this sham victim that was crucified for six hours, forsooth, and rose again from the dead. What are you going to do with me? What are you going to do with me?"

- The Gadfly; E. L. Voynich