But my blood is related to theirs; and I want withal to see my blood honored in theirs."-
And when they had passed, a pain attacked Zarathustra; but not long had he struggled with the pain, when he began to speak thus:
It moves my heart for those priests. They also go against my taste; but that is the small matter to me, since I am among men.
But I suffer and have suffered with them: prisoners are they to me, and stigmatised ones. He whom they call Saviour put them in fetters:-
In fetters of false values and fatuous words! Oh, that some one would save them from their Saviour!
On an isle they once thought they had landed, when the sea tossed them about; but behold, it was a slumbering monster!
False values and fatuous words: these are the worst monsters for mortals- long slumbers and waits the fate that is in them.
But at last it comes and awakes and devours and engulfs whatever has built tabernacles upon it.
Oh, just look at those tabernacles which those priests have built themselves! Churches, they call their sweet-smelling caves!
Oh, that falsified light, that mustified air! Where the soul- may not fly aloft to its height!
But so enjoins their belief: "On your knees, up the stair, you sinners!"
Rather would I see a shameless one than the distorted eyes of their shame and devotion!
Who created for themselves such caves and penitence-stairs? Was it not those who sought to conceal themselves, and were ashamed under the clear sky?
