“And who are these sons of Bowanee, M. Faringhea?”
“Men of resolution, audacious, patient, crafty, obstinate, who, to make the Good Work succeed, would sacrifice country and parents, and sister and brother, and who regard as enemies all not of their band!”
“There seems to be much that is good in the persevering and exclusively religious spirit of such an order,” said Rodin, with a modest and sanctified air; “only, one must know your ends and objects.”
“The same as your own, brother—we make corpses.”(13)
“Corpses!” cried Rodin.
“In this letter,” resumed Faringhea, “Van Dael tells you that the greatest glory of your Order is to make ‘a corpse of man.’ Our work also is to make corpses of men. Man’s death is sweet to Bowanee.”
“But sir,” cried Rodin, “M. Van Dael speaks of the soul, of the will, of the mind, which are to be brought down by discipline.”
“It is true—you kill the soul, and we the body. Give me your hand, brother, for you also are hunters of men.”
“But once more, sir,—understand, that we only meddle with the will, the mind,” said Rodin.
“And what are bodies deprived of soul, will, thought, but mere corpses? Come—come, brother; the dead we make by the cord are not more icy and inanimate than those you make by your discipline. Take my hand, brother; Rome and Bowanee are sisters.”