CHAPTER MVII




REFLEXIONS UPON FREE WILL AND DESTINY: CALCULATED TO ELUCIDATE THE COMPLEX OF THE CAREER OF SIR ROGER BLOXAM.





   My labour, most ambiguous Henri, will indeed have been waste matter, a very newspaper, if I have failed to bring into assimilation with your Vin;~n;~anam the F.A.C.T. that whatever Sir Roger was, he was, and be damned to you! How could he have been otherwise? If he could, he would. And as otherwise I should have drawn him. But he being himself (poor devil!) he was just that. See you not how even our dreams, our wishes, all that we are, dates back to hidden ancestor-work? Only the Freudians go not far enough; the glowing seed that made my mind so brilliant had its orgin in the Father of all brilliance, Our Lord the Sun. Thus once again, by yet another path, we reach the brave ``There is no part of me which is not of the Gods.'' Rejoice, o brothers, we are altogether of the divine substance. We neither think, nor feel, nor perceive, nor are, any other thing than that all-bounteous, all-beautiful One, that Lord in his spendour and his ecstasy that cometh and goeth in his chariot upon high, giving light and praise, yet neither moveth nor uttereth any Voice! For there is nothing in the Universe that is not of that Unity -- rejoice! rejoice! All paths are spectra, in the prism of consciousness, of that One Light; so that it mattered not to Sir Roger whether he were tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, gentleman, apothecary, ploughboy, thief. Nor does it matter to you, does it, what I do with him? Little ones, it seems to me enough, maybe too much, that I should do aught at all. Very good, then: Sir Roger entered the Diplomatic Service. That finishes that, and I can take Tchao for a stroll in the Park.