Alchemical Pathworking, Part Two – A Journey to a Strange Castle
In part two of this introduction to alchemical pathworking we continue our journey to both the inner and outer domains of alchemical awakening. This practice is slightly more difficult than the previous as every effort to maintain the words of the original authors has been taken. We will see the same scenes encountered more than once, but from slightly different perspectives.
To assist you in this work we add the following instructions: read the essay and relax as much as possible. Pause if necessary to visualize the scenes and dialogue unfolding. You may keep your eyes open or closed as you desire. Focus your attention, you consciousness near the back of your head, lower down, inside at the area of the medulla oblongata near the top of the spinal cord or you may place your awareness in the center of you skull. There, as if seated in a chair, the play unfolds before and around you. The famous ‘fourth wall’ comes down and you are a participant in the events that are happening.
The Journey Begins …
Here, we are with Eugene Canseliet, the sole disciple of the mysterious 20th century French alchemist Fulcanelli, as he travels to Spain in 1954. We encourage you to aid your imagination with a little research of images of the period so that the words may come alive for and in you. Let us begin.
In 1936, at Midsummer’s Eve party, complete with a bonfire of St. John, Eugene Canseliet replied the following to a question about the identity of the mysterious French alchemist Fulcanelli:
“I am only the “prefacer”, answered Eugene Canseliet to his interlocutor; Champagne is only the illustrator; and Fulcanelli is the pseudonym of a third person whom, in observance of the hermetic rule of silence, I am not allowed to designate otherwise. This Fulcanelli is still alive. He is commissioned by the White Brotherhood to help with the evolution of mankind. He is a genuine Rose-Cross. He is sometimes in Argentina, sometimes traveling all over the world in the way of the Rose-Cross of old. For the time being, he is in the south of France. He is a master with wonderful powers….”
Nearly twenty years later after this conversation, in1954, Canseliet traveled to Spain at the invitation of a family of alchemists and confided the details of this trip to his friend and writer Claude Seignolle. Seignolle eventually published the story in 1969, but kept Canseliet from being identified with its contents. In preface to this work, Seignolle wrote:
“By revealing this confidential adventure, I am going to betray a friend with whom there has been a strong exchange of affection going on for a long time – not only with him, but also with his two daughters. He is a simple, modest, and – this goes without saying – sincere man. His science is vast, genuine. Of course, I will keep his name secret, for he is famous and respected in esoteric circles, but I bend my head before his reproaches in advance, in case he should see these lines.
Every day, he receives a minister’s correspondence and he regularly exchanges exciting letters with, among others, a rich Castilian family. This family claims to be withdrawn from Time, and writes in an old French delightfully interspersed with imperfect subjunctives, to the great joy of my friend who speaks this way on a daily basis, even with his grocer.
Two or three years ago, these Castilians sent him a plane ticket to Madrid, inviting him to spend a few days with them in order to learn more from him, and themselves pledging to teach him more about his specialty – which actually seemed to be a challenge! The adventure being tempting, my friend, although little inclined to accept that kind of invitation, felt he was on the verge of discovering interesting things. Indeed, already, the style and contents of the letters received over several years never failed to surprise him by their subtle remarks, as well as by their rich contributions.
He took the plane. At the Madrid airport, an old Hispano car was waiting for him. The chauffeur looked more like a coachman than a driver, wearing an old-fashioned livery and looking worthy of appearing in one of Goya’s paintings. Nobody else came to welcome him and the chauffeur remained silent. My friend began one of his usual smiling meditations as he enjoyed the ride. They covered a long distance and at dusk arrived before the gates of a park enclosed by high walls. However, they had not yet reached their destination: a sinuous, stony road led them first to the left, then to the right, as if losing itself….At last they stopped along a platform. The driver turned off the engine, got out, and taking my friend’s suitcase, invited him to follow him. There, a lane led them farther. They walked for a long time before arriving at a large, old mansion, low but stately.
Upon entering, my friend observed that there was no electricity. No bulbs. Here, the only light came from candles. Was it in his honour, to give an atmosphere of old-Spain? Or was it customary? His hosts were there waiting for him, faithful to a dressing tradition that, instead of leading him to consider it a grotesque masquerade, gave him cause to rejoice. “At last,” he thought, “here are people who know how to evade this century’s ever-changing and sometimes daring fashions. Here, all the ladies are wearing long dresses. Velvets and brocades. The gentlemen are wearing a kind of doublet, long stockings, buckle shoes.”
All gathered around the Master come from another place and welcomed him (for an instant I place myself in that delightful man’s stead when he heard old-French, peppered with old-Castilian, spoken around him).
The welcoming repast had the same old-fashioned flavour, regarding both the food, as well as the service. As for conversation, it was quite astonishing. My friend soon noticed – which he had already observed from their letters – that his hosts, while not quite sure of themselves in the field of modern alchemy, had a thorough knowledge of ancient alchemy, and spoke about it quite naturally, just as they would about things that they would normally do on a daily basis. My friend was then stupefied to hear – since he believed that he knew everything – not only of the existence of books of which he was unaware and the quoting of forgotten formulas, but also of the existence of the lost Force of ancient alchemy, which he found in these people.
His sojourn there lasted one week. Not only did he learn a lot, but it was a beneficial recovery cure. He saw planes crossing the sky without the slightest noise, and on the neighbouring road, cars drove in silence, as if the present was only a figment of his imagination. There were no sounds around him other than the ones of a loving and peaceful family indefatigably and patiently repeating their daily gestures and holding the feverish conversations of an endless life.”
Canseliet became aware of the publication of his tale and in 1971 spoke about the trip that took him to Seville. Journalist Henri Rode took his statement in an interview that was published in the magazine Le Grand Albert:
“As for Fulcanelli, alive, he certainly is… Time does not matter… It so happens that I saw him again in 1951 [sic] and I discovered the secret place where he is. I was traveling in Spain, not far from Seville, where I was the guest of a friend who owns a beautiful mansion with a terrace and large staircase opening on a park. I immediately felt Fulcanelli in the atmosphere. The more so as I discovered from my window – which added to the charm of the picture – the presence of a child of about ten and a little girl, who both seemed to have originated from a painting by Velazquez. A pony and two greyhounds were at their sides. But after one of those long working nights so customary for me, my discovery seemed even more convincing: in a large lane with dense foliage, a young lady, a queen, was approaching, wearing the Collar of the Golden Fleece and was followed by a Duenna. All this very vivid, very luminous. The young lady warmly nodded to me, and I was sure that Fulcanelli whispered, “Do you recognize me?”, to which I replied, “Yes”.
Kenneth Rayner Johnson, in his book entitled The Fulcanelli Phenomenon: The Story of a Twentieth-Century Alchemist in the Light of New Examination of the Hermetic Tradition, provides some additional insights.
“Mr Canseliet prepared his bags and undertook his trip to Spain. His destination was Seville. […] Someone came to meet him – we don’t know exactly who – and M. Canseliet was conduced to a manor or a large estate in the mountains. There he was received by his old master, Fulcanelli, who appeared to be about fifty. M. Canseliet was fifty-four.
M. Canseliet was taken to his rooms, on the first floor, in a tower of the manor; the window opened on a large, rectangular terrace. During his stay, he had the distinct impression that the manor was the refuge of an entire colony of distinguished alchemists-including Adepts like his master-and that it was owned by Fulcanelli. Shortly after his arrival, he was shown to a small laboratory and was told he could work there and carry on his experiments.
Returning to his rooms, M Canseliet went to his window to breathe some fresh air and observed the patio below. He saw a group of children-probably the children of other guests at the manor-who were playing. But there was something strange about them. In looking more closely, he realized it was in the clothing they were wearing. They looked like they were from the 16th century. The children were playing some sort of game, and M. Canseliet thought they were dressed this way for a masquerade or a costume party. That night he went to bed without thinking more about the incident.
The next day, he returned to his experiments in the laboratory he had been given. From time to time his master visited him briefly to watch over his progress.
One morning, M. Canseliet, descending the staircase of the tower in which he was staying, found himself under a vaulted porch that opened onto the patio when, suddenly, he heard voices. Crossing the patio, he approached a group of three women who were talking animatedly. M. Canseliet was surprised to see that they were wearing ample and long clothes in the style of the 16th century, just like the children he had seen two days earlier. Was it another masquerade? The women then approached him. M. Canseliet was torn between surprise at what he was seeing and embarrassment at being dressed so casually. He went to turn around and return to his rooms when, as the women passed by, one of them turned abruptly, looked at him, and gave him a smile.
All this lasted only an instant. The woman rejoined her companions and together they continued on, out of sight. […] M. Canseliet remained shaken because he could have sworn that the face of the woman who had given him the smile was that of Fulcanelli…”
Canseliet gave further details in additional interviews. He stated in Le Feu du Soleil that:
“[Fulcanelli] is no longer there. He is on the Earth, but it is the Earthly Paradise. What does he do now? I have seen nothing. I saw him upon my arrival, when he welcomed me in a three-piece suit. […] And then I saw him while I was working in the laboratory. He came to see me where I was working, and I saw him; I saw him twice. […] When they came to fetch me, they said it was to go to Italy. Upon arrival in Paris, we stopped in front of the Drouant restaurant, Gare de l’Est. At that time, it took at least three days to obtain a visa for Spain. They went to fetch my visa and brought it back at once. So, we were to travel to Spain. It was near Seville. I was walking like a king. All that was needed was there, but I always went back to my apartment and left again early every morning. There were apple and lemon trees in the garden, and a brisk stream. It was magnificent! So, I certainly did not expect to meet Fulcanelli with my suspenders falling down on my trousers. When he saw me, he again addressed me as “tu” and “toi”, as he used to do: “But then, you (tu) recognize me?”
It is difficult to recognize a child you have known when he is twenty-five. In this case, it was the opposite. The previous times I had seen Fulcanelli in the Sarcelles gasworks, for instance, he was a handsome old man, but an old man. But I recognized him because I had drawn portraits.”
In 1978 on Jacques Chancel’s Radioscopie radio programme Canseliet stated:
“It is as if he had gone backwards in Time, but one still recognizes many things in the face: ears, the shape, the hair, greying, yes, but which was black. Well, you will tell me that he could be dyeing it! No, it was him. I could not see whether or not he had new teeth, I am going far, but on the whole, what bearing!”
Shortly after Canseliet’s death in 1982, Jean Laplace and Eugene Canseliet’s daughter, Isabelle, discovered a cardboard folder in the family house in Savignies. This folder contained documents pertaining to the famous Finis Gloriae Mundi – Fulcanelli’s unpublished third book – as well as a precious relic connected to the mysterious trip to Seville, which he alluded to as follows:
“A small, rectangular photographic card, serrated at the edges, as was the custom in the 1950s. I am so impressed by what this venerable relic represents that I dare not reveal its existence… What to do with it? Destroy it? It would be a shame to relegate to the ashes forever the majestic spirit fixed on a plate that is sensitive to all which irradiates.”
Then in a footnote:
“It must not be thought that it is the impression of an ectoplasm. I am simply talking about the face of an ordinary mortal that has kept a human shape, and that has been enriched by an indescribable expression.”
Laplace added:
“At Savignies, in the ground floor study after supper, an amazing silence suddenly settled. Taking the photograph in her hand with the greatest respect, Isabelle said: “I have no doubt”.
Laplace concluded:
“I think I should make it clear that the photograph referred to is no longer in the possession of any being living in this world. That was, by the way, the indispensable condition for Isabelle Canseliet and myself to be allowed to talk about it…“
Canseliet wrote about Fulcanelli’s first initiator, the Adept Basile Valentin, in the preface to his major work: Les Douze Clefs de la Philosophie:
“Of course, no more heavy-to-bear secret difficult to defend against malice and nastiness, for the Adept having shed his old human slough, who enjoys the invisibility and ubiquitousness devolved only upon the members of the Rose-Cross, as well as on those of the universal Heliopolis. Is, henceforth, oblivion not inherent in his glorified body, as it would be for the man who is freed from his very past?”
In closing this story let us point out, that in Le Feu du Soleil Eugene Canseliet claimed that when he saw Fulcanelli again in Seville, the latter was at least 113 years of age, placing Canseliet in Spain in 1954 – as the date in his passport states.
