Archive for February, 2012

Ferdinand Ossendowski

The Hutuktu of Narabanchi recounted this to me when I made a visit to his monastery at the beginning of 1921:

“When the King of the World appeared before the Lamas who were favourised by God, inside our monastery, thirty years ago, he made a prophecy relative to the fifty years to come.  Here it is:

‘ More and more, men will forget their souls and will occupy themselves with their bodies.  The greatest corruption will reign on the Earth.  Men will become like ferocious animals, thirsting for the blood of their brothers.  The Crescent will efface itself and its adepts will fall into mendicity and into perpetual war.  Its conquerors will be struck by the sun but will not rise twice;  the greatest misfortune will happen to them which will end in insults in the eyes of other peoples.  The crowns of kings, big and small, will fall:  one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…  There will be a terrible war among all peoples.  The oceans will turn red…  the land and the bottom of the seas will be covered in bones…  kingdoms will be split up, entire peoples will die…  hunger, illness, crimes unknown to the laws, that never before the world has seen.  Then will come the enemies of God and the Divine Spirit who are in Man.  Those who take the hand of another will also perish.  The forgotten, the persecuted will rise up and will hold the attention of the whole world.  There will be fogs and tempests.  Denuded mountains will be covered in forests.  The Earth will quake…  Millions of men will exchange the chains of slavery and humiliations for hunger, illness and death.  The ancient roads will be covered in crowds going from one place to another.  The biggest, the most beautiful cities will perish by fire…  one, two, three…  The father will rise up against the son, the brother against the brother, the mother against the daughter.  Vice, crime, destruction of the body and of the soul will follow…  Families will be dispersed…  Fidelity and love will disappear…  From ten thousand men, only one will survive…  he will be naked, mad, without strength and will not know how to build a house or find food…  He will hurl like the furious wolf, will devour cadavers, will bite his own flesh, and will defy God in combat…  All the Earth will be empty.  God will turn away from it.  On it will spread only night and death.  Then I shall send a People, now unknown, who, with a strong hand, will tear out the weeds of madness and vice, and will lead those who remain faithful to the Spirit of Man in the battle against evil.  They will found a new life on the Earth that is purified by the death of nations.  In the fiftieth year, three great kingdoms only will appear, which will live happily for seventy-one years.  Afterwards, there will be eighteen years of war and destruction.  Then the Peoples of Agharti will come out of their Underground Caverns and will appear on the surface of the Earth.’

Later, travelling through Eastern Mongolia, towards Peking, I often asked myself:

Rene Guenon, in his work, "Le Roi du Monde", confirmed the existence of a Supreme Centre which apparently rules Humanity by occult means.

“What would happen?  What would happen if whole peoples, of different colours, religions, tribes began to emigrate towards the West?”

Now, at the time that I am writing these last lines, my eyes involuntarily turn toward this limitless heart of Asia over which is unwinding the trail of my wanderings.  Through the swirling snow or the sand storms of the Gobi, I see the face of the Hutuktu of Narabanchi while, in a calm voice, his slim hand showing me the horizon, he was opening for me the secret of his intimate thoughts.

Near Karakorum, on the banks of Ubsa-Nor, I see the immense multicoloured camps, the herds of horses and other animals, the blue yurtas of the Chiefs.  Above, I see the banners of Gengis-Khan, the Kings of Tibet, of Siam, of Afghanistan, and of the Indian Princes;  the sacred symbols of the Lamaist Pontiffs;  the coats-of-arms of the Khans, of the Olets and the simple symbols of the Mongol tribes of the North.  I do not hear the sound of an agitated crowd.  The singers are not singing the melancholic tunes of the mountains, of the plains and of the deserts.  The young cavaliers are not amusing themselves running, mounted on their rapid horses…  There are innumerable flocks of old men, of women and children, and, beyond, to the North and to the West, as far as the eye can see, the sky is red like the flame, one hears the grumbling and the bubbling of the fire, the ferocious noise of the battle which these warriors are leading, spilling their blood and that of others under this reddened sky!  Who is leading these flocks of old men without weapons?  I see a severe order, a deep and religious comprehension of the goal, patience, tenacity, a new emigration of peoples, the last march of the Mongols.

Karma has perhaps opened a new page in History.

And what will happen if the King of the World is with them?

But this great Mystery of Mysteries maintains its deep silence.



Ferdinand Ossendowski

The physicist Ferdinand Ossendowski asks the Lama if anyone has ever seen the King of the World.  The Lama replies:

“Yes.  During the solemn festivals of Ancient Buddhism in Siam and the Indies, the King of the World appeared five times.  He was on a magnificent chariot drawn by white elephants, decorated with gold, precious stones and the finest cloths;  he was dressed in a white coat, and wore on his head a red tiara from which hung rivers of diamonds which masked his face.  He blessed the people with a gold sphere surmounted by a lamb.  The blind regained their sight, the deaf heard, the paralyzed began to walk again and the dead rose inside their tombs everywhere that the gaze of the King of the World landed.  He appeared also one hundred and forty years ago in Erdeni-Dzu and visited, too, the ancient monastery of Sakkai and Narabanchi Kure.

“One of our Living Buddhas and one of the Tashi Lamas received from him a message written in unknown characters on tablets of gold.  No-one could read these signs.  The Tashi Lama entered the Temple, placed the tablet of gold on his head and began to pray.  Thanks to this prayer, the thoughts of the King of the World penetrated inside his brain and, without having read the enigmatic signs, he understood and accomplished the King’s message.”

I asked him how many people had been to Agharti.  He answered:

“A great number, but all these men kept secret what they had seen.  When the Olets destroyed Lhassa, one of their detachments, finding itself in the mountains of the South-West, arrived right at the limits of Agharti.  There, they learned some of the mysterious Sciences and brought them back to the surface of the Earth.

“That is why the Olets and the Kalmuks are clever sorcerers and prophets.  A few Black tribes of the East penetrated Agharti too and lived there for several centuries.  Later on, they were chased out of the Kingdom and returned to the surface of the Earth, bringing back with them the Mystery of Predictions by cards, herbs and the lines of the hand.  They are the Bohemians.  Somewhere, in the North of Asia, there exists a tribe which is disappearing and which came from the Cavern of Agharti.  The members know how to recall the spirits of the dead when they float in the air.”

The Lama remained silent for a while.  Then, as if he were replying to my thought, he continued:

“In Agharti, the Pandita scholars write on stone tablets all of the Science of our planet and of other worlds.  The Chinese Buddhist scholars well know this.  Their Science is the highest and the purest.  Each century, one hundred wise men from China gather in a secret place, on the banks of the sea, where one hundred immortal tortoises emerge from the depths.  On their shells, the Chinese write the conclusions of the Divine Science of the century.”

This reminds me of the story recounted to me by an old Chinese Bonze from the Temple of Heaven in Peking.  He told me that tortoises live for more than three thousand years without air or food and that this is the reason for which all of the columns of the Blue Temple of Heaven were placed on living tortoises so as to prevent the wood from rotting.

Do these statues sculpted in the rock of a mountain, thirty miles from Lhassa, indicate the place of one of the hidden entrances to Agarttha?

The librarian Lama said to me:

“Several times, the Pontiffs of Urga and of Lhassa sent Ambassadors to the King of the World, but it was impossible for them to discover him.  Only one particular Tibetan Chief, after a battle with the Olets, found the Cavern bearing the inscription:  ‘This door leads to Agharti’.  From the Cavern came a man of beautiful appearance who presented him with a tablet of gold bearing mysterious signs, saying to him:

‘The King of the World will appear before all men when the time has come for him to lead all the good people into a war against the evil ones;  but this time has not yet come.  The most evil humans have not yet been born.’

“The Chiang-Chun Baron Ungern sent the young Prince Punzig on an embassy to the King of the World, but he came back with a letter from the Dalai-Lama of Lhassa.  The Baron sent him a second time;  he never came back…”


To be continued.

Ferdinand Ossendowski

During my stay in Urga, I tried to find an explanation for this legend of the King of the World.  Naturally, the Living Buddha was the one who could best give me this information and therefore I endeavoured to make him speak on this subject.  In one conversation with him, I cited the name of the King of the World.  The elderly Pontiff jerked his head around to me and fixed his still, lifeless eyes on me.  Involuntarily, I remained silent.  The silence lengthened and the Pontiff took up the conversation again in such a way that I understood that he did not want to talk about this subject.  On the faces of the other people present, I noticed the expression of astonishment and fear that my words had produced, particularly on that of the Bogdo-Khan librarian.  One can easily understand that this only made me that much more impatient to know more on this subject.

As I was leaving the Bogdo-Hutuktu’s study, I met the librarian who had left before me, and I asked him if he would consent to take me to visit the Living Buddha’s library.  I used a very simple ruse with him:

“Do you know, my dear Lama, one day I was on the plain at the time that the King of the World was speaking to God, and I felt the impressive majesty of this moment.”

To my surprise, the elderly Lama replied calmly:

It is said that, in the underground centre of Agarttha, thousands of Tibetan monks work and pray under the direction of the King of the World, the supreme chief who is connected to the thoughts of those who govern Humanity's destiny.

“It is not right that Buddhism and our Yellow Religion hide it.  The recognition of the existence of the Most Holy and Most Powerful of men, of the Blessed Kingdom, of the Great Temple of Sacred Science is such a consolation for our sinners’ hearts and our corrupt lives, that to hide it from Humanity should be a sin.

“Ah well!  listen…  all year, the King of the World guides the task of the Panditas and the Goros of Agharti.  Only, by moments, he goes into the Cavern of the Temple where the embalmed body of his predecessor reposes inside a black stone coffin.  This Cavern is always dark, but when the King of the World penetrates it, the walls are striped with fire and from the lid of the coffin tongues of flame rise.  The Doyen of the Goros stands before him, his head and face covered, his hands joined on his chest.  The Goro never raises the veil on his face, for his head is a naked skull, with living eyes and a tongue that speaks.  He communicates with the souls of those who have gone from there.

“The King of the World speaks for a long time, then approaches the coffin while extending his hand.  The flames burn more brightly;  the stripes of fire on the walls go out and re-appear, interlacing, forming mysterious signs from the Vatannan Alphabet.  [The language of the Underground State of the King of the World.] From the coffin, transparent strips of light, barely visible, begin to come out.  They are the thoughts of his predecessor.  Soon, the King of the World is surrounded by a halo of this light and the letters of fire write ceaselessly on the walls the wishes and the orders of God.  At this moment, the King of the World is connected to the thoughts of all those who direct the destinies of Humanity:  the Kings, the Tsars, the Khans, the War-Lords, the High Priests, the scholars, the powerful men.  He knows their intentions and their ideas.  If they please God, the King of the World will favourise them with his invisible aid;  if they displease God, the King will provoke their failure.  This power is given to Agharti through the mysterious Science of Om, the word by which we begin all of our prayers.  [This sacred monosyllable, well known to Yoga adepts, is also written AUM.]  “Om” is the name of an Ancient Saint, the first of the Goros, who lived three hundred thousand years ago.  He was the first man to know God, the first who taught Humanity to believe, to hope, to fight evil.  So God gave him complete power over the forces which govern the visible world.

“After his conversation with his predecessor, the King of the World assembles the Great Council of God, judges the actions and the thoughts of the great men, helps them or brings them down.  Mahytma and Mahynga find the place of these actions and of these thoughts among the causes which govern the world.  Then, the King of the World enters the Great Temple and prays in solitude.  Fire appears on the altar, gradually spreading to all the altars nearby, and through the ardent flame gradually appears God’s face.  The King of the World respectfully announces to God the decisions of the All-Powerful.  When he leaves the Temple, the King of the World shines with divine light…”


To be continued.

Ferdinand Ossendowski

Prince Chultun-Beyli added:

“This Kingdom is Agharti.  It extends throughout all of the underground passages of the entire World.  I heard a Chinese Lama scholar say to the Bogdo-Khan that all the subterranean caverns of America are inhabited by the Ancient People which disappeared underground.  One still finds their traces on the surface of the countryside.  These peoples and these subterranean spaces are governed by chiefs who recognize the sovereignty of the King of the World.  There is nothing very marvellous in this.  You know that in the two biggest oceans of the East and of the West there were two continents in former days.  They disappeared under the waters, but their inhabitants passed into the Underground Kingdom.  The deep caverns are lit by a particular light which allows cereals and vegetals to grow and gives the people a long life without illnesses.  There exist numerous peoples, numerous tribes.  An old Buddhist Brahman from Nepal was accomplishing the will of the gods by making a visit to the ancient kingdom of Gengis, Siam, when he met a fisherman who ordered him to get into his boat and to sail with him over the sea.  On the third day, they arrived at an island where there lived a race of men having two tongues which could speak separately different languages.  They showed him curious animals, tortoises with sixteen legs and only one eye, enormous serpents whose flesh was savoury, birds with teeth who caught fish for their masters out at sea.  These people told him that they had come from the Underground Kingdom and described certain regions to him.”

Lama Turgut, who made the voyage from Urga to Peking with me, gave me other details.

Mountains in Tibet where the secret entrance to Agarttha is said to be.

“The capital of Agharti is surrounded by cities where High Priests and scholars live.  It recalls Lhassa where the Palace of the Dalai-Lama, the Potala, is found at the summit of a mountain covered with temples and monasteries.  The throne of the King of the World is surrounded by two million incarnated gods.  These are the Holy Panditas.  [The highest grade among the Buddhist monks.]  The Palace itself is surrounded by the palaces of the Goros who possess all the visible and invisible forces of the land, of Hell and of the sky, and who are able to do anything for the life and death of men.  If our foolish Humanity begins a war against them, they would be capable of blowing up the surface of our planet, of transforming it into deserts.  They can dry up the seas, change the continents into oceans and spread the mountains amongst the sands of the desert.  At their command, trees, grasses and bushes begin to grow;  old and feeble men become young and vigorous and the dead resuscitate.  In strange chariots, unknown to us, they cover at high speed the narrow corridors inside our planet.  A few Brahmans from India and some Dalai-Lamas from Tibet having succeeded in climbing the mountain peaks where no other human foot has ever stepped, found there some inscriptions carved into the rock, foot-prints in the snow and marks left by carriage wheels.  The Blessed Cakia-Muni found, at the summit of a mountain, stone tablets bearing words that he only succeeded in understanding at an advanced age, and penetrated afterwards into the Kingdom of Agharti whence he brought back scraps of sacred knowledge that his memory had conserved.  It is there, in the marvellous crystal palaces, that the invisible chiefs of the faithful live:  the King of the World, Brahytma, who can talk to God just like I’m talking to you, and his two assistants, Mahytma, who knows the events of the future, and Mahynga, who directs the causes of these events.”

The Holy Panditas study the world and its forces.  Sometimes the wisest of them meet and send delegates to the place where human eyes have never penetrated.  This is described by the Tashi-Lama who lived eight hundred and fifty years ago.  The highest Panditas, one hand on the eyes and the other at the base of the brain of younger priests, put them into a deep sleep, wash their bodies with an infusion of plants, immunise them against pain by making them as hard as stone, envelop them in magical bandelettes, then begin to pray to the powerful God.  The young men, petrified, lying down, eyes open and ears attentive, see, hear and remember everything.  After that, a Goro [High Priest of the King of the World] approaches and fixes a long gaze on them.  Slowly the bodies rise from the ground and disappear.  The Goro remains seated, his eyes fixed on the place where he has sent them.  Invisible strings attach them to his will, a few of them travel among the stars, observing events, unknown people, life and laws.  They listen there to conversations, read books, know the fortunes and the miseries, the sanctity and the sins, the piety and the vice…  A few of them mix with flame, see the fire creature, lively and ferocious, combating relentlessly, melting and hammering metals in the depths of the planets, making the water of the geysers and thermal sources boil;  making rocks melt and pouring waves in fusion over the surface of the Earth, through the orifices of the mountains.  Others rush with the creatures of the air, infinitely small, evanescent and transparent, penetrating the mysteries and the goal of their existence.  Others slip right into the depths of the sea and observe the kingdom of the wise creatures of the water who transport and spread the good warmth over all the Earth, governing the winds, the waves and the storms.  At the monastery of Erdeni Dzu there lived in former times Pandita Hutuktu who came from Agharti.  While dying, he spoke of the time when he lived, by the will of the Goro, on a red star in the East, where he floated on the ocean covered in ice and flew among the raging fires which burned in the depths of the Earth.

Such are the stories that I heard being told in the yurtas of the princes and in the lamaist monasteries.  The tone used to tell me this tale forbade me to show the slightest doubt.



To be continued.

Ferdinand Ossendowski

In 1920, the Russian physicist Ferdinand Ossendowski, fleeing Siberia, made a long voyage throughout Asia.  It was while he was traversing Mongolia and on his way to Tibet that he heard about Agarttha – that he calls Agharti – and the King of the World.  Here is his testimony, taken from Betes, Hommes et Dieux, published by Editions Plon, in 1924.  A paperback version was published a few decades ago in the collection J’ai lu.


One day when we were crossing the plain near Tzagan Luk, my Mongol guide murmured to me to stop.

He let himself slide off his camel who knelt down without him needing to give it the order.

The Mongol raised his hands in front of his face in a gesture of prayer and began to repeat the sacred phrase:

“Om mani padme Hung.”

The other Mongols immediately stopped their camels and began to pray.

I was wondering what was happening and looking around me at the tender green grass which extended to the horizon as far as the cloudless sky, illuminated by the last dreamy rays of the evening sun.

The Mongols prayed for a moment, murmured among themselves and, after having adjusted the camels’ harnesses, started advancing again.  The Mongol asked me:

“Did you see how our camels were wiggling their ears in fear, how the herd of horses on the plain was standing motionless and attentive and how the sheep and the cattle were down on the ground?  Did you notice that the birds were ceasing to fly, the marmots to run and the dogs to bark?  The air was gently vibrating and bringing from afar the music of a chant which was penetrating right to the heart of men, beasts and birds.  The land and the sky were holding their breaths.  The wind was ceasing to blow;  the sun was stopping in its course.  In a moment like this, the wolf who is approaching sheep in stealth stops his sneaky advance;  the herd of frightened antilopes pulls back its frantic rush;  the knife of the shepherd ready to cut the throat of the sheep falls from his hands;  the rapacious ermine ceases to crawl behind the unsuspecting salga partridge.  All living things, suddenly afraid, involuntarily fall down in prayer, awaiting their destiny.  That was what was happening just now.  That is what happens each time that the King of the World, in his underground palace, prays, seeking the destiny of the peoples of the Earth.”

So spoke the old Mongol, a simple shepherd without culture.


Mongolia, with its naked, terrible mountains, its limitless plains covered with the scattered bones of the ancestors, has given birth to a Mystery.  Its people, frightened by the stormy passions of Nature, or hypnotised by its deathly quiet, feel the depth of this Mystery, the Red and Yellow Lamas conserve it and poetise it.  The Pontiffs of Llassa and of Urga safeguard its silence and its possession.

It was during my voyage in Central Asia that I learned for the first time of the Mystery of Mysteries, that I am unable to call otherwise.  In the beginning, I did not give it much attention, but I perceived its importance afterwards, when I had analyzed and compared certain testimonies which were sporadic and often the subjects of controversy.

The elders from the banks of the Amyl recounted to me an ancient legend according to which a Mongol tribe, in seeking to escape the exigencies of Gengis-Khan, hid in an underground country.  Later on, a Soyote from around the Nogan Kul Lake showed me the door which serves as the entrance to the Kingdom of Agharti, as it was letting out a cloud of smoke.  It is through this door that a hunter, in earlier days, penetrated the Kingdom and, after his return, began to recount what he had seen.  The Lamas cut out his tongue to prevent him from speaking of the Mystery of Mysteries.  In his old age, he returned to the entrance of the cavern and disappeared inside the Underground Kingdom, the memory of which had adorned and rejoiced his nomad heart.

I obtained more detailed information from the mouth of the Hutuktu Jelyl-Djsamsrap of Narabanchi-Kure.  He told me the story of the arrival of the powerful King of the World when he came out of the Underground Kingdom, his apparition, his miracles and his prophecies;  it was only then that I began to understand that, within this legend, this hypnosis, this collective vision, whatever way that one interprets it, there hides not only a Mystery, but a real sovereign force, capable of influencing the course of political life in Asia.  From this moment, I began my research.

Lama Gelong, the favourite of Prince Chultun-Beyli, and himself a prince, gave me a description of the Underground Kingdom.

“In the world, all is constantly in a state of transition and of change, the peoples, the religions, the laws and the customs.  How many great empires and brilliant cultures have perished!  And the only thing that remains unchanged is Evil, the instrument of Evil Spirits.  Over six thousand years ago, a Holy Man disappeared with a whole tribe inside the ground’s interior and has never re-appeared on the surface of the Earth.  Many people, however, have since visited this Kingdom, Cakya Muni, Undur-Geghen, Paspa, Baber and others.  No-one knows where this place is.  One says Afghanistan, others say India.  All the men of this religion are protected against Evil, and crime does not exist inside its borders.  Science has developed there in tranquillity, nothing there is threatened with destruction.  The Underground People have attained the highest knowledge.  Now it is a great Kingdom, counting millions of subjects over whom reigns the King of the World.  He knows all of Nature’s forces, reads inside all human souls and in the great Book of Destiny.  Invisible, he reigns over eight hundred million men who are ready to execute all of his orders.”

To be continued.

Saint-Yves d'Alveydre

The writer Saint-Yves d’Alveydre (1842-1909) was the first to speak of Agarttha in his work Mission de l’Inde en Europe.  This strange book was published in 1886;  but the editor did not have time to distribute it to the bookshops.  The author, pretexting that superior authorities had ordered him not to deliver secrets which until then had remained unviolated, made him destroy it immediately.  One copy escaped destruction.  Which allowed another printing in 1910.  The number of copies was unfortunately so small that this work rapidly became impossible to find.  A few decades ago, it was reprinted by Claude Boumendil and Gilbert Tappa, Directors of Editions Belisane, in Nice, with an introduction by Jean Saunier.  The following is an extract of this book, with the description that Saint-Yves d’Alveydre gives of Agarttha according to information given to him by two Hindu Initiates.


Where is Agarttha?  In what place exactly does it reside?  By what road, through which peoples does one have to travel to enter it?

To this question, that diplomats and war people will not miss asking, it is not appropriate for me to answer further than I am going to do, as long as the synarchic understanding [entente synarchique] is not finalized or at least signed.  [Synarchy is government by a group of people.]

But, as I know that, in their mutual competitions throughout the whole of Asia, certain powers touch this sacred territory without knowing it, as I know that at the moment of a possible conflict, their armies must be obliged to either pass through or near it, it is out of humanity for these European peoples, as well as for Agarttha itself, that I am not afraid to pursue the divulgation that I have begun.

On the Earth’s surface and underground, the real extent of Agarttha defies the embrace and constraint of profanation and violence.  Without mentioning America, whose underground belonged to it in very ancient times, in Asia alone, almost half a thousand million men more or less know of its existence and size.  But one will not find a traitor among them to indicate where its Council of God and its Council of the Gods, its pontifical head and its juridical heart can be found.

If this did however happen, and if it were invaded despite its numerous and terrible defenders, any army of conquest, were it of a million men, would see renewed the thundering response of the Temple of Delphi to the innumerable hords of Persian Satrapes.

Calling to their aid the Cosmic Powers of the Earth and the Sky, even vanquished, the Templars and the Confederates of Agarttha could, if need be, blow up part of the Planet and crush with a cataclysm both the armed profaners and their country.

It is for scientific reasons that the central part of this holy land has never been profaned despite the ebb and flow, the shock and the mutual swallowing up of military empires, from Babylon to the Touranian Kingdom of High Tartary, from Suzes to Pella, from Alexandria to Rome.


Hardjij Scharipf was doubtless one of Saint-Yves d'Alveydre's informers.

The libraries which hold the veritable body of all the antique arts and sciences, for five hundred and fifty-six centuries, are inaccesssible to all profane eyes and to all attacks.

One can only find them underground.

Concerning the Cycle of Ram, they occupy some of the underground parts of the ancient Empire of Aries [the Ram] and its colonies.

The libraries of the anterior Cycles can be found right under the seas which flooded the antique southern continent, right in the underground constructions of the ancient prediluvian America.

What I am about to say here and further on will seem like a story from the Arabian Nights, however, nothing is more real.

The veritable university archives of the Paradesa occupy thousands of kilometres.  Since the cycles of centuries, each year, a few high Initiates, in possession of the secret of only certain regions, are the only ones who know the real aim of certain works…


The reader must imagine a colossal chess-board extending underground through nearly all the regions of the Globe.

In each of the squares can be found the splendours of the terrestrial years of Humanity, in certain squares,  secular encyclopaedias and those of the millenia, in certain others those of the Minor and Major Yugs.

The day when Europe has replaced the anarchy of her General Government by the Trinity Synarchy, all of these marvels and many others will be spontaneously accessible to the representatives of its first Amphictyonic Chamber:  that of Teaching.

But, until then, curious, imprudent people who would start digging the Earth, beware!

They would find nothing but certain disappointment and an inevitable death.

The Sovereign Pontiff of Agarttha, along with his principal assessors, of whom I shall speak, is the only one who gathers completely in its totality the knowledge, within his supreme initiation, of the sacred catalogue of this planetary library.

He is the only one to possess in its integrity the cyclical key indispensable not only to open each of its sections, but to know exactly what is to be found there, to pass from one to another, and above all to be able to leave it.

What good would it be to the profaner, to have succeeded in forcing open one of the underground sections of this brain, this integral memory of Humanity?!…


Gustav Meyrink

Meyrink himself recounted this strange story in My Awakening to Clairvoyance, where he reports extraordinary phenomena of which he has been the object…


The painter Hocker could not have been inspired either by the story which had appeared in Simplicissimus, or by any knowledge of the original rough copy because (1) Gustav Meyrink wrote everything by hand – he had no secretary;  (2) he showed his mauscripts to no-one;  (3) he did not throw out his rough copies, but kept them in a cupboard.  Finally, in admitting that this rough copy had been found, no-one would have been able to decipher it for Meyrink used, to write quickly, a system of abbreviations which was absolutely personal.


He would not have recounted his vision, for Meyrink was a person who verbally confided little about himself, only talking about himself in his books.


He gives no explanation for the phenomenon.  It is a total mystery.  There is by the way another mystery:  for what reason did Mr Hocker buy, almost against his will, the number of Simplicissimus which contained the story?  Meyrink writes:

“Spiritists would say that he had been prodded to it by ghosts”;

but it is quite evident that this explanation is not sufficient…


Saint-Yves d'Alveydre

Gustav Meyrink really believed that he had received a message.  He was not only a great cabalistic writer, but – if not an initiate – at least a man who knew a lot of things.  He had studied theology, Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism, etc.  He was Rose-Croix and belonged to several secret societies.  It has been said of him that he was a “prospector of the invisible”.  After having read Saint-Yves d’Alveydre’s book Mission de l’Inde, which revealed the existence of Agarttha, he studied the mysteries of Tibet.


Agarttha is an underground initiation centre which is supposed to be in Tibet, and which is apparently directed by a mysterious person called the King of the World to whom Rene Guenon consecrated a very curious and very enthralling work.  According to Saint-Yves d’Alveydre, this centre is supposed to be impregnable.  He writes:

“Calling the cosmic powers to their aid, the Agarttha confederates could, if need be, blow up part of the planet.”


In the period in which we live – this period of violence, this dark period that the Hindus call the Kali-Yuga – Agarttha is supposed to be fighting against the forces of darkness and suscitating, from time to time, spiritual chiefs and currents of thought capable of leading Humanity towards Knowledge and Light.


It is said that certain writers are inspired by Agarttha.


Agarttha is supposed to be fighting against those that Meyrink calls the Dugpas.


These Dugpas are the ones who, through the intermediary of a group of which Louis Pauwels and Jacques Bergier spoke in Le Matin des Magiciens, are supposed to have suscitated Hitler and his swastika…


So, if we believe in the existence of these mysterious centres which lead the world, which of the two sent its vision to Meyrink?  Probably Agarttha, to reveal to him the role of the others and inspire him to write his “short story” on the occult causes of the war…


Gustav Meyrink died in 1932.  He was sixty-four years old.  He is the author of The Night of Walpurgis, of Green Face, and above all of The Golem which made him known throughout the world.


A Golem is a clay figure which is magically brought to life, a sort of automaton who personifies the human automatons created by modern society…


Why did the unknown painter Hocker have the same vision as Meyrink?  Perhaps so as to be able to confirm the Agarttha message to Meyrink, so that he did not have the slightest doubt about its provenance…  But this is only an hypothesis, for the plans of the Wise Ones are impenetrable…  And we are doubtless only pawns in a gigantic game which is being played in the Invisible and of which we know neither the rules nor the stakes…


Gustav Meyrink

One day in Autumn 1915, the German writer Gustav Meyrink, the author of the famous work of fiction The Golem, was at home in his armchair, near the fire, a newspaper on his knees.  He had just been reading the news from the Front and was reflecting on the profound causes of this world war in which Germany, France, Britain, Austria, Belgium, Italy, and now Serbia, Greece and Turkey, were involved, and which was going to cause the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people.

What obscure forces, he was thinking, push humanity to set off such killing sprees?

Suddenly, this man, whom a practice of yoga and certain Hindu techniques have led to superior states of consciousness, is seized with trembling;  his body becomes icy and he recognizes the strange feeling which announces clairvoyancy phenomena in him.

Almost immediately, he “sees” before him a person of an unknown race whom he would later describe like this:

“Six feet tall, extremely thin, beardless, a face with olive-skin tints, slanty eyes, extraordinarily wide-spaced.  The skin of the lips and face smooth like porcelain;  the lips sharp, bright red, and so strongly tight – particularly around the corners – like in an implacable smile, that one would have thought that they were painted lips.  He had on his head a curious red bonnet.”

This strange person holds in his hand a tuning-fork between the branches of which there is a little gilded hammer.  At his feet swarm insects which are going about mysterious business, without the least clash, the least aggressivity.  Suddenly, a strident sound rings out, coming doubtless from the tuning-fork that the man in the red bonnet is holding.  Then the insects, as if animated by a murderous folly, throw themselves on each other and kill each other.  The sight is appalling.  These little beasts who, the instant before, were trotting peacefully beside each other, are now devouring each other with unimaginable violence under the cold, amused gaze of the man in the red bonnet.  Then everything disappears.

Gustav Meyrink, in his armchair, is deeply impressed, for it appears to him that this vision is a symbolic answer to the question that he was asking himself on the subject of the profound causes of the war.

He knows, for having read numerous works on this subject, that according to Oriental occultists, there is apparently in Tibet a sect called the Dugpas, which is considered as a direct instrument of “demoniacal” forces of destruction.  This man in the red bonnet who starts war among the insects by a vibration could therefore represent one of these Dugpas.

Meyrink sees there a subject to develop.  He immediately goes to work and writes a short story entitled The Game of the Crickets, in which he exposes the occult causes of the war.

The following month, this story appears in the magazine Simplicissimus.  And, a few weeks later, the writer receives from a person unknown to him, a painter by the name of Hocker, the following letter:

“Dear Sir,

“I must first tell you that I am a man in perfect health and that I have never been subject to hallucinations or other abnormal states.  Yesterday, I was in my studio, seated at my table working.  Suddenly, I heard a metallic, musical sound.  In turning around, I noticed a tall man, of a race that I didn’t know, a curious red bonnet on his head, who was standing in the room.  I immediately realized that it was a psychical trouble.  The man was holding in his hand a sort of tuning-fork composed of two branches, with which he had produced the sound of which I spoke.  Between the two branches was a gilded hammer.  Immediately, I saw appear on the ground piles of fat white insects which were tearing each other apart in a rustling of wings whose deafening noise was becoming intolerable.  I still have this sound in my ears which is upsetting all my nerves.  When the hallucination was over, I immediately started to draw the scene with a stick of seria.  Then I went out to take some air.  In passing before a newspaper kiosque, an impulse that I am unable to explain, given that I don’t like this magazine, prodded me to ask for Simplicissimus.  As the salesgirl was giving me the last number, a decision just as inexplicable prodded me to say:  ‘No, not this number, the one before, please!’  Back home, in flicking through the magazine, I found to my great stupefaction your story The Game of the Crickets relating, give or take a few details, all that I had just experienced myself one hour beforehand:  the man with the red bonnet, the insects that were tearing each other apart, etc.  I beg you, dear Sir, to have the kindness, if you can, to explain to me how I should interpret this thing…”

And it is signed:  Hocker.

Having read this letter, Gustav Meyrink is annoyed.  Another one, he thinks, who wants to make hinself interesting.

For the writer there is no doubt, in fact, that this Mr Hocker is a fabulator who has imagined all this story after having read the short story in the magazine.

Meyrink goes to throw the letter into the waste-paper basket when suddenly, an idea troubles him.  He remembers that, in copying out his manuscript to send it to the magazine’s editor, he had modified a few details of his vision.

As he doesn’t remember very well any more which ones, he takes the number of Simplicissimus where his story is printed and that he has not re-read – for he hates re-reading his own works – and runs through the text.

He then comes across a modification that he had made at the last minute and which he had totally forgotten.  And this modification stuns him, for it obliges him to think that his correspondent is not – cannot be – a joker, and that he could not have been inspired by the story which had appeared in Simplicissimus to tell him that he had seen a man with a red bonnet carrying a tuning-fork between the branches of which was a little hammer, for the simple reason that this tuning-fork is not mentioned in the story.  Gustav Meyrink had replaced it at the last minute by another object.  On his first rough copy, he had firstly written:

“The man with the red bonnet was holding in his hand a tuning-fork with which he was emitting strange sounds…”

However, in re-copying it, it had seemed to him to be more striking, more fantastic, to write:

“The man in the red bonnet was holding in his hand a prism with which he was capting the sun’s rays…”

He had also transformed the “strident sound that the tuning-fork was making” into an “apocalyptic light which was blinding the insects and making them crazy”

Finally, he had written nowhere, not even in his rough copy, for the detail had not seemed significant to him, that the tuning-fork had a little gilded hammer between its branches.


To be continued.

Exaggerated coincidences – part 2

Another coincidence:

In 1956, a young shopkeeper from San Remo, Giovani Cataneo, becomes engaged to a ravishing, pudic adolescent named Bianca-Maria Pellegrini.

The young girl’s parents demand a long engagement.  So long, that Giovani, during his holidays, amuses himself courting a young lady with a flirtatious eye named Marina Locatelli, whose lover he very rapidly becomes.  And one day, Marina tells him that she is expecting a child.  Giovani must marry her, against his will.  But he warns his future in-laws:

“I shall marry your daughter, but only in a civil marriage;  for a religious marriage must have love.  And I don’t love Marina…”

The Locatelli Family, furious, can hurl, vociferate, bang its fist on tables and threaten Giovani with all of Hell’s atrocities, the young man resists and, in the end, only the civil marriage is celebrated.

However, in the Roman Catholic Italy of the 1950’s, this act has only a juridical value and can be annulled.  So the new husband loses no time.   The day after his wedding, he rushes to the Tribunal and deposits a request for a divorce…

The process is long.  He has to wait five years to obtain satisfaction.  As soon as he is free, he marries – this time in church – the gentle Bianca-Maria Pellegrini who had waited for him.

Alas! after four years of happiness, Bianca-Maria, who is pregnant, has to be transported urgently to the San Remo Hospital.  That same evening, Giovani is called and informed that his young wife is suddenly at death’s door.

Mad with pain, he rushes to the hospital.  When he arrives, Bianca-Maria has just died.

Then, he collapses.  A doctor approaches:

“Your wife died five minutes ago.  It’s curious, she died almost at the same time as her neighbour…”

Giovani turns his head and remains frozen:  in the bed behind him, there is a woman whose eyes have just been closed.  And this woman is Marina Locatelli…  So, his two wives – who had never met – had come to die side by side, at the same time, in the same hospital…


Fifth example of exaggerated coincidence:

Georges Reme was a thief who was famous for escaping from prison.  One day that he had once again succeeded in escaping, he stole a car, changed its number-plates and drove towards the South-West.  At Royan, he stopped in front of a garage for some petrol.  However, after a few instants, another car came to park beside his.

The garage owner, who was standing in the doorway, then noticed, stunned, that the two vehicles had exactly the same number on their number-plates.  He alerted the Police.

And Georges Reme was arrested because – by a really fabulous coincidence – the owner of the number that he had painted, absolutely by chance, on his car, had come to park his car right next to him…


This article was published in "Paris-Presse" on 29 November 1956.

Finally, last exaggerated coincidence:

One day in 1956, in Charleroi, Monsieur Emile Massart, seeing that his dog was ill, decided to kill it.  He took it to the bottom of his garden, attached it to a stake, took his gun and fired.  But he missed it.  The bullet went through the hedge and killed his 21 year old cousin who was passing in the street…

This young lady’s name was Mademoiselle Leonce Lechien [“Thedog” in English].


Certain parapsychologists, refusing the simplistic notion of chance, consider that these coincidences are signs which our intelligence is unable – at least for the moment – to interpret.


Camille Flammarion's balloon one day, like this one, landed unexpectedly in a garden.

Destiny’s winks are sometimes mischievous.  Here is an example:  When he married, Camille Flammarion decided to make a very short wedding trip in a balloon…  And he promised the priest who had blessed his marriage to take him with him.

One evening – about ten days after the ceremony – he sent a message to inform him that he was leaving the next day.  He was told that the Abbot had left Paris to spend a few days with some cousins, on the banks of the Marne.  Flammarion was a bit bothered by this, but he decided to leave anyway.  He thought that the Abbot would never know about it and that he would take him another time.

And the balloon took off.

There are an infinite number of directions for leaving Paris in a balloon…  However the wind pushed Flammarion over near the Marne and brought him exactly over the garden where the Abbot was lunching…   where the balloon came down.

Strange coincidence, it must be agreed…  And coincidence that a fiction writer would have hesitated to imagine, so implausible it seems…


Finally, here are the exaggerated coincidences which exist between the death of President Kennedy and that of President Lincoln:

Lincoln was elected President of the United States in 1860, Kennedy in 1960.

Both were killed in their wife’s presence.

Both were killed by a bullet to the head fired from behind.

Their successors were both named Johnson.

Each of these successors was a Democrat from the South.

Each of these successors had been a member of the Senate.

Andrew Johnson (successor to Lincoln) was born in 1808.  Lyndon Johnson (successor to Kennedy) was born in 1908.

John Wilkes Booth (Lincoln’s assassin) was born in 1839.  Lee Harvey Oswald (Kennedy’s assassin) was born in 1939.

Booth and Oswald were both assassinated before being able to be judged.

The wives of the two Presidents each lost a child while living in the White House.

President Lincoln’s secretary, whose name was Kennedy, strongly advised him not to go to the theatre where he was assassinated.  President Kennedy’s secretary, whose name was Lincoln, advised him not to go to Dallas where he was assassinated.

John Wilkes Booth shot President Lincoln in a theatre and ran to a warehouse.  Lee Harvey Oswald shot President Kennedy from a warehouse and ran to a theatre.

The names of Lincoln and Kennedy each have seven letters.

The names of Andrew Johnson and Lyndon Johnson each have thirteen letters.

The names of John Wilkes Booth and Lee Harvey Oswald each have fifteen letters…


To understand the signification of these “exaggerated coincidences”, these signs that Destiny – or someone – sends to us, we must wait until Man becomes a bit more intelligent…


Exaggerated coincidences

A coincidence is never seen as either natural or normal.  Parapsychologists consider them to be “extraordinary”  or “significant” facts.  And some coincidences are more troubling than others.  They are vertiginous and are said to be “exaggerated”…  It then seems as if Destiny is giving us a friendly sign that we do not know how to interpret.  Guy Breton gives here, a few examples:


Emile Deschamps

Emile Deschamps, who was one of the authors of the slim book Huguenots, recounts a curious story.  This story begins when he is in boarding-school in Orleans.  One day, one of his fellow boarders says to him:

My uncle is organizing a little party for my birthday.  Do you want to come?  There will be games, food…”

Emile Deschamps, delighted, accepts and, the following Thursday, goes with a few fellow pupils to the home of Monsieur de Fontgibeau, an emigre who has recently returned from England.  Around four o’clock, their host serves to his young guests a succulent plum pudding.  This dish, almost unknown in France at this epoch, seems marvellous to the children and young Deschamps conserves a brilliant memory of it.

Ten years pass by.  And one day when he is at a restaurant, in Paris, Boulevard Poissonniere, Emile Deschamps notices on the dessert table a magnificent plum pudding.

Images of the beautiful day spent at the home of Mr de Fontgibeau when he was a child come back to his mind and, “with a bit of sunshine in my heart”, he decides to order a serving of this dessert which he had never eaten since that day.  But the server takes on an apologetic expression and informs him that this dessert has been reserved.  Emile Deschamps asks him if the whole dessert has been reserved, and learns that it has.

The young man appears so disappointed that the cash-register lady decides to come to his aid.  From where she is sitting, she addresses a client who is not far away from her:

“Monsieur de Fontgibeau, would you be kind enough to allow Monsieur to take a piece of your plum pudding?”

Emile Deschamps turns around, astounded, and looks toward a gentleman of respectable age who is dining with friends at a neighbouring table, and recognizes the lord of the manor at whose home he had once been in Orleans…

Mr de Fontgibeau addresses a smile to the lady at the cash-register and says:

“Of course!  Serve a piece of plum pudding to this young man…”

Emile Deschamps, from his place, thanks the elderly man without daring however to make himself known to him…

Long years again pass by without a plum pudding or Mr de Fontgibeau crossing Emile Deschamps’ path.

And one day, the writer is invited to dinner by a charming lady who says to him:

“Dear Maitre, if you give me the pleasure of coming Friday evening, you will taste a real English plum pudding…”

Emile Deschamps bursts out laughing:

“Then, I warn you, dear Madame…, Mr de Fontgibeau will be there too!…”

A little intrigued, the lady of the house asks him who this Mr de Fontgibeau is.

“He’s an elderly gentleman who is always there when I eat plum pudding…”

And he laughingly recounts his two preceding meetings with him.  Everyone laughs at the good joke.  The hostess tells him that, unfortunately, this time, Mr de Fontgibeau will not be there to accompany him…

The day of the dinner arrives and, around nine o’clock in the evening, everyone is at the table around a magnificent plum pudding.

Suddenly, the door opens and a domestic announces:

“Monsieur de Fontgibeau…”

The ten guests, stunned, see entering an elderly man, walking with difficulty, who slowly moves around the table as if he were looking for someone.

Emile Deschamps firstly thinks that it is a joke played by one of his friends.  But the elderly man having approached him, he recognizes him.  It really is Mr de Fontgibeau himself.  He writes in his Memoires:

“My hair stood on end.  Don Juan was not more terrified before his stone guest.”

Then, the hostess asks the elderly man what he wants and he explains that he is invited to dinner by the Count de Clermont.  The young woman says:

“Ah!  It’s not here.  The Count de Clermont lives on the floor above…”

And they all then understand that, by extraordinary luck, Mr de Fontgibeau, invited this same evening to the home of another lodger in the building, mistook the floor and entered there where, precisely, Emile Deschamps was about to eat plum pudding…

And the author of the Huguenots concludes in his Memoires:

“Three times plum pudding in my life, and three times Mr de Fontgibeau, that must mean something…  But what?…”


Second example of exaggerated coincidence:

On 8 February 1970, Mrs Cantree, a farmer’s wife from Fort Worth, is returning from shopping in town.  Entering her kitchen, she lets out a scream:  on the tile floor, her younger son, Robert, aged eighteen, is lying in a pool of blood.

The police investigation establishes that, while cleaning his hunting gun, the young Robert Cantree unfortunately pulled the trigger.  The bullet hit him in the head.  In falling, the young man broke his watch which stopped at 11 : 30…

Mrs Cantree is naturally desperate.

A few weeks later, a telegramme emanating from the War Ministry informs her that her elder son, Adam, Corporal in the Marines, died in Viet-Nam, during an attack.

She collapses, thinking that, decidedly, fate is heaping particular cruelty on her.

Mlle Jeanne Laneau, who posed for this statue of Jeanne d'Arc, died in a fire.

Then time passes and one day, she receives the visit of one of her son’s fellow Marines.  This young man explains to her that Adam died before his eyes:

“I can assure you, M’am, that he didn’t suffer.  He received the bullet in the head.  It was 8 February, at exactly 11 : 30.  I wrote it down…”

So, twenty thousand kilometres apart, Mrs Cantree’s two sons had found the same tragic end, both killed by a bullet to the head, on exactly the same day, at the same time…


Third example of exaggerated coincidence:

In 1874, the sculptor Emmanuel Fremiet, wanting to make a statue of Jeanne d’Arc, took for model Mademoiselle Jeanne Laneau, not, of course, for her first name, but for her physique.

It is Jeanne Laneau who, Place des Pyramides, in Paris, today represents the Orleans Virgin.

However, in 1936, a fire having erupted in her bedroom, Mlle Jeanne Laneau was burned to death…


To be continued.

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