Full knowledge of the secret at Rennes-le-Château confers a very real and potentially world-shattering power, were it ever in the wrong hands.
The Priory of Sion
The tiny French hilltop village of Rennes-le-Château carries the weight of a mystery that haunts Christianity.
I first climbed the hill to Rennes-le-Château in the early 1990s, having read the many and varied books about the village that had appeared in the UK over the previous decade. I arrived just after sunset, during a storm, and traversed its few streets in search of a hotel or café. There was nothing to eat and nowhere to stay, but a local gave me lift down to the nearby town of Couiza. The next day I climbed the hill again and immediately faced the same issue. In a town that was central to a burgeoning publishing industry and tourist trade, it was impossible at the time to buy so much as a glass of water. There were no hotels, no restaurants and no sense of being welcome.
Today, however, this has changed and in Rennes-le-Château one gets the impression that there is an uneasy tolerance of tourists, with a small café and a bookshop to cater for the inquisitive.
On my first day there I stood on the threshold of the church and looked up at the inscription above the door and the sight filled me with a sense of amusement.
Carved into stone it reads ‘Terrible is this place’.
But before we can dive headfirst into this fascinating church we must understand something of the context in which it stands.
The quiet village of Rennes-le-Château is situated in the Languedoc region of the southwest of France. In the view across the landscape you can clearly see the Pyrenees erupting in the south, and this region provides a gateway to Spain. The village lies 30 miles (50km) south of Carcassonne in an area where farmlands have given way to the fault lines that cross the southwest amid rolling hills and the occasional mild earthquake. The soil is red, rich with iron, and covers a shattered bed of limestone and granite riddled with caves and crevasses from a turbulent past. The abundant seashells to be found on these hills remind us that at one time the entire area was beneath the waves of what is now the Mediterranean Sea, and that time, though slowly here, moves ever on.
Here and there water rises from the ground as natural springs, many of which are warmed by the core of the Earth. Geologically, the water table is higher in this area than anywhere else in France and it was the abundance of water and rich soil that probably led the first settlers to stop here rather than attempt to negotiate the Pyrenees. As civilization advanced, strategists would have realized the defensive value of the area and no doubt many of the hilltop locations would have begun in pre-Roman times as Celtic enclosures and forts. Rennes-le-Château was especially viable for fortification as there is a lake inside the mountain to supply any settlement with water.
The earliest known settlement near Rennes-le-Château was a Neolithic burial site dating from c3000 BCE discovered in a cave on the hillside. Evidence of continual settlement in the region can also be seen in nearby Rennes-les-Bains, where there are many half-buried walls of terracing. Ruins litter the landscape from all eras and standing stones, both natural and contrived, run like teeth across the hills. At the time of the Celts the area was known as Areda, or Rhaeda, names thought to be derived from the red soil or possibly, as the Priory of Sion maintains, a variation on reda, the Celtic word for chariot.
The Romans occupied Gaul – roughly what is now France – for 500 years, leaving their mark indelibly on the landscape. Old mineshafts and worked caves remind us that they mined the area extensively for jet and possibly gold. They also made use of the hot natural springs at Rennes-les-Bains and built communal baths. In Roman times it is estimated that some 30,000 people lived in the area. There are walls, ruins and paths that date from this time and an old Roman bridge recently collapsed into the River Sals at Rennes-les-Bains during a storm.
The south of Roman Gaul provides the setting for an old French tradition, dating back at least as far as the 13th century, that after the crucifixion of Jesus, Mary Magdalene fled Judea in a boat that sailed via Greece to Marseille. It is said that Mary Magdalene remained in the region, initially teaching but later becoming a recluse and finally being buried there. The Catholic Church has produced a number of her alleged relics, which are on display in Aix-en-Provence.
In 410CE the western Roman provinces, including Gaul, were under assault from various German tribes. One, the Visigoths, looted the city of Rome and then migrated west to settle in the Languedoc. Their capital was 50 miles (80km) north of Rennes-le-Château in Toulouse, but it is thought that they built a great fort in the area. This has never satisfactorily been identified, but high on the hills overlooking the area are the remains of huge walls and fortifications that served some long-forgotten purpose.
A point of interest is the ingenious manner in which the Visigoths buried their dead kings. Whereas many cultures create great monuments and tombs that are subsequently looted, the Visigoths would dam a river and bury their king and his treasures in the riverbed. The dam would then be removed and the king would lie hidden from looters indefinitely. This is seen as a possible cause of treasure in the area, which had come to Rome from the East, then been looted by the Visigothic chiefs and taken to Gaul.
The theme of the bloodline of Christ arises in 428 with another Germanic tribe, the Salian Franks. Merovech or Merovius (Mérovée), or perhaps his predecessor Chlodio, established the Merovingian dynasty in parts of Gaul and was said by Pierre Plantard to have been descended from Jesus and Mary Magdalene. The genealogy of the Merovingians was also present in the Dossiers Secrets as mentioned in the previous chapter. The Franks were united under Merovech’s descendant, Clovis I, who in 486 overthrew the last remnant of Roman rule in Gaul and established his capital at Paris. Ruler of most of Gaul, Clovis is usually regarded as the founder of the kingdom of France, the ‘Land of the Franks’. In 678 the Merovingian king Dagobert II is thought to have been assassinated in the Ardennes forest. There exists a French myth that states that one of Dagobert’s sons, Sigisbert, was smuggled away to the Languedoc by soldiers and survived to continue a secret royal bloodline.
During the Middle Ages the Languedoc was under the control of the Counts of Toulouse. A cosmopolitan region, it possessed a number of Jewish settlements and is thought to be the origin of several alchemical and Kabbalistic schools.
During this period the Templars, as mentioned earlier (see Chapter 2), also took up residence in the Languedoc. They had a number of commanderies in the area including Arques, Blanchefort and Le Bezu to the west of Rennes-le-Château.
It was also a time when heresy swept through the region. There is not the space here to fully explore the Cathars and there are already many excellent books on the subject should you wish to follow this theme further. There will be more on their beliefs later in this book. The Cathars were a Gnostic dualist sect and their popularity drew many converts from Catholicism, even priests. Dualism is the idea that light, or ‘good’, is trapped in matter and is to be liberated and can be found in Zoroastrianism dating back to the second century BCE. Undoubtedly much of the attraction of Catharism was its tolerance and the fact it did not tax the common people. The simplicity and moral example of the lives of the Cathar priesthood, the Perfecti, would also have been appealing to those who wished for a Christianity that appeared closer in practice to the actual example of Christ.
Catharism had its roots in the Bogomils, who were centred at the time around the Bulgarian empire. The empire had been Christianized in the late ninth century but many invasions and missionaries had forayed into the Balkans leaving a mix of culture and beliefs. The Bogomils claimed to have maintained a true and hidden form of Christianity and their dualist religion spread south as far as Greece and into Western Europe. By the early 13th century its own missionaries had found many converts in the southwest of France.
It would be wrong to think that the beliefs carried from Eastern Europe remained unchanged. Dualism was developing from town to town and evolving over time. It was a living religion, growing to fit the needs of its followers. From this tradition came the Cathari, meaning ‘pure ones’.
The Cathars had no churches of their own, they owned no buildings or land but they were permitted to reside in premises afforded them by sympathetic local dignitaries and lords. They worked among the people and lived simple lives, gathering in fields and barns to preach.
With such a stark contrast to the wealth and power of the Catholic Church it was inevitable that the Cathars would eventually force Rome to act. A crusade was declared against the Cathars (the Albigensian Crusade, see page 29) and they were forced to seek refuge in castles such as Montségur, west of Rennes-le-Château.
The siege of Montségur is worthy of our attention. According to one story, three Cathars were lowered down the cliff of Montségur just before the end of the siege. Whatever they took with them could not have been very big or heavy so a physical treasure such as gold is unlikely. The Cathars were believed to be in possession of some heretical secret. Some have surmised that it was the Holy Grail, with Montségur being synonymous with ‘Montsalvaat’, refuge of the Grail in Arthurian legends. For example, Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival places the castle of Montsalvaat in the Pyrenees. There is an issue here as to the nature of the Grail, as the Cathars did not believe in venerating objects. They renounced their possessions, which makes them an unlikely order for guarding an artefact. Documents would seem more likely, and potentially more important. In spite of the actions of the Catholic Church against the Cathars the scent of heresy has never left the region.
After the Albigensian Crusade the Languedoc became much less independent, as the French kings increasingly muscled in on the region. And the crusade was not the last time that religious intolerance was inflicted on the region. Prior to rounding up the Templars in 1307 (see page 27), King Philip IV had seized the wealth of the Jewish communities, and as late as the 16th century there were witchcraft trials in Toulouse.
An event in 1633 has generated much speculation among adventurers. In that year a gold mine was established at Blanchefort, the hill opposite Rennes-le-Château. However, it was rumoured that what was brought from the mine and subsequently smelted were not natural gold deposits but a hoard of Visigothic treasure. German miners had been brought in to recover the gold, leading to speculation that the language barrier was used by the Blanchfort family to prevent them from sharing their knowledge with the local population.
Another local myth, published in 1832 in Journey to Rennes-les-Bains by Labouïsse-Rochefort, tells of a shepherd boy called Ignace Paris who is said to have lost one of his sheep in the hills near the town. The sheep had fallen into a hole and the boy lowered himself by rope to retrieve it. When he landed he followed the sheep along a fault that led to a cave filled with treasure. The boy filled his pockets and returned to the town to announce his find only to be accused of stealing and hanged before he could reveal the location of the cave.
It must also be noted that on a broader scale few countries have undergone such a sudden political and social upheaval as France did during the French Revolution. In ten years at the end of 18th century the ancien régime – the old ruling classes of royalty, nobility and Church – was rapidly and violently deposed. As a result many of the nobles in the Languedoc would have been forced to hide their wealth and family histories. Any treasure they may have inherited would likely have been buried and as local Priests were often their sole confidants important documents were placed with the local clergy for safe keeping.
A representative of the Templars of Portugal told me that during the Second World War the Germans had tunnels dug back and forth beneath the valleys in the area of Rennes-le-Château and beneath the town itself. He would not reveal what they were looking for, but said that when the prisoners who were used to do the digging found nothing they were buried alive in these tunnels. I was once advised by a local that if I were to find a hidden wall in the mines I should not to go beyond it as the bodies of those prisoners were entombed there.
Several decades earlier, in 1885, François Bérenger Saunière (1852-1917) took up the post of priest in the church at Rennes-le-Château, and it is here that our particular story begins. Saunière restored the church and funded several expensive building projects in and around the parish that seemed impossible on a meagre priest’s salary. Rumours spread that he had located a horde of treasure and he was known to have given valuable stones and other items to local residents as gifts. Amid an episcopal enquiry into alleged fraud, Saunière eventually resigned from the parish in 1909.
The story of the Rennes-le-Château mystery began to surface in the mid 1950s when Noël Corbu, who had bought Father Saunière’s estate in 1946, sought publicity for a new restaurant. In 1956 the local press ran Corbu’s claim that Father Saunière’s wealth had derived from lost Visigothic treasure hidden in the local hills and mountains, which he had exploited to decorate his church and build his fanciful house and garden. Although Corbu’s intention – to drum up tourism for the remote village – was a success, he seems to have been out of his depth in regards to grasping what he was sitting on. How Father Saunière had spent his money is just as important as how he came by it, if not more so. Corbu’s publicity set the story in motion and treasure-hunters and mystery seekers have flocked to the area ever since.
The story of treasure stems from a claim that Father Saunière had discovered parchments containing coded messages leading to a specific location. In the 1970s, Pierre Plantard influenced author Gérard de Sède in his writing of The Accursed Treasure of Rennes-le-Château. This book further publicized the mystery of Father Saunière, taking his sudden wealth and strange church as an example of Sion’s mythology. The book contained copies of parchments that the priest had supposedly found and decoded. They contained obvious codes but these were ignored in the book and left to the reader to discover. One such reader was researcher Henry Lincoln, who made three documentaries on the mystery in the 1970s and then went on to co-author The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail (1982), which first brought the mystery of Rennes-le-Château, Pierre Plantard and the Priory of Sion to the English-speaking public. The book claims that Father Saunière discovered an astonishing secret: that Jesus and Mary Magdalene were married and had produced children. Since its publication it has sold 18 million copies worldwide.
On first reading The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail I found the links between the Rennes-le-Château mystery and the ‘bloodline of Jesus’ theory a bit of a leap. I asked Nic Haywood if Sion had been happy with the book and its bloodline theory. His reply:
‘We found Holy Blood, Holy Grail [the book’s US title] a little too ambitious, but we were glad they did it. That Jesus married and had children, there is evidence beyond doubt.’
I have no doubt that the Priory of Sion used the Rennes-le-Château mystery as a dissemination tool for their beliefs and aims. It is a vehicle that contains a myriad of esoteric links that can be used to carry a number of messages from antiquity. It was a matter of synchronicity that Noël Corbu had begun to publicize the mystery at the same time that Sion was choosing to go public.
It could be said that there are three levels to the mystery. There is an underlying truth; there is the Priory of Sion, who claims to be communicating that truth; and there is the mystery of Rennes-le-Château, which is the vehicle for that truth.
The mystery of Rennes-le-Château should be a simple one, easily answered and discarded, but there is so much baggage attached to this little town with its allegedly errant priest that one wonders where to begin. Even during the height of summer the little town of Rennes-le-Château is buried in fog – a fog of human creation. As you try to make sense of the patterns that appear in the swirling clouds there seems to be endless possibility for interpretation, countless distractions and many images that are no more than a trick of the light.
Let us look at the controversy surrounding Father Saunière’s tenure in more detail. At the end of the 19th century the town of Rennes-le-Château had 200 inhabitants. In 1885 Father Saunière, aged 33, was installed as the new priest at the little church of St Mary Magdalene. The eldest of seven children, he had been born in the nearby town of Montazels and raised in a house that overlooked the town square with its unusual fountain surmounted with Tritons.
When Saunière arrived in his new parish, the church was in a dilapidated state. The roof leaked and the structure was all but derelict and desperately in need of renovation. Saunière had no money of his own and was paid a meagre wage, making him dependent on his parish for handouts. A local girl was put into his care as housekeeper. Marie Denarnaud was 18 when she joined the priest and she stayed with him throughout his life.
For six years he survived on the goodwill of the townsfolk. Apparently he spent much of his spare time hunting and fishing. He also read widely, studying Greek, Hebrew and Latin.
In 1892 he applied for and received a small loan from the bishop of Carcassonne for restoration purposes. During these restorations a broken flagstone was lifted in order to be replaced. Beneath it was discovered a bag of gold coins and a chalice. The chalice has survived and was gifted to Abbé Grassaud, priest of Amélie-les-Bains, where it is still kept. (Although the chalice is in the medieval style it does not look older than the 19th century so it may not be the original or it might be something that Saunière purchased as a gift that has since become confused with his original find).
Work began again on the renovation of the church and over the next few years Father Saunière spent much of his time exploring the countryside with a sack to ‘collect rocks for his garden’. According to Sion, this was a cover story for his search for a specific location.
He replaced the altar, which had rested on two Visigothic-style pillars and used one of these pillars as a plinth in the garden. A statue of Our Lady of Lourdes was installed on the plinth, an event accompanied by a procession through the town.
The interior of the church at this time was a building site and one evening a local bellringer noticed a fallen wooden balustrade. It had a slot in the top of one pillar and in this there was a glass phial containing a piece of parchment. Though this discovery is accepted – and the nephew of the bellringer is still alive to support it – what the parchment said is a matter of contention. However, it seems likely that it was a plan of the church’s hiding places. We can ascertain this from Father Saunière’s actions following this event.
It is said that Saunière had two workers assist him in lifting another flagstone, this time in front of the altar. On turning it over they discovered a worn carving on the underside that appears to show two archways with an adult and child on one horse following a single adult on another horse. The style of the carving is Visigothic, like that of the altar pillar, but it has not been accurately dated.
The two workers were quoted as saying that beneath the flagstone (since known as the ‘Knight’s Stone’), ‘there were a number of shining objects showing through the earth’. The priest immediately sent them away, closed the church and refused entry to anyone else for a number of days. It seems likely that Saunière was excavating during this time. He himself is quoted as explaining the find as a large pot filled with ‘bright objects’ (he never explained further), ‘worthless medallions’, and a few skeletons.
It is thought that a number of items were hidden in the church either at the time of the French Revolution, when many churches were plundered, or by Saunière’s penultimate predecessor, Antoine Bigou, who according to Nic Haywood was ‘a brother of the Rose+Croix’.
Whether beneath the Knight’s Stone or via another route, a crypt was also uncovered at this time. The tombs in this crypt would have belonged to the lords of Rennes, ruling nobles from the late Middle Ages. In fact there are two crypts, one of which was opened and then resealed by Saunière. The other was not sealed until after his death. Older members of the community, such as the Captier family, remember playing in the second crypt and accurately describe where the entrance was. This entrance is still visible in the hidden room at the back of the church. It is uncertain whether Saunière discovered or just re-opened the first crypt. The second one he reopened.
In a diary entry for this period Saunière also states simply: ‘Found a tomb’.
At around this time it is said that he discovered further documents with encrypted text. Local stories claim that these came from the same wooden pillar as the first. The pillar still exists in the small museum adjacent to the church but from the size of the hidden compartment it seems unlikely that anything other than a small scrap of paper in a tiny glass phial would have fitted into it. It is possible that further documents were found in the crypt and that the two discoveries became confused over time.
In his interview for the Bloodline movie, Gino Sandri claimed that the texts found by Father Saunière were in fact carved on stone. This idea is echoed by Nic Haywood, who has also mentioned the existence of inscribed tablets in the church, so it is possible Saunière made copies of these.
It is claimed by Sion that after failing to make sense of the texts Saunière applied to the bishop of Carcassonne and received permission to take them to Paris to get them deciphered. The visit to Paris is undocumented, though Sion hinted that the records of Saint-Sulpice church are worth checking, if not for Saunière himself then for others in his circle. It is possible that Saunière’s mentor, Henri Boudet, went on his behalf.
It is difficult to say whether Father Saunière actually went to Paris or if this trip is a myth aimed at drawing our attention to Saint-Sulpice, linking the discoveries of one to the knowledge of another. Had Saunière visited, the director of Saint-Sulpice seminary, Abbé Bieil, would have introduced him to Emile Hoffet, an authority on old manuscripts and secret societies.
Saint-Sulpice is an interesting choice of destination, for at this time, as we have seen, it is thought to have been frequented by members of secret societies and it also produced such occult-orientated people as Eliphas Lévi, author of Transcendental Magic and one of the most influential occultists of the 19th century. (see Chapter 3 and also Chapter 2.)
Father Saunière is also attributed with a visit to the Louvre, where he supposedly bought reproductions of three paintings, including the legendary Et in Arcadia Ego (The Shepherds of Arcadia) by Poussin, a portrait of Pope Celestine V, and a work by David Teniers. These are covered later in the chapter on art and symbolism (see Chapter 16).
During his presumed time in Paris, Saunière is said to have been introduced to the occult establishment and secret societies, a scene very much in vogue with elitist groups formed of artists and the aristocracy. Sion speaks of an exchange, a sharing of information, that involved twelve parchments or documents passing through Saunière’s hands. His find, according to Sion, had opened a doorway to a greater mystery.
Among the people it is claimed he spent time with in Paris around 1892 are opera singer Emma Calvé and composer Claude Debussy. At the time Calvé was a world famous opera star and had recently returned from one of her frequent performances for Queen Victoria. Both Calvé and Debussy are considered to have been highly respected members of Paris occult circles. Calvé is said to have befriended Saunière and visited him at Rennes-le-Château, but there is no solid evidence to support this.
To the south of Rennes-les-Bains is a cross beside the road with the name ‘Calvet’ carved on its base. Mélanie Calvet was the witness of the Virgin Mary apparition at La Salette and Emma Calvé was born Calvet and the two may be distantly related. The link to visions will become an important factor in the mystery later.
The parchment theory claims that among the encoded manuscripts discovered by Father Saunière were two genealogies dating from 1244 and 1644. These have never been seen since their alleged discovery, or adequately described. There are also said to have been another two pages of parchment inscriptions, either one double-sided sheet or two single-sided pages. Two supposed parchments were published by Gérard de Sède in his book The Accursed Treasure of Rennes-le-Château. Saunière’s parchments are further explored in the following chapters but for now suffice it to say we know that the two texts in de Sède’s book were fabrications, either pure invention or, as Sion would have us believe, modified versions of the originals. Certainly, the text in which the ‘codes’ are embedded clearly derives from a 19th-century version of the Codex Bezae, a widely circulated reprint of a 5th century collection of Greek and Latin passages from the New Testament. Nic Haywood has commented that an associate of Pierre Plantard, Philippe de Chérisey, is known to be the hand behind their augmentation. I cannot confirm or refute the fabrication claim as the original parchments have not been released.
French researcher Gérard Thome is in possession of similar parchments – all variations on biblical passages with additional hand-drawn maps. The passages include such embedded phrases as ‘come to the tomb’ but the manuscripts, although on vellum, do not appear in any way older than the 1960s.
Whether the alleged parchments (and the trip) were genuine or not, on his return to the parish Saunière began to order materials for restoring his church.
He continued excavations and local people complained when he was seen at night tampering with graves in the graveyard. During this time he chiselled the inscription off at least one gravestone. One of these is the gravestone of Marie de Negri d’Ables, Countess of Blanchefort (died January 17, 1781), whose entirely defaced remains can still be seen today in the church museum. The countess was the owner of Château Blanchefort in the 18th century, and her marriage joined the family of Blanchefort with that of Hautpoul, owners of the old château from which Rennes-le-Château’s name derives. A ‘copy’ of the original inscription has been circulating for a number of years but is possibly a fake.
Author Gérard de Sède claims that Saunière opened bank accounts in nearby towns, including Perpignan and Toulouse, and later in other countries, notably Austria-Hungary. According to de Sède one of these accounts was opened adjacently to an account belonging to the Hapsburgs, the Austro-Hungarian ruling dynasty, giving some credibility to Sion’s claim that he was being funded by them in exchange for the information he was discovering or to fence valuable objects that he had located.
In 1896 the complete redecoration of the church began. With garish taste, Saunière ordered many statues and lavish frescoes to clutter the little church. The chessboard floor, statues, water stoup with attendant demon and the inscriptions all hail from this time. At this point the bishopric began to ask questions about the sizable sums that Saunière was spending – evidently far in excess of the restoration grant. The entire church was renovated and refurbished and Saunière began buying up more land to expand his domain. He built a garden with a curved promenade on the crest of the hill. This was flanked by twin structures, a stone Gothic-style tower called the Tour Magdala and an identical (but mirrored) greenhouse, which he used as an orangery. He added a fountain to the garden. The Gothic tower afforded superb views across the surrounding valleys and of the Pyrenees and was used to house Saunière’s expanding library, which included The Prophecy of the Popes attributed to St Malachi by Joseph Maître and Celtic Monuments by L F Alfred Maury (both of which researcher Benoist Rivière traced to a bookshop in Lyon).
Saunière also erected a two-storey guest house, the Villa Béthania. He never lived there but was said to have used it to entertain the many guests who visited Rennes-le-Château in the years that followed and was always well stocked with expensive food and wine. These guests included, it is claimed, Emma Calvé and the Hapsburg Archduke John, cousin to the Austro-Hungarian emperor. Saunière’s public excuse for building this guest house was recorded in a letter in 1910: ‘I built the house completely independently. It was not for me to get rich and live in comfort. I was intending to offer it as a house for elderly and sick priests.’
In 1897 the restored church was reopened. Among those attending this event were Father Antoine Gélis, priest of Coustaussa, the small town on the hill opposite Rennes-le-Château. His visit to the reopening of the church would have shocked him as he was a local historian and it is likely he recognized what Saunière was trying to convey. As we will discover later, the overwhelming symbolism in the church is not Catholic but blatantly heretical and having appeared to have been on the payroll Gélis may have had a change of heart and decided he had to report Saunière for his actions.
Four days later Father Gélis was found dead, his head beaten in by an axe with his arms across his chest. He is known to have been cautious to the point of paranoia, never opening the door to anyone except his daughter, so the murderer was likely to have been someone he trusted. There were no signs of forced entry into his house and no money was taken, but the place was searched so documents may have been removed.
Father Gélis left over Fr. 11,000 of unexplained funds and was known to be using others to invest money on his behalf. He was clearly part of Saunière’s coterie and was possibly being paid to keep silent about his colleague’s discoveries at Rennes-le-Château.
Gélis is buried beneath a gravestone surmounted with a rose cross and the grave is facing north, a direction usually reserved for suicides. A more thorough account of this incident has been compiled by Gérard de Sède in his book Rennes-le-Château.
Saunière’s mentor, Father Boudet at nearby Rennes-les-Bains, also had money and he is said by Gérard Thome to have paid for the refurbishment of a number of churches in the area. Indeed, Sion claims that it was Boudet who was the main force behind the redesign of Saunière’s church (see below, page 80).
After Father Boudet died in 1914 a new priest, Father Rescanière, was installed at Rennes-les-Bains. Father Rescanière took a strong interest in the local mystery surrounding Saunière’s actions. A year later two people were witnessed paying Rescanière a visit and he was found murdered later that same day.
Saunière continued to spend money. While there is some dispute as to whether he was responsible for having the main road up to the town paved, he did finance the installation of running water in the town for the first time, unusual then for a town of that size. He may have had more than simply altruistic motives for doing this; he seemed to believe that people would come to Rennes-le-Château as if they were on a pilgrimage to a holy shrine. He is said to have claimed it would be ‘like a second Lourdes’.
Saunière also built a ‘water tower’ with an office above it, but when a fire started in the town he refused access to it, arousing suspicion that it served a secondary purpose, as Nic Haywood claims:
‘That “water tower” served as a ventilation shaft for a pre-existing mine (perhaps several centuries before). The Blanchefort mine extended right over [to Rennes-le-Château]. [Saunière] dipped into those reserves [of gold, whose location he had] foreseen and known about early on.’
Inside the church Saunière included the inscription from the New Testament: ‘My house shall be called the house of prayer’ and this continues: ‘but ye have turned it into a den of thieves.’ Saunière’s housekeeper, Marie Denarnaud, is recorded as stating to townspeople: ‘You are walking on gold’. This also giving credence to the idea that the Blanchefort gold mine had been rediscovered.
Despite his alleged and largely inexplicable wealth, at various points during his various projects Saunière seems to have run short of funds and owed money to his builders. He also made gifts to parishioners of semi-precious stones, some of which are still in the possession of relatives in the area. This might also indicate that Saunière had intermittent access to his source of wealth, which was perhaps a hidden tomb or treasure trove.
Eventually Saunière was called before the local bishop to explain his wealth and actions. In particular he was accused of selling hundreds of masses – receiving money in return for saying mass for a living or deceased person – that he had never performed. Saunière refused to cooperate with the enquiry and was relieved of his duties. Sion claims the selling of masses was a cover for more covert actions.
‘Saunière... was paid large sums of money – the Priory of Sion has two examples from the Hapsburgs and others. He became proud and thought he was untouchable by the Church. His position went to his head.’
Saunière remained in the presbytery and built a small altar there. The locals were so committed to him that they stopped going to the church for mass and attended a private one in his house instead. He also received many letters of support from other local priests, copies of which are still in circulation, and which contained statements praising, for example, ‘all the wonderful things you have achieved.’ (Letter of January 22, 1908.)
In a letter dated December 24, 1909, Saunière admitted to selling masses at two francs per mass, ten for the Sister Superior of the Hospital of St.-Joseph in Paris, which he confirms he actually celebrated. The selling of masses is claimed by some to be the sole source of Saunière’s wealth. Extracts of his accounts in circulation do show a multitude of entries for very small sums of money received for masses. However, these sums are not substantial and would not have covered the cost of Saunière’s spending – let alone that of Fathers Boudet and Gélis in the neighbouring parishes, who also appear to have been receiving large sums at the same period.
Another issue with the selling of masses is that it in no way explains the décor of Saunière’s church, nor his actions such as defacing gravestones or distributing precious stones as gifts. From a conversation with Nic:
‘Saunière’s money was not from simony – you couldn’t do that many masses. The account books may be an attempt to cover up, especially with the programme of works planned for later that were never completed.’
A letter from Saunière dated July 15, 1910, states that ‘after your interdiction [suspension by the bishopric] I did not offer to say any masses, even if certain details in my file appear to prove the contrary.’ This supports the idea that Saunière used the selling of masses as an excuse as a cover for some other activity that was generating his wealth.
Saunière continued to plan lavish creations, including a second tower much taller than the first. But this was not to be.
Father Saunière had been ill for some time when, on January 13, 1917, his housekeeper Marie Denarnaud ordered his coffin. A few days later another local priest was called to administer the last rites. After hearing his confession it is reported that the priest refused absolution and left the house looking deeply shocked by what he had heard. On January 17, 1917, Saunière died. The date of January 17 recurs throughout this mystery – on the Marie de Negri d’Ables tombstone, for example – and its significance will be summarized in a later chapter, so to me this initially appeared to be fictitious or merely symbolic. But then Sion put forward the idea that Saunière was in fact murdered:
‘It is not inconceivable that the Priory of Sion killed Saunière. At that time it consisted of noble families and illustrious people in the arts; Saunière was arrogant, it had gone to his head.’
Gino Sandri echoed this opinion:
‘Saunière was murdered – hit over the head in the tower. He got too demanding for money.’
While his mentor, Father Boudet, would use the money that he, too, was evidently receiving to fund the restoration of churches and other charitable causes, Saunière generally spent it on himself. He lived an expensive, ostentatious lifestyle and as a result, according to Sion, may have been eventually murdered. I was given the impression that Saunière considered himself to be in an untouchable position, that he saw his role as too important. Others thought that he had not executed the instructions he was given as he was meant to and that he was extravagant and took liberties with the money he received.
After Saunière’s death his housekeeper Marie is said have told people in the town, ‘He has died. It is finished’. His body was placed in a chair on display outside his church. His body sat there for three days wrapped in a shawl covered in tassels. The people of Rennes-le-Château and others who knew him queued to view the corpse and each removed a tassel from his cloak. This is an unusual practice, especially for a Catholic priest. True, the display of the corpse happens to popes when they die, and viewing the deceased is common in Catholic countries. But the issue of removing tassels seems a unique and slightly bizarre way to pay respect to one’s priest. I mentioned this trivial issue to Nic and got the following response:
‘Given that the ancestors of King Merovius came, it is maintained, from the Middle East via Greece, we should not be surprised at an interesting coincidence which I now relate. The chronicles maintain that when a Merovingian king died, before being buried along with his scrying crystal, etc., he lay in state and his subjects, in paying their respects, filed past and pulled off a tassel from his burial robe. This tradition, it is said, harks back to the cutting of a lion’s tail when it had been successfully fought and killed. A trophy, if you will permit.’
It seemed a small, almost insignificant piece of the jigsaw but it indicated a lot about Sion’s knowledge in these matters. Sion also clearly states that the driving force in the redesign of the church of Mary Magdalene at Rennes-le-Château was not Saunière himself but his mentor, Father Henri Boudet.
According to Nic Haywood, an archbishop once made an interesting comment: ‘The Abbé Boudet is in possession of a very old and very powerful secret.’ On arriving at Rennes-le-Château, Saunière met and befriended the Abbé Henri Boudet, the priest of the neighbouring town of Rennes-les-Bains. Boudet was key to Saunière’s learning and is said to have become his mentor and guide. Boudet told Saunière to ‘research local history’. From an interview with Nic:
‘Boudet was a Rosicrucian and a card-carrying member of the Priory of Sion. He was trusted to work on his own accord and was not run by the Priory of Sion. He was in possession of something quintessential to what Sion is about. Bérenger Saunière was not trusted which is why it played itself out the way it did.’
I requested proof of this.
‘Other than a certificate bearing his name, along with copies of his signature, etc., held in the order’s archives, Boudet’s allegiance to Sion is mostly evidenced by the private company he kept and the friendships he maintained. Most, if not all, have direct connections with the order [and they include] Doinel, Debussy, Péladan and numerous others. Boudet’s predecessor [as priest] likewise had clearly discernible connections. We have made it perfectly clear that a document linking the Abbé Boudet directly with one of the body of Sion might be made available for physical inspection.’
As yet, however, this documentary ‘proof’ remains on my list of outstanding items. Should it arrive I will publish it on my website.
Sion states that it was through Boudet’s tireless enthusiasm and willingness to act in the capacity of private tutor that Saunière learned phonetic Arabic (it was not essential for him to write it), along with increasing his knowledge of English and learning some ancient Hebrew.
The link between Rennes-le-Château and the Priory of Sion during the time of Saunière and Boudet therefore remains unproven. The abbreviation ‘A.O.M.P.S.’ inscribed on the base of a cross outside the church was claimed by many to stand for Antiquus Ordo Mysticusque Prioratus Sionis (‘Ancient and Mystical Order of the Priory of Sion’), yet it also exists on an obelisk outside the Vatican where it stands for [Christus] Ab Omni Malo Populum Suum [Defendit] – ‘Christ Protects His People From All Evil’.
It is worth noting once again that it was the fashion, certainly during Saunière’s time, to be a member of more than one esoteric group. Even today both of my main Priory of Sion contacts are affiliated with other groups such as Freemasonry and Martinism. Many of those listed on the Priory Grand Master list (see Chapter 3) will also have been members of numerous other orders and groups.
It seems that over time Boudet became unhappy with the way that Saunière was handling the resources that were coming his way. He tried to reason with him, causing a feud between them. Boudet’s own wealth has never been fully explored and certainly little has come to light of Boudet’s finances. However, unlike Saunière he appears to have spent his income on more charitable works. According to Gérard Thome, Boudet paid for a number of renovations of other local churches, notably one in Limoux that was fully refurbished in the early 20th century and contains many heretical images among its stained glass windows. Thome gave me a personal tour of the church and brought to my attention the following scenes: Jesus and Mary Magdalene sitting together on thrones; the wedding ceremony of Jesus and Mary Magdalene; Jesus and Mary Magdalene with a child; and the inscription ‘Woman, I give you a son’. These are all depicted in stained glass within a Catholic church.
Another church linked to Boudet contains a small porcelain relief showing the Last Supper in the style of Leonardo da Vinci. In this the person to the right of Jesus is female (she clearly has breasts) and is resting her head on his shoulder. I was asked not to reveal the name or location of the church as this would most certainly attract theft or vandalism. Should you happen to find it yourself, please do not publicize its location.
The evidence of the works in these churches is proof that a group of heretical priests were working in the area at that time and such a group may still exist today. As mentioned previously, the heretical Cathars of the medieval Languedoc believed that Mary Magdalene and Jesus were married.
Sion also maintains that Boudet was an alchemist:
‘Henri Boudet was undoubtedly a true adept of the alchemical art, whatever else may be said of him. He did possess the [Philosopher’s] Stone, having discovered it for himself.’
My source went on to stress that alchemy ‘is at the heart of the entire secret’ of Rennes-le-Château. A number of researchers have focussed on a book written by Boudet and published in 1889 that appears to the casual eye to be a work of outright folly. The Language of the Celts and the Stone Circle of Rennes-les-Bains is a weighty study of language that makes little sense on the surface. Boudet’s book appears to be a study of the roots of the Celtic language, and maintains that the names of places are derived from modern English. By word association and puns Boudet derived ‘hidden’ words from seemingly innocuous terms. The book looked preposterous to those who encountered it and was unsuccessful. It remains a dense and difficult work even for those versed in the local dialect. I think Boudet understood only too well that his theory was a nonsense but used the book to pass on ideas in code, which was practised in Masonic publications of the time.
The second part of the book talks about cromlechs, or prehistoric stone circles, and covers the natural standing stones, mostly caused by erosion of limestone on granite, that litter the region. Boudet goes so far as to provide a map. He also refers to a circle of churches in the area, which will be covered in the later chapter on landscape (see Chapter 7).
Many researchers have devoted years to decoding the wordplay in Boudet’s work. They employ numeric and linguistic codes, bouncing them back and forth through the book, but I have yet to see any real sense made of it. It is possible that he used what is termed the ‘Phonetic Kabbalah’, or ‘green language’, which appears in the works of Fulcanelli and other alchemical authors. This is a method of writing that groups words together that sound phonetically like other words when spoken aloud.
It is possible that the book’s apparent failure to enthuse either historians or the wider public inspired Boudet to choose a more direct means to communicate his message. According to Sion, he oversaw the redecoration of Saunière’s church at Rennes-le-Château and employed the same ‘Phonetic Kabbalah’ in the Stations of the Cross. We will explore this in detail in the following chapter.
Saunière’s housekeeper, Marie Denarnaud, may have had a more important role to play than previously thought. Sion has stated directly to me that it is a fact that Marie was provided as housekeeper, and in due course banker, by Henri Boudet. He was most adamant, and her position as such appears to have been crucial to the entire sequence of events.
Marie Denarnaud’s importance has always been underplayed by previous writers and commentators, as has the Denarnaud family’s status, which seems to have continued a tradition whereby the family were looked after: not in a lavish manner, but certainly their comfort was assured. This seems to have stretched back to times well before Boudet’s immediate predecessors. With this in mind it would seem likely that she was placed in a position of influence over Saunière in order to monitor his progress on behalf of Boudet and Sion.
It appears that three priests – Saunière, Boudet and Gélis – all benefited from the wealth that was being generated or recovered in the region. Abbé Boudet, according to researcher Gérard Thome, gave much to the poor and funded the renovations of other churches, and there is evidence of this in the nearby town of Limoux. He was a humble man and discreet with his resources. Abbé Gélis increasingly became a recluse and privately invested his money – some Fr. 20,000 according to Gérard de Sède. Abbé Saunière was the youngest and most extravagant of the three. He spent his wealth on high living, fine food and wine, entertaining, and the garish refurbishment of his church and property. This is why Saunière garners the most attention in the mystery of Rennes-le-Château and it may also have been the cause of his demise.
The local bishop, Félix-Arsène Billard, was also implicated. He lived a poor life but is said to have left millions in his will.
Researcher Nicole Dawe related the following:
‘Marie Denarnaud did apparently say things like “there is enough gold for the whole village to live on for 100 years”, and “the villagers are walking on gold”. She did make it sound as though it was a hoard of treasure. There was also the incident where she was seen burning wads of notes in the garden of the Villa Bethany after a currency change, when money exchanged had to have its provenance justified.’
So far the threads of the mystery revolve around where Saunière got his money from, what he discovered, with a few unexplained deaths thrown in for good measure. This is the foundation for the mystery; a simple enough issue that would have quietly gone the way of speculation were it not for how Saunière spent his money.
It is also clear that the Priory of Sion brings an entirely new level of meaning to the mystery of Rennes-le-Château. It may have seized upon the existing mystery and used it to promulgate its own agenda and like some other authors you can, if you wish, attempt to separate the two and review the ‘French mystery’ only as it relates to Saunière. But Sion’s agenda gives a far broader context to the mystery, and one that makes it relevant today.
One thing is clear: the area of Rennes-le-Château contains more than one mystery and the Priory of Sion pertains to more than one secret. The church at Rennes-le-Château extends the mystery in many directions and, unlike some of Saunière’s other actions, every inch of it remains intact and available for inspection.