Bérenger Saunière. Spy? Part 2: A Talisman of Reincarnation

 

Going underground

The core of the mystery of Rennes-le-Château revolves around what Saunière precisely found. And though some have gone for more “imaginative” conclusions, for those remaining on the ground, it is clear that he found something… underground, namely in the necropolis that was underneath his church. This mortuary chamber is briefly described at the end of the “testament” of Philippe de Chérisey. And whereas that was his testament, for Saunière, it was the start, it seems, of his “career” as an enigmatic priest, when he began to execute some essential repairs in his church. Specifically, it appears that he was able to recover parchments, not those that are in circulation – which de Chérisey claimed he had faked – but specifically testaments, involving the local family of the Hautpouls. Of course, the mere testaments themselves will have meant very little; instead, it is clear that these documents contained certain other information, which was of some importance to someone.
It appears that de Chérisey knew quite well what the contents of these papers were. At least, it appears that in 1967, he is able to offer a description of the crypt, when writing “La Serpent Rouge”, unless he is writing in general: “How many have sacked the House [implied: the crypt] leaving only embalmed cadavers and numerous metals which they were not able to carry with them.” Seeing he is writing this in 1967, and hence after the 1964 expedition to Rennes-le-Château, one can indeed ponder whether or not he was able to penetrate into the crypt. Let us note that de Chérisey stated in 1964 that even if he found it, he would not be able, or allowed, to speak about it. And hence, one can only wonder whether the campaign he began to mount from that time onwards, bringing in de Sède to write about the mystery of Rennes-le-Château, even falsifying certain documents, were not all designed to mount the pressure on the kettle, in the hope that the lid would indeed be blown off, and the truth about Rennes-le-Château would be revealed through him, though not by him. But let us continue…

Which Vincent?

Vincent Ferrer

In the same passage of “La Serpent Rouge”, de Chérisey refers to a “Saint Vincent” and his “children”, his successors, who apparently are the Master Architects of this new Temple of Solomon. With the latter, it is assumed that he is referring to St Sulpice, where there is Vincent de Paul. However, we note that the subtitle of La Serpent Rouge is “Notes about Saint-Germain-des-Prés and Saint-Sulpice in Paris”, and that hence, the Saint Vincent referred to, could be something to do with Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Sometimes, going for the obvious is just, well, blatantly wrong… could that be the case here?

Let us jump to Spain, and the Merovingian territories, and 543, with king Childebert I, who was victorious against the Visigoths and brought with him from Saragossa, two strange relics. Not far from Sèvres, he had a church constructed, which soon became an abbey, and which was Saint-Germain-des-Prés. And it is here that we find a reference to a “Saint Vincent of Saragossa”, whose life was written down by Jacob de Voragine and the poet Prudence. It was apparently this Saint Vincent that was at the foundation of that other Saint Vincent, Vincent Ferrer, whose core location was Valencia. So it is not set in stone at all that the Saint Vincent is Vincent de Paul.

The Merovingian Dynasty

What might this have to do with “our” story? We note that “La Serpent Rouge” is more than a poem and that the writer had added several pages to it, which few have studied. That, it seems, is a tremendous mistake.
Those pages relate that the church of Saint-Germain-de-Prés was, in origin, a temple of Isis, which we note is a core obsession of de Chérisey. “Under the first Merovingian kings, the aspect of this territory largely remains the same.” It was then that Saint Germain, bishop of Paris, spoke to Childebert and his wife to give part of this area to the Church, and towards 550, he constructed the basilica of Saint Vincent and the Holy Cross, founded by Childebert… which was constructed on top of the former temple of Isis. With this, it becomes clear that it is indeed Saint-Germain-des-Prés and not Saint-Sulpice to which is being referred in the poem.

He then also adds that in 542, the inhabitants of Saragossa did a type of penitential circumambulation of their town, carrying in front of them the tunic of Saint Vincent. It was Childebert who acquired this relic, and it was Saint-Germain-des-Prés that was the destination where this relic would be housed. It also received the name of “Holy Cross” because of a golden cross that the king also brought to it, and which had allegedly been possessed by Solomon. It is a remarkable series of events, whereby it is clear that everyone who assumed that Saint Vincent was Vincent de Paul, is clearly mistaken. It is de Chérisey who highlights himself where to look and what to do, yet no-one has apparently done so.

The Countess

Some researchers still query why, in 1885, the Countess de Chambord, Marie-Thérèse de Modène, gave 1000 gold francs to Saunière. It was not a common donation, as one might argue. In fact, it is clear that the Chambord family had a close and trusted relationship with our village priest. This is not at all obvious, for in 1885, he was not at all notorious, and neither did he live in the middle of all the action, living as he did in a largely forgotten village in the Razès. His bishop, Mgr. Billard, used to say that Saunière lived in his “pampa”, which was no doubt said tongue-in-cheek.
We all know that he was just installed in his new parish when he preached against the Republic and was duly suspended. Though in the eyes of some, this was sufficient for him to come to the notion of de Chambord, if she had to give money to every priest that was a royalist, the poor woman, despite her wealth, would soon be a pauper.
For example, in 1889, four years after Saunière’s suspension, several dozens of priests from the bishopric of Bayonne were suspended for similar offences. None of these priests were compensated or received any reward. Yet, in the case of Saunière, we find that he received a rather comfortable posting in Narbonne, only to return to Rennes the following year, having served his “sentence”. Even closer to home, and also in 1885, Saunière was not the only priest in the area to preach against the Republic, perhaps because it was an election year. Hence, Father Tailhan of Roullens, and a certain “Jean” of Bourriège, and especially Delmas, the vicar of Alet, all received sanctions for the same trespasses as Saunière had committed. In none of the other cases, the Countess de Chambord made an intervention, and hence it is clear that a different reason needs to be sought as to why the Countess favoured Saunière.

Other desires

The Count himself had died in 1883 and there was no successor. So anything that the Countess was interested in recovering, may not have been too overly personal. Instead, it might have had to do with the legitimacy of the monarchy, a means by which someone else might be able to lay claim to the French throne. It is often the case when one line is at an end, that another line is trying to propel themselves forward, or that an altogether occulted part of the dynasty takes centre stage. In England, for example, Queen Elizabeth II is one of the longest reigning monarchs of the world, yet, when she was born, she was not at all destined to become queen. In fact, had it not been for the abdication of the throne by the reigning monarch, Queen Elizabeth II might never have been queen.

Count de Chambord

But it is the case that in the perilous times of the 19th century, when the monarchy tried to make a last stand, that the demise of the Count de Chambord was likely going to be the swansong of any throne pretender in France. History supports this conclusion.
But we need to remember that the death of the count was much more than the death of a pretender to the throne, or even of a dynasty, or even of monarchy. It was the end of a “way”: the sacred character of the coronation, its traditions, the handing down of power, the “bloodline” tradition – though not of Jesus or Mary Magdalene – is something that is all at the core of the symbolism of kingship, and which is absent from a republic. Indeed, the distinction is perhaps best made by arguing that a president is chosen by the people to lead the people, whereas a king was considered to be a bond between the people and God, whereby the rituals and customs of kingship were there to underline that link.

Such considerations might seem far from our modern mindset, but we need to remember that they are at the core of the debate. For it is the reason why several priests were royalists, and why a lot of the mythology involving a “Great Monarch” which is supposed to return, is another key feature of modern prophecy – imagery which Plantard is known to have used when he set out the timeline of what the Priory of Sion was allegedly doing.
Either way, bringing this back to Saunière, it is clear that the money received from the Countess was used by our priest to carry out essential repair works in the church, as well as “stumbling upon” the crypt. Was it that she wanted to have something that had been hidden inside the crypt at some point in time, and which only Saunière would be able to remove from there?

A scenario

What if the crypt of Rennes-le-Château contained an artefact that was of great value to the French monarchy, and which somehow – perhaps at the time of the French Revolution, perhaps even earlier – had ended up being stored inside? What if in the late 19th century, with the Count already dead, and the Countess knowing her end is not too far, she commissioned a group of priests, who used Saunière, to retrieve what was hidden inside the crypt? This would mean that everyone – or at least some, like the Countess – knew perfectly well that something was hidden inside the crypt; the only problem may have been how to gain access to the crypt. After all, if everyone could just walk in and out without any problem, it is clear that hiding something in this crypt was not the most sensible location to secure this or any artefact.
There are then a number of options. First of all, Saunière might have quickly retrieved it, though noting that the Countess died in 1886, there is little chance he was able to give her what she had tasked him with. This means that Saunière was likely in the possession of an artefact, yet did not truly know who to give it to, or to whom it belonged. A myriad of possibilities are therefore open, and though we will not go into any detail about all of these, let us note that the artefact had to do with sacred kingship, and would hence not be of interest to just anyone, but only certain individuals or groups.

The source of wealth

The debate how Saunière made his money, is a hotly debated topic. In short, the true answer is that he had several sources of income, each adding to the others. In “The Rise”, we explain that Saunière was indeed involved with trafficking in masses. Let us note that this is not the trafficking in masses for which Saunière was charged in his drawn-out trial with bishop de Beauséjour, but the trafficking in masses as identified in his notebooks. In “The Rise”, we look in great detail to the amounts he received from certain institutions, noting that whatever service Saunière was providing for these people or institutions (which were not at all local to the area), he charged 50 Francs per month for it, and the “contract” was usually for a period of six or so months. So, in short, the service Saunière offered cost ca. 600 Francs, or 9000 Euros in today’s currency, a substantial amount of money, not affordable by many, paid in installations (indeed, sometimes, when people missed a payment, they would pay 100 francs the following month) and obviously of great importance to the individuals involved.
In “The Rise”, we track down the type of service that Saunière was using as being a “priest of the dead”, i.e. a man who was part of an underground network of people that offered services to people that wanted a very particular type of “mortuary service”, one that was, in origin, a pagan cult, but which had, over a period of a thousand years, become engrained within the Western world and the Catholic Church, no matter how much the Church had, on occasion, tried to eradicate this “heresy”.
The question we now ask is how Saunière became part of this “secret underground”, and though there are a number of possibilities, one of these must be that his possession of this relic, must have given him a certain amount of esteem. Let us note that in this religious framework, there is a strong link with kingship and the dead, if only because a new king is crowned upon the death of his predecessor. Of course, the devil is in the detail, but we leave that argument for “The Rise”.

Secret entrances

Inside the secret room

Returning to the church of Rennes-le-Château, we know that there were at least two accesses to the crypt, one from near the pulpit, the other from the “secret room”. It appears that in the latter, Saunière found a very old staircase going down. According to de Chérisey, it was here that the priest practiced secret rituals, only known to him, and which he links with the “honorariums of Judas” – referring to the money Judas received for betraying Jesus.
The secret room is now a well-known aspect of the mystery – largely due to a number of documentaries that have entered it, beginning with those hosted by André Douzet some years ago – and it is clear that it was the preferred mode of access for Saunière into the crypt. First of all, he was the one who had the “room” constructed. Of the known access routes to the crypt – one in the church, one in the cemetery, one in the secret room – the entrance in the secret room was the only one that was hidden from view and discrete enough for Saunière to do as he pleased. Furthermore, he engineered the sacristy in such a way that the access to the “secret room” was indeed hidden away behind what appears to a wall, but is in truth a door. In short, the secret room was a perfect method to descend into the crypt, whenever Saunière felt the need or desire to do so – and no-one would know.

The object of suspicion

So far, parts of this scenario are a hypothesis. Of course, the fact that Saunière was the subject of a mystery means that at the core of it, is a secret – or nothing at all. But if a genuine secret, then it is only via the framework, a clue or a revelation that the truth can be ascertained.
It is René Descadeillas who wrote a “notice” to Germain Blanc-Delmas, the daughter of the mayor of Rennes-le-Château. The document is of interest, as it predates the books written on the history of Rennes, and hence are not influenced by the mystery element. We thus learn that when World War I commenced, the villagers of Rennes made sure that every move and action of the priest was followed and reported. We know that the villagers were not alone in this, and that even doctors in neighbouring villages (Doctor Espezel of Couiza) reported any strange movement to the local gendarmes. In short, it is clear that in 1914, everyone in the area suspected Saunière to be in league with the enemy, and the enemy was Germany.
Whether that was true or not, is another matter, but it is an uncontested fact that the area had the greatest of suspicions towards Saunière and his national loyalty. Some even went as far as to claim that the terraces of the domain were there to receive artillery pieces!

Spy! Spy?

Though not true as such, they have a kernel of truth, which can be found in an article by René Espeut, published in 1973. Espeut was the nephew of Marie Dénarnaud, about whom little is known, though it is known he had a magazine, “Sources Vives”, which he had printed in Perpignan. Both Espeut and Descadeillas remember – a claim supported by a great number of witnesses – that an “Austrian-Hungarian aristocrat, subject of Francois-Joseph” had made several visits to Saunière.
We can twist and turn this statement in a number of directions, arguing that perhaps this claim was nothing more than part and parcel of the “Saunière is a German spy”-feelings that abounded in the area… but it underlines that Saunière was suspected of being a spy. Full stop. And that is very important and yet another aspect of the priest that is seldom highlighted.
And if the locals suspected Saunière of being in league with the Germans, then the question is: why? How? What was it that he did that made these people come to that conclusion? There is little in the books about the mystery that has addressed this, or given an alternative explanation other than the obvious conclusion: where there is smoke, there is fire.

A German spy?

The alternative scenario is that Saunière had found something, something that was of interest to the Habsburg family – noting that the Countess de Chambord was a member of that illustrious royal family. After her death, did he sell, or try to sell, or work with or for the Habsburg family? If so, it will explain another series of coincidences, such as why Saunière had pre-printed envelopes for an Austrian bank, and why he and another member of the Habsburg family had consecutively numbered bank accounts in Perpignan. It is clear that financial transactions occurred between the two parties… and money leads to wealth and it is the enigmatic wealth of the priest that is at the core of his mystery.

Spanish spies

It was after the death of Saunière that another piece of the puzzle seemed to fall into place, but like so many other, it has received little to no attention. The story was exposed in an article of the magazine “l’Intermédiaire des Chercheurs et Curieux”, written by A.-M.-F. Guy, and appeared in 1970.
“Here is a fact about which I was recently informed and which I give for what it is worth. It appears that the case of Father Saunière has aroused, after the death of the priest, the curiosity of certain high-placed people in Spanish society. As they could not openly make enquiries in our country [France], they progressed with great caution via intermediaries and those that were not compromised. These events have remained shrouded in absolute secrecy. They go back forty years. Remains to be explained how the history of the treasure of Rennes – for it is of course about that which this is all about – could have created interest in a foreign country more than a half century ago, father Saunière having died, I believed, around 1920.”

The story is related to another article, run in L’Indépendant on March 22, 1980, which argued that ca. 1930, the Spanish government had sent to Rennes a number of researchers that were to determine the origins of certain funds – those of Saunière. The article relates it was a secret mission, by foreign agents, and that they did their best as to not to arouse the suspicion or interest of the local authorities. It is why, according to the journalist, that nothing could ever be learned about this strange mission. But for the journalist, the most interesting aspect of the entire episode is the fact that these people then wrote a report, which was sent forward to those that had ordered the mission in the first place.
Submitted more or less around the time when the Spanish monarchy collapsed, in 1931, the report was apparently subsequently brought to France by refugees of the Spanish Civil War. Apparently, during the German occupation of France during the Second World War, the Germans tried to lay their hands on this report. But in the end, the person(s) that held it, died in a concentration camp in Central Europe. The newspaper report argues that since then (i.e. World War II), no-one knows what happened to the report that contained valuable information about the “secret” of Saunière – noting that this report dated from 1930, or merely 13 years after the death of the priest.

The missing report

Though no-one knows what was in this report, the story goes that the report concluded that there was talk of trafficking, not in masses, but in gold. It appears to us that this rumour is without much merit, seeing that Spanish authorities, in the turbulent years in which they commissioned this secret mission, had better things to do than worry about some trafficking in gold. At the time, Primo de Rivera was doing all he could to stop his country from exploding.
It is here that we need to look towards what is happening in France at that time. The Spanish king at this moment in time is Alfonso XIII. By 1930, he was no longer under any allusion as to what would become of him and his country, and he soon stepped down. Alfonso XIII himself went into exile, becoming the “Duke of Toledo”, but also stating he now set his hopes of attaining the throne of France, of which he saw himself the rightful successor.
Alfonso would never have been able to lay claim to the French throne had it not been that he was identified as the heir of the Count de Chambord, who had died in 1883 without leaving a single heir himself. And that is where his claim to the French throne originates from.

The return of the king?

Jaime de Bourbon

Fleeing from Spain, the Duke settled near Paris, making several visits to his cousin, Jaime de Bourbon, the “Duke of Anjou and Madrid”, who lived in the capital. The latter man was approaching the end of his life fast, and decided, before his death, to give the necklace of the Order of the Holy Ghost to Afhonso. Together with other deaths in the former royal households, in 1936, Alfonso XIII was the only person able to make claims to the throne of France, using the name “Alfonso I” in his efforts to do so. For some loyalists, he was indeed the king of France and Navarre.

People will rightfully point out that his claim to the throne could be better supported than this quick overview, for that – as history has once again shown – none of his efforts proved effective. That is indeed the case, but from a purely monarchistic point of view, what Alfonso XIII tried to do, had happened many times before, and since.

We can only ask the question whether the object that might have been present inside the crypt of Rennes-le-Château – if he could lay his hands on it – might have nevertheless aided him in his campaign to be recognised as the true French king. An object, for example, that might convince the people he was indeed a valid alternative as ruler of their country.
Nevertheless, Alfonso XIII died in Rome, on February 28, 1941, without ever succeeding in his ambitions. But knowing what we know, it is clear that any information was highly prized by the Germans. And we can only ask whether the quest for these papers – not parchments – was what also inspired de Chérisey. Let us note that his mission statement was clear: to enter the crypt of Rennes, and if he was able to do so, he would never be allowed to tell.

Isaac ben Jacob