It was 1885 when a young priest named Bérenger Saunière took charge of the church at Rennes-le-Chateau, a tiny village near Toulouse in the Languedoc region of southern France. He was poor with no private resources, and his income from the parish was so small that it had to be supplemented by gifts from parishioners and by the fruits of his own hunting and fishing. But ten years later he was spending money like there was no tomorrow, indulging in land speculation, building villas and gardens, and - above all - providing some costly improvements for the village and its ancient church. When the Bishop asked him where all the money was coming from, he said it was a gift from exceedingly rich people whose identity and motivation for generosity he could not reveal because it was imparted to him within the privacy of the Confessional. And he took the secret with him when, in 1917, he died.
But most people who knew about the mystery (which became a cause célèbre in France) had their own ideas about where the money had come from. They firmly believed that the young priest had found buried treasure and had managed to sell it to buyers who agreed to keep his secret. It was even suggested that what he had found was the fabled 'lost treasure of Jerusalem' - a speculation supported by certain historical facts. To start with, the enormous wealth of ancient Judaea (sometimes called the 'treasure of Solomon') which was originally housed in the great Temple of Jerusalem, was seized by the Romans in AD 70, and it was put on display in Rome. Unfortunately, in AD410, the Visigoths sacked the city, and the booty disappeared. The Visigoths had conquered much of Western Europe by the end of the fifth century and had built several impressive cities and citadels. Among them was a hilltop city that became one of the last Visigoth strongholds as their power declined. With the passage of time that fortress city dwindled into an isolated hamlet which became, believe it or not, Rennes-le-Château.
So could it be that the treasure of the Visigoths, including the treasure of Jerusalem, was hidden in one of the natural caves or subterranean passages for which that mountainous region is renowned - the very village to which Bérenger Saunière came to live in 1885. Or could it have been some other hoard. It is possible that other only medieval people made use of those hiding places. The Franks, a major power in Gaul by the fifth Century AD, were ruled by a succession of kings whom history calls the Merovingians (because, so the legend says, they sprang from a semi-magical monarch named Merovech). And it is quite possible, that when the last of the active Merovingians, Dagobert II, was assassinated in the late seventh century, his son fled to Languedoc, carrying with him many of the dead king's treasures. And, according to local tradition, that young heir to Dagobert died and was buried in Rennes-le-Château.
Saunière must have been aware of the eventful history of the village and the area, and he knew that his crumbling little church, dating from 1059, had been built on top of a much older Visigoth structure. In 1891, he persuaded his parishioners to scrape up enough money to do some urgent repairs to the church. He had the altar stone removed - and found that one of the pillars on which it rested was hollow and contained old parchments. At first he thought that they were simply copies of parts of the Gospels, but on looking more closely he found what appeared to be signs of a complex code within the copied lines.
This part of the Saunière story is devoid of mystery. With the expert assistance of other clergymen in Paris, the code was apparently broken. Saunière recognized allusions to specific landmarks in the area around Rennes-le-château and noted, too, tempting references to Dagobert (the Merovingian king) and Zion (Judaea) linked with the magic word "treasure". As a first result of his researches he found some long-buried Merovingian relics and made no secret of it. But now the mystery begins; we can only guess at what happened afterwards to put him in possession of a fortune - though our guesswork is based on a solid foundation of fact.
Saunière himself left a number of clues. He took personal charge of the elaborate repairs and restoration of his church, and some of the decorations seem puzzling, incongruous, perhaps even blasphemous. For instance, many a clergyman who visits Rennes-le-Château must wonder why they are greeted by a phrase carved in stone above the church door, "Terribilis est locus iste" - "This place is terrible" - or why a grotesque statue of the demon Asmodeus stands at the church door, nearly the first thing you see as you enter. The most likely explanation for this and other strange and far from holy images within the church is that they provide clues to the source of the priest's wealth - hints that are like little private jokes. It takes special knowledge, for example, to be able to recognize Asmodeus as the legendary demonic guardian of the treasure of Jerusalem....
Along with what has long been suspected about Rennes-le-Château as a hidden treasure trove, the history of Saunière and the medieval church has encouraged many treasure-seekers to try to follow in his footsteps. So many, in fact, that exasperated villagers have erected signs that translate roughly as "No Digging". Nobody since Saunière, though, has found a thing. Nor has anyone located the eventual whereabouts of ornaments or jewellery that Saunière may have found and sold. Whatever the treasure was, and into whatever secretive hands it was transferred, the young priest probably got it all, leaving the rest of us with only tantalizing mysteries.
Bill Hutchings
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