Part 2: With one blow of a pick-axe against a pillar of the main altar Abbé Saunière uncovered the treasure of Blanche de Castile.

[Caption: From the tower of his library the Abbé could admire this amazing view.]

The dusk was rapidly descending on the countryside of the Aude as my friend's sputtering car took us at the same lively pace along the winding-roads leading to the heights of Rennes-le-Château.

On the horizon the first lights had already come on in the neighbouring village of Couiza, and the roadside foliage, swaying in the biting December wind, was already dappled with moonlight.

Soon the car was surging towards the top of the hill among the several-centuries-old stone debris of what used to be a queen's town, and the famous tower appeared before us as a black patch against a starry background like the culmination of a scene from a story by Edgar Allan Poe.

And the exact purpose of this night-time ramble?

Responding to the kind invitation by someone I'd met who came from the Limousin, namely Monsieur Noël Corbu, founder and owner of the Hotel La Tour in Rennes-le-Château.

This invitation was doubly welcome, because the promise of intense philosophical discussions was combined with the eagerness of a humble reporter from the Dépêche to make the acquaintance of the brother of the famous test-pilot Pierre Corbu, lost in 1927 with his companion Lacoste on the Oiseau Bleu when they were trying, for the third time, to cross the Atlantic, shortly after the tragic deaths of Nungesser and Coli.

At the table d'hôte... from a chicken-drumstick to the portrait in the living-room
The Hotel La Tour proved most welcoming, and the dining-table was full of gastronomic delights. Behind me, welcome warmth was provided by the playful flames of a real log-fire. Whether it was the lovely smile of Madame Corbu, the genuine friendliness of the other guests, the warm and melodious voice of the brilliant hotelier who owned the place, or the sparkling wines and the succulent repast – everything seemed to focus my attention and act as a delight to the eye as well as to the stomach. And there were delights of the mind to come as our hearts were warmed and our stomachs filled.

Now the time had come for the solemn “minute's silence” that should traditionally accompany the tasting of a chicken-leg. And it was this object indeed that found itself being pointed, in a questioning fashion, towards a portrait in a gold frame: the piercing expression of the priest depicted therein held my interest for some time.

“A relative, Monsieur Corbu?”

We had now done justice to the chicken-leg, but in the candle-light the warm glow of the log-fire and the bursting of the bubbles in the sparkling-wine were transported, eclipsed, indeed swept completely away by the story that Monsieur Corbu now told me – a story worthy of legend and yet completely true.

He placed a large and important-looking file in front of me. It was Abbé Saunière's journal, along with hundreds of letters, invoices, plans and other paperwork.

And so the story began...

A parchment roll under the main altar...
On 1 June 1885 Abbé Saunière, originally from Montazel near Couiza, and a man of modest origins, was appointed curé of Rennes-le-Château.

For a period of seven years – until 1892 – this young priest lived the obscure life of a country curate, dividing his time between reading his breviary, visiting members of his congregation and celebrating Mass. A splendid curé if ever there was one, generous to a fault according to his parishioners, and with a practical bent, which certainly came in handy when the main altar of the village church started to fall to bits. He immediately set about repairing it with the help of some financial support obtained here and there.

And it was through this that a “providential” blow with a pick-axe against one of the old pillars of the altar uncovered some hollow wooden rolls CONTAINING PARCHMENTS WRITTEN IN LATIN.

Needless to say, no one in Rennes-le-Château knew Latin (not even the Mayor, Monsieur Rivière, who, in any case, lived in Couiza) – no one, that is, except Abbé Saunière.

AND THIS IS WHERE THE MYSTERY REALLY BEGINS: the building-work was immediately halted, to be resumed some time later by the Abbé in person.

An inexhaustible horn of plenty...
Abbé Saunière not only repaired the main altar but the whole church: the stained-glass, the statues, the bas-reliefs and so on. The ball had been set rolling.

Nothing seemed to be able to stop him: the restoration of the presbytery, the church-garden, building a cemetery-wall, a Calvary... But the culmination came barely three years after the discovery of the precious parchments. Alongside the modest presbytery he began the construction of a sumptuous residence – the Villa Bethania, with its circular path, its Tour Magdala, its terrace, its greenhouses and so on. In total a million gold francs were spent in just four years.

The diocese of Carcassonne is worried...
The money certainly seemed to be flowing at Rennes-le-Château. Both VIPs and humbler folk had only to stretch out a hand to receive immediate satisfaction. But around 1908 Monseigneur de Beauséjour, Bishop of Carcassonne, disturbed by the Abbé's prodigality, asked him, and not without good reason, precisely where the money was coming from. Several times the Abbé was summoned to give an account of himself before the diocese.

But he turned a deaf ear. Exasperated by the Abbé's behaviour (and perhaps by other things which we don't know about) the Bishop had him charged with mass-trafficking, and then suspended him for failure to appear before the court.

The Court of the Judicial Vicar in Rome hesitates, and then...
Refusing to give in, the Abbé immediately appealed his sentence to the Court of the Judicial Vicar in Rome who, after two years, THREW THE CASE OUT ON THE GROUNDS THAT THE CHARGE HAD NOT BEEN PROVED (at least, according to the letters written by the Abbé's attorney, Canon Huguet).

Even so, constant pressure was applied to try to get the curé, under conditions of the strictest secrecy, to reveal the source of his wealth. But in vain: prayers, threats, entreaties... nothing could persuade the obstinate priest to part with his secret.

In a very yellowed and dog-eared copy of the Semaine religieuse for Saturday, 3 July 1915, I read the second ban on Saunière, this time a final one:

“For the diocesan administration of Carcassonne it is a pressing duty to inform the faithful that Abbé Saunière, former curé of Rennes-le-Château, and currently residing at that same place, has been, by judgment of the Officiality dated 5 December 1911, deprived of his sacerdotal powers, and that he must therefore no longer celebrate Holy Office, and that he will consequently be unable to acquit the mass intentions which have been entrusted to him.”

To be continued...