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Mystery Man
- Joined
- Nov 24, 2000
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Some more food for thought 
Rennes-le-Chateau
The remote hilltop village of Rennes-le-Chateau in the Languedoc is a mecca for mystery buffs and New Agers, a natural theme park for those who like their history murky and more than a little labyrinthine. With its one main street and fewer than a hundred inhabitants, Rennes-le-Chateau attracts around 25,000 visitors a year - more each time another bestseller on The Mystery hits the bookstands.
Here we have undoubtedly the French Glastonbury (although considerably smaller and much more remote): groups of backpackers with beatific smiles intone 'Oms' outside (and occasionally inside) the infamous church, while arty British ex-pats - attracted to the mystery by the phenomenal bestseller The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail (1982) by Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh and Henry Lincoln - bewilder the locals with their accents and their antics.
Curiously, what draws this earnest horde to Rennes-le-Chateau was originally a very simple story, although it has accumulated a mass of rumour, conflicting hypotheses and plain intellectually challenged theorising over the years.1 It begins about 100 years ago with the strange activities and inexplicable wealth of the village priest, Francois Berenger Sauniere (1852-1917). Appointed to the parish in 1885, his salary was just 75 francs a month, but immediately after refurbishing the 11th-century church of St Mary Magdalene some six years later, he began spending money like a Lottery winner. Between then and his death he funded extensive refurbishment of the run-down church, complete with the now-famous bizarre decorations, which include: Stations of the Cross that incorporate many incongruous touches, such as a boy wearing a kilt; the words 'Terribilis est locus iste' ('This is a terrible place') inscribed over the entrance, and a hideous demon crouching just inside the porch. (In April 1996 its head was lopped off and stolen: it has been replaced, but the new version is, if anything, a caricature of a caricature.)
Sauniere also bought a major part of the village land and constructed his own domaine on it, which included ornamental gardens, ramparts overlooking the valley, a folly-like library called the Magdala Tower and an imposing house called the Villa Bethania. Like a typical eccentric Victorian gentleman of leisure, he spent vast sums on his collection of stamps, books and even exotic animals for his own private menagerie. And of course, there were the wild parties... he would spend up to 160,000 francs a month on the most luxurious food and drink (importing rum from Martinique for example). The Abbe Sauniere of that poverty-stricken parish was soon famous for his lavish entertaining: besides local worthies, his guests included a future government minister, a Hapsburg archduke and the renowned opera singer - and famous hostess of Parisian occult salons - Emma Calve.
In all, it is estimated that Sauniere spent 23million francs over a 20-odd-year period, and at the time of his death he was committed to spending a further 8million francs on ambitious building projects in the village (and on buying a motor car). He had several bank accounts, including one in Budapest.
Among the many activities that brought down the wrath of his superiors on Sauniere's head were his nocturnal excavations in the churchyard and his long absences from the village on unknown missions. In fact, he was suspended from his priestly duties, but when ordered to leave the village he refused to go, eventually dying there.
So, where did he get the money? There have been many theories, but none conclusive, including: a horde of treasure unearthed during renovations of the church, or parchments revealing some valuable secret he either sold or was paid not to reveal - or even that he used to blackmail the Vatican - or an object of legendary power such as the Ark of the Covenant or the Holy Grail itself. Other stories link Sauniere with sinister occult groups such as the notorious Priory of Sion.
Rennes-le-Chateau
The remote hilltop village of Rennes-le-Chateau in the Languedoc is a mecca for mystery buffs and New Agers, a natural theme park for those who like their history murky and more than a little labyrinthine. With its one main street and fewer than a hundred inhabitants, Rennes-le-Chateau attracts around 25,000 visitors a year - more each time another bestseller on The Mystery hits the bookstands.
Here we have undoubtedly the French Glastonbury (although considerably smaller and much more remote): groups of backpackers with beatific smiles intone 'Oms' outside (and occasionally inside) the infamous church, while arty British ex-pats - attracted to the mystery by the phenomenal bestseller The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail (1982) by Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh and Henry Lincoln - bewilder the locals with their accents and their antics.
Curiously, what draws this earnest horde to Rennes-le-Chateau was originally a very simple story, although it has accumulated a mass of rumour, conflicting hypotheses and plain intellectually challenged theorising over the years.1 It begins about 100 years ago with the strange activities and inexplicable wealth of the village priest, Francois Berenger Sauniere (1852-1917). Appointed to the parish in 1885, his salary was just 75 francs a month, but immediately after refurbishing the 11th-century church of St Mary Magdalene some six years later, he began spending money like a Lottery winner. Between then and his death he funded extensive refurbishment of the run-down church, complete with the now-famous bizarre decorations, which include: Stations of the Cross that incorporate many incongruous touches, such as a boy wearing a kilt; the words 'Terribilis est locus iste' ('This is a terrible place') inscribed over the entrance, and a hideous demon crouching just inside the porch. (In April 1996 its head was lopped off and stolen: it has been replaced, but the new version is, if anything, a caricature of a caricature.)
Sauniere also bought a major part of the village land and constructed his own domaine on it, which included ornamental gardens, ramparts overlooking the valley, a folly-like library called the Magdala Tower and an imposing house called the Villa Bethania. Like a typical eccentric Victorian gentleman of leisure, he spent vast sums on his collection of stamps, books and even exotic animals for his own private menagerie. And of course, there were the wild parties... he would spend up to 160,000 francs a month on the most luxurious food and drink (importing rum from Martinique for example). The Abbe Sauniere of that poverty-stricken parish was soon famous for his lavish entertaining: besides local worthies, his guests included a future government minister, a Hapsburg archduke and the renowned opera singer - and famous hostess of Parisian occult salons - Emma Calve.
In all, it is estimated that Sauniere spent 23million francs over a 20-odd-year period, and at the time of his death he was committed to spending a further 8million francs on ambitious building projects in the village (and on buying a motor car). He had several bank accounts, including one in Budapest.
Among the many activities that brought down the wrath of his superiors on Sauniere's head were his nocturnal excavations in the churchyard and his long absences from the village on unknown missions. In fact, he was suspended from his priestly duties, but when ordered to leave the village he refused to go, eventually dying there.
So, where did he get the money? There have been many theories, but none conclusive, including: a horde of treasure unearthed during renovations of the church, or parchments revealing some valuable secret he either sold or was paid not to reveal - or even that he used to blackmail the Vatican - or an object of legendary power such as the Ark of the Covenant or the Holy Grail itself. Other stories link Sauniere with sinister occult groups such as the notorious Priory of Sion.
