In some of these works there was additional information on the late nineteenth century, and specifically on Bérenger Saunière. According to one such "updated" account Saunière did not discover the fateful parchments in his church by accident. On the contrary, he is said to have been directed to them by emissaries of the Prieuré de Sion who visited him at Rennes-le-Château and enlisted him as their factotum. In late 1916 Saunière is reported to have defied the emissaries of Sion and quarreled with them.40 If this is true, the curé’s death in January 1917 acquires a more sinister quality than is generally ascribed to it. Ten days before his death he had been in satisfactory health. Nevertheless, ten days before his death a coffin was ordered on his behalf. The receipt for the coffin, dated January 12, 1917, is made out to Saunière’s confidante and housekeeper, Marie Denarnaud.
A more recent and, if anything, more apparently authoritative "Prieuré" publication elaborates further on Saunière’s story—and would seem to confirm, at least in part, the account summarized above. According to this publication Saunière himself was little more than a pawn and his role in the mystery of Rennes-le-Château has been much exaggerated. The real force behind the events at the mountain village is said to have been Saunière’s friend, the Abbé Henri Boudet, cure of the adjacent village of Rennes-les-Bains.41
Boudet is said to have provided Saunière with all his money—a total of thirteen million francs between 1887 and 1915. And Boudet is said to have guided Saunière on his various projects—the public works, the construction of the Villa Bethania and the Tour Magdala. He is also said to have supervised the restoration of the church at Rennes-le-Château and to have designed Saunière’s perplexing Stations of the Cross as a kind of illustrated version, or visual equivalent, of a cryptic book of his own.
According to this recent "Prieuré" publication, Saunière remained essentially ignorant of the real secret for which he acted as custodian— until Boudet, in the throes of approaching death, confided it to him in March 1915. According to the same publication Marie Denarnaud, Saunière’s housekeeper, was in fact Boudet’s agent. It was through her that Boudet supposedly transmitted instructions to Saunière. And it was to her that all money was made payable. Or, rather, most money. For Boudet, between 1885 and 1901, is said to have paid 7,655,250 francs to the bishop of Carcassonne—the man who, at his own expense, dispatched Saunière to Paris with the parchments. The bishop, too, would seem then to have been essentially in Boudet’s employ. It is certainly an incongruous situation—an important regional bishop being the paid servitor of a humble, backwater parish priest. And the parish priest himself? For whom was Boudet working? What interests did he represent? What can have given him the power to enlist the services, and the silence, of his ecclesiastical superior? And who can have furnished him with such vast financial resources to be dispensed so prodigally? These questions are not answered explicitly. But the answer is constantly implicit—the Prieuré de Sion.
Further light was shed on the matter by another recent work— which, like its predecessors, seemed to draw on "privileged sources" of information. The work in question is Le Trésor du triangle d’or ("The Treasure of the Golden Triangle") by Jean-Luc Chaumeil, published in 1979. According to M. Chaumeil a number of clerics involved in the enigma of Rennes-le-Château-Saunière, Boudet, quite probably others like Hoffet, Hoffet’s uncle at Saint Sulpice, and the bishop of Carcassonne—were affiliated with a form of Scottish Rite Freemasonry. This Freemasonry, M. Chaumeil declares, differed from most other forms in that it was "Christian, Hermetic, and aristocratic." In short, it did not, like many rites of Freemasonry, consist primarily of freethinkers and atheists. On the contrary, it seems to have been deeply religious and magically oriented—emphasizing a sacred social and political hierarchy, a divine order, an underlying cosmic plan. And the upper grades or degrees of this Freemasonry, according to M. Chaumeil, were the lower grades or degrees of the Prieuré de Sion.42
In our own researches we had already encountered a Freemasonry of the sort M. Chaumeil describes. Indeed, M. Chaumeil’s description could readily be applied to the original Scottish Rite introduced by Charles Radclyffe and his associates. Both Radclyffe’s Masonry and the Masonry M. Chaumeil describes would have been acceptable, despite papal condemnation, to devout Catholics—whether eighteenth-century Jacobites or nineteenth-century French priests. In both cases, Rome certainly disapproved—and quite vehemently. Nevertheless, the individuals involved seem not only to have persisted in regarding themselves as Christians and Catholics; they also seem, on the basis of available evidence, to have received a major and exhilarating transfusion of faith—a transfusion that enabled them to see themselves as, if anything, more truly Christian than the papacy.
Although M. Chaumeil is both vague and evasive, he strongly implies that in the years prior to 1914 the Freemasonry of which Boudet and Saunière were members became amalgamated with another esoteric institution. This institution might well explain some of the curious references to a monarch in the Protocols of the Elders of Sion—especially if, as M. Chaumeil further intimates, the real power behind this other institution was also the Prieuré de Sion.
The institution in question was called the Hiéron du Val d’Or— which would seem to be a verbal transposition of that recurring site, Orval.43 The Hiéron du Val d’Or was a species of secret political society founded, it would appear, around 1873. It seems to have shared much with other esoteric organizations of the period. There was, for example, a characteristic emphasis on sacred geometry and various sacred sites. There was an insistence on a mystical or Gnostic truth underlying mythological motifs. There was a preoccupation with the origins of men, races, languages, and symbols, such as occurs in Theosophy. And like many other sects and societies of the time, the Hiéron du Val d’Or was simultaneously Christian and "trans-Christian." It stressed the importance of the Sacred Heart, for instance, yet linked the Sacred Heart with other, pre-Christian symbols. It sought to reconcile—as the legendary Ormus was said to have reconciled—Christian and pagan mysteries. And it ascribed special significance to Druidic thought—which it, like many modern experts, regarded as partially Pythagorean. All of these themes are adumbrated in the published work of Saunière’s friend, the Abbé Henri Boudet.
For the purposes of our inquiry the Hiéron du Val d’Or proved relevant by virtue of its formulation of what M. Chaumeil calls an esoteric geo-politics and an ethnarchical world order. Translated into more mundane terms this entailed, in effect, the establishment of a new Holy Roman Empire in nineteenth-century Europe—a revitalized and reconstituted Holy Roman Empire, a secular state that unified all peoples and rested ultimately on spiritual, rather than social, political, or economic foundations. Unlike its predecessor, this new Holy Roman Empire would have been genuinely "holy," genuinely "Roman," and genuinely "imperial"—although the specific meaning of these terms would have differed crucially from the meaning accepted by tradition and convention. Such a state would have realized the centuries-old dream of a "heavenly kingdom" on earth, a terrestrial replica or mirror image of the order, harmony, and hierarchy of the cosmos. It would have actualized the ancient Hermetic premise, "As above, so below." And it was not altogether Utopian or naive. On the contrary, it was at least remotely feasible in the context of late nineteenth-century Europe.
According to M. Chaumeil, the objectives of the Hiéron du Val d’Or were:
a theocracy wherein nations would be no more than provinces, their leaders but proconsuls in the service of a world occult government consisting of an elite. For Europe, this regime of the Great King implied a double hegemony of the Papacy and the Empire, of the Vatican and of the Habsburgs, who would have been the Vatican’s right arm.44
By the nineteenth century, of course, the Hapsburgs were synonymous with the house of Lorraine. The concept of a "Great King" would thus have constituted a fulfillment of Nostradamus’ prophecies. And it would also have actualized, at least in some sense, the monarchist blueprint outlin
ed in the Protocols of the Elders of Sion. At the same time the realization of so grandiose a design would clearly have entailed a number of changes in existing institutions. The Vatican, for example, would presumably have been a very different Vatican from the one then situated in Rome. And the Hapsburgs would have been more than imperial heads of state. They would have become, in effect, a dynasty of priest-kings, like the pharaohs of ancient Egypt. Or like the Messiah anticipated by the Jews at the dawn of the Christian era.
M. Chaumeil does not clarify the extent, if any, to which the Hapsburgs themselves were actively involved in these ambitious clandestine designs. There is a quantity of evidence, however— including the visit of a Hapsburg archduke to Rennes-le-Château-that seemingly attests to at least some implication. But whatever plans were afoot, they would have been thwarted by the First World War, which, among other things, toppled the Hapsburgs from power.
As M. Chaumeil explained them, the objectives of the Hiéron du Val d’Or—or of the Prieuré de Sion—made a certain logical sense in the context of what we had discovered. They shed new light on the Protocols of the Elders of Sion. They concurred with the stated objectives of various secret societies, including those of Charles Radclyffe and Charles Nodier. Most important of all, they conformed to the political aspirations that, through the centuries, we had traced in the house of Lorraine.
But if the Hiéron du Val d’Or’s objectives made logical sense, they did not make practical political sense. On what basis, we wondered, would the Hapsburgs have asserted their right to function as a dynasty of priest-kings? Unless it commanded overwhelming popular support, such a right could not possibly have been asserted against the republican government of France—not to mention the imperial dynasties then presiding over Russia, Germany, and Britain. And how could the necessary popular support have been obtained?
In the context of nineteenth-century political realities such a scheme, while logically consistent, seemed to us effectively absurd. Perhaps, we concluded, we had misconstrued the Hiéron du Val d’Or. Or perhaps M. Chaumeil had misconstrued the Hiéron du Val d’Or. Or perhaps the members of the Hiéron du Val d’Or were quite simply potty.
Until we obtained further information we had no choice but to shelve the matter. In the meantime we turned our attention to the present—to determine whether the Prieuré de Sion existed today. As we quickly discovered, it did. Its members were not at all potty, and they were pursuing, in the postwar twentieth century, a program essentially similar to that pursued in the nineteenth by the Hiéron du Val d’Or.
8
The Secret Society Today
The French Journal Officiel is a weekly government publication in which all groups, societies, and organizations in the country must declare themselves. In the Journal Officiel for the week of July 20, 1956 (Issue Number 167), there is the following entry:
25 juin 1956. Déclaration à la sous-préfecture de Saint-Julien-en-Genevois. Prieuré de Sion. But: études et entr’aide des membres. Siège social: Sous-Cassan, Annemasse (Haute Savoie).
June 25, 1956. Declaration to the Sub-Prefecture of Saint-Julien-en-Genevois. Prieuré de Sion. Objective: studies and mutual aid to members. Head office: Sous-Cassan, Annemasse, Haute Savoie.
The Prieuré de Sion was officially registered with the police. Here, at any rate, appeared to be definitive proof of its existence in our own age—even though we found it somewhat odd that a supposedly secret society should thus broadcast itself. But perhaps it was not so odd after all. There was no listing for the Prieuré de Sion in any French telephone directory. The address proved too vague to allow us to identify a specific office, house, building, or even street. And the subprefecture, when we rang them, were of little help. There had been numerous inquiries, they said, with weary, long-suffering resignation. But they could provide no further information. As far as they knew, the address was untraceable. If nothing else, this gave us pause. Among other things it made us wonder how certain individuals had contrived to register a fictitious or nonexistent address with the police and then, apparently, escape all subsequent consequences and prosecution of the matter. Were the police really as insouciant and indifferent as they sounded? Or had Sion somehow enlisted their cooperation and discretion?
The subprefecture, at our request, provided us with a copy of what purported to be the Prieuré de Sion’s statutes. This document, which consisted of twenty-one articles, was neither controversial nor particularly illuminating. It did not, for example, clarify the order’s objectives. It gave no indication of Sion’s possible influence, membership, or resources. On the whole it was rather bland—while at the same time compounding our perplexity. At one point, for instance, the statutes declared that admission to the order was not to be restricted on the basis of language, social origin, class, or political ideology. At another point they stipulated that all Catholics over the age of twenty-one were eligible for candidature. Indeed, the statutes in general appeared to have issued from a piously, even fervently Catholic institution. And yet Sion’s alleged grand masters and past history, insofar as we had been able to trace them, hardly attested to any orthodox Catholicism. For that matter even the modern "Prieuré documents," many of them published at the same time as the statutes, were less Catholic in orientation than Hermetic, even heretically Gnostic. The contradiction seemed to make no sense— unless Sion, like the Knights Templar and the Compagnie du Saint-Sacraement, demanded Catholicism as an exoteric prerequisite, which might then be transcended within the order. At any rate, Sion, like the Temple and the Compagnie du Saint-Sacrement, apparently demanded an obedience that, in its absolute nature, subsumed all other commitments, secular or spiritual. According to Article VII of the statutes, "The candidate must renounce his personality in order to devote himself to the service of a high moral apostolate."
The statutes further declare that Sion functions under the subtitle of Chevalerie d’Institutions et Règles Catholiques, d’Union Independente et Traditionaliste (Chivalry of Catholic Rules and Institutions of the Independent and Traditionalist Union). This abbreviates to CIRCUIT1— the name of a magazine that, according to the statutes, is published internally by the order and circulated within its ranks.
Perhaps the most interesting information in the statutes is that since 1956 the Prieuré de Sion would seem to have expanded its membership almost fivefold. According to a page reproduced in the Dossiers secrets, printed sometime before 1956, Sion had a total of 1,093 members ranked in seven grades. The structure was traditionally pyramidal. At the top was the grand master or "Nautonnier." There were three in the grade below him ("Prince Noachite de Notre Dame"), nine in the grade below that ("Croisé de Saint-Jean"). Each grade from here downward was three times as large as the grade before it—27, 81, 243, 729. The three highest grades—the grand master and his twelve immediate subordinates—were said to constitute the thirteen "Rose-Croix." The number would also, of course, correspond to anything from a satanic coven to Jesus and his twelve disciples.
According to the post-1956 statutes Sion had a total membership of 9,841 ranked not in seven grades but in nine. The structure seemed to have remained essentially the same, although it was clarified, and two new grades had been introduced at the bottom of the hierarchy—thus further insulating the leadership behind a larger network of novices. The grand master still retained the title of "Nautonnier." The three "Princes Noachites de Notre Dame" were simply called Seneschals. The nine "Croisés de Saint-Jean" were called Constables. The organization of the order, in the portentously enigmatic jargon of the statutes, was as follows:
The general assembly is composed of all members of the association. It consists of 729 provinces, 27 commanderies and an Arch designated "Kyria."
Each of the commanderies, as well as the Arch, must consist of forty members, each province of thirteen members.
The members are divided into two effective groups:
a. The Legion, charged with the apostolate.
b. The Phalange, guardian
of the Tradition.
The members compose a hierarchy of nine grades.
The hierarchy of nine grades consists of:
a. in the 729 provinces
b. in the 27 commanderies
c. in the Arch "Kyria":
Apparently for official bureaucratic and legal purposes, four individuals were listed as comprising "The Council." Three of the names were unfamiliar to us and, quite possibly, pseudonyms—André Bonhomme, born December 7, 1934, President; Jean Deleaval, born March 7, 1931, Vice-President; Armand Defago, born December 11, 1928, Treasurer. One name, however, we had encountered before— Pierre Plantard, born March 18, 1920, Secretary-General. According to the research of another writer, M. Plantard’s official title was Secretary-General of the Department of Documentation—which implies, of course, that there are other departments as well.
ALAIN POHER
By the early 1970s the Prieuré de Sion had become a modest cause célèbre among certain people in France. There were a number of magazine articles and some newspaper coverage. On February 13, 1973, the Midi Libre published a lengthy feature on Sion, Saunière, and the mystery of Rennes-le-Château. This feature specifically linked Sion with a possible survival of the Merovingian bloodline into the twentieth century. It also suggested that the Merovingian descendants included a "true pretender to the throne of France," whom it identified as M. Alain Poher. 3
While not especially well known in Britain or the United States, Alain Poher was (and still is) a household name in France. During the Second World War he won both the Resistance Medal and the Croix de Guerre. Following the resignation of de Gaulle, he was Provisional President of France from April 28 to June 19, 1969. He occupied the same position on the death of Georges Pompidou, from April 2 to May 27, 1974. In 1973, when the feature in the Midi Libre appeared, M. Poher was president of the French senate.
Holy Blood, Holy Grail Page 23