translated by Jason Colavito
2026
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NOTE |
Michel de Nostradame, better known as Nostradamus (1503-1566), was among the most famous astrologers of the Renaissance, but by no means the only one. His collection of 942 prophecies in the form of quatrains, Les Prophéties, more commonly called The Centuries, proved ambiguous enough to apply to nearly any event over the five intervening centuries. Controversial even in his own time, his claimed prophetic power inspired passionate belief and equally passionate disbelief. Several important books were written for and against Nostradamus after his death. In 1862, the French journalist Paul Lacroix (writing as P. L. Jacob) published a chapter about Nostradamus and his fellow sixteenth century prophets in his book on the occult sciences, excerpting many of these books, and in 1922, the French occultist Émile-Jules Grillot de Givry (1874-1929) published a selection of the Centuries along with the events he believed they foretold, all of which just happened to be parts of French history in the period leading up to 1922, including events now too obscure for believers today to suppose Nostradamus foretold. Below, I translate the introductory remarks from Grillot de Grivy, his selection of the Centuries and their supposed meaning, and the pages from Jacob on Nostradamus and his rivals.
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NOSTRADAMUS
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THE PROPHECIES
OF MASTER MICHEL NOSTRADAMUS
The blood of the just shall be wanting in London;
Burnt by the fires of twenty-three, the six;
The ancient lady shall fall from her high place;
Of the same sect, many shall be slain
(Centurie II, 52.) The death of Marie Stuart.
With weapons in hand until the year six hundred and ten,
His life extending no further than these wars.
(Six-line stanza published in 1605.) Assassination of Henry IV.
This great monarch who shall succeed the deceased
Shall lead a life illicit and licentious;
Through negligence, he shall concede to all
That, in the end, the Salic Law must be invoked.
(Centurie V, 38.) Louis XV.
The first third [of his reign] shall be worse than Nero’s;
He shall be seen as valiant only in shedding human blood;
He shall cause the furnace to be rebuilt;
The Golden Age shall die; under the new King, a great scandal.
(IX, 17.) The French Revolution.
The well-to-do shall suddenly be stripped of their wealth;
Through the three brothers, the world shall be thrown into turmoil;
Enemies shall seize the maritime city;
Famine, fire, blood, plague—and a double measure of every woe.
(VIII, 17.) Abolition of privileges.
By night he shall come through the forest of Reines,
Taking two paths via Vaultorte and the White Stone:
The monk in grey shall be found within Varennes;
The elected Cap [King] shall cause tempest, fire, and bloody strife.
(IX, 20.) Louis XVI’s Flight to Varennes.
The King and his court, in a place of foreign tongue,
Shall be held within the Temple, opposite the Palace;
In the garden shall be the Dukes of Mantor and Alba--
Alba and Mantor: the dagger, the tongue, and the Palace.
(IX, 22.) Louis XVI’s Captivity in the Temple.
Letters found in the Queen’s chests,
Bearing no signature nor author’s name;
By the police shall the offers be concealed,
So that none shall know who the suitor was.
(VIII, 23.) Opening of Marie Antoinette’s iron cabinet, November 20, 1792.
From Lake Leman, sermons shall cause vexation;
Days shall be reduced to weeks,
Then months, then years, until all shall fail;
The magistrates shall condemn their own vain laws.
(I, 47.) The Republican Calendar.
A conspired death shall come to full effect,
A charge brought forth, and a journey unto death:
The elected one—created and received by his own—is undone;
The blood of the innocent lies before him, causing deep remorse.
(VIII, 87.) Execution of Louis XVI.
The reign seized, the King shall be conspired against;
The Lady seized—condemned to death by lot;
Life shall be denied to the Queen and her son,
And the concubine shall be cast out from her place of strength.
(IX, 77.) Death of Marie Antoinette.
The usurper shall not recognize his scepter;
The young children [stripped] of their highest honors:
Never before was seen a cruelty so vile;
For the sake of their wives, he shall banish them to a dark death.
(X, 67.) Captivity of Louis XVII.
From the deepest depths of Western Europe,
From poor folk a young child shall be born,
Who by his tongue shall seduce a great multitude,
Whose fame shall grow even in the realm of the East.
(III, 35.) Napoleon Bonaparte.
From simple soldier he shall rise to empire,
From short robe he shall rise to the long:
Valiant in arms, in the Church or worse,
Vexing the priests as water does a sponge.
(VIII, 67.) Napoleon, Emperor.
The two malign ones joined in Scorpio,
The great lord murdered within his hall;
A plague upon the Church by the new
King joined; [afflicting] Southern and Northern Europe.
(I, 52.) The quarrel between Napoleon and the Pope.
The great Empire shall be wholly transferred
To a small place that shall soon begin to grow,
A most lowly place of a tiny county,
Wherein, in the very center, he shall set his scepter.
(I, 32.) Napoleon on the Isle of Elba.
The leader of Fossano with throat cut,
By the handler of the bloodhound and greyhound:
The deed done by those of the Tarpeian Mount,
Saturn in Leo, the 13th of February.
(III, 96.) Assassination of the Duke of Berry, February 13, 1820.
For seven years shall Philip prosper in fortune;
He shall humble the might of the Arabs;
Then, at his meridian, a perplexing reversal of affairs;
A young upstart shall seal his doom.
(IX, 89.) Louis-Philippe.
By the decision of two illegitimate claimants,
A nephew of the blood shall seize the throne;
Within the bedchamber shall the dagger-thrusts fall;
The nephew, out of fear, shall strike his colors.
(VIII, 43.) Napoleon III.
From humble soil and lowly lineage,
Through toil and peace she shall rise to the Empire;
Long shall a young female reign--
One than whom none worse has ever appeared in the realm.
(III, 28.) Empress Eugénie.
Around the Pyrenees mountains, great throngs
Of foreign folk shall come to aid a new King;
Near the Garonne, by the great temple of Mas,
A Roman leader shall hold him in awe within Pau.
(VI, 1.) The Apparition at Lourdes in the Massabielle rocks.
The horrible war that gathers in the West--
The following year shall bring the pestilence;
So dreadful shall it be that neither young, nor old, nor beast shall be spared:
Blood, fire, Mercury, Mars, and Jupiter in France.
(IX, 4.) The War of 1870 and the Commune.
For six days the assault is launched against the city:
A fierce and bitter battle shall be waged:
Three shall surrender it, and be granted pardon;
The rest shall be put to the sword, amidst fire and blood.
(III, 22.) Sedan.
The Celtic river shall change its banks;
The city of Agrippina shall hold out no longer;
All shall be transformed, save for the ancient tongue;
Saturn, Leo, Mars, and Cancer—all bent on plunder.
(VI, 40.) Loss of Alsace-Lorraine.
Celestial fire strikes the Royal edifice,
When the light of Mars begins to wane;
Seven months of great war, death to those of evil intent;
Rouen and Évreux shall not fail their King.
(IV, 100.) The Burning of the Tuileries.
Arriving late, the execution already carried out;
Adverse winds, letters intercepted on the road;
The conspirators—fourteen of a single sect--
Their plot exposed by Rousseau.
(I, 7.) The Dreyfus Affair — The 14 Conspirators. Waldeck-Rousseau.
From this enterprise shall come great confusion,
A loss of men and treasure beyond reckoning;
You must not yet commit your full strength to it;
France—heed my words—ensure that you are remembered.
(III, 24.) The War of 1914.
A bridge of small boats shall be swiftly built,
To allow the army of the great Belgian Prince to cross;
In the depths, and not far from Brussels,
They shall pass beyond, and entrench themselves steeply.
(IV, 81.) Belgium: Trench Warfare.
And fair-haired Ferdinand shall be deserted,
Forsaking the flower to follow the Macedonian;
In his hour of greatest need, his path shall fail him,
And he shall march against the Myrmidon.
(IX, 35.) Ferdinand of Bulgaria.
The great one of the thunderbolt falls in the light of day--
A dire event, foretold by a messenger;
Following this omen, another falls in the dead of night:
Conflict in Reims and London; pestilence in Etruria.
(I, 26.) The Bombardment of Paris by “Big Bertha”; the Bombardment of Reims, London, and Italy.
With the passing of the flowers, the world diminishes;
For a long time, peace shall reign over uninhabited lands;
Men shall travel safely across the sky, land, and sea,
Until, once again, wars are stirred up anew.
(I, 63.) The Post-War Era.
Burnt by the fires of twenty-three, the six;
The ancient lady shall fall from her high place;
Of the same sect, many shall be slain
(Centurie II, 52.) The death of Marie Stuart.
With weapons in hand until the year six hundred and ten,
His life extending no further than these wars.
(Six-line stanza published in 1605.) Assassination of Henry IV.
This great monarch who shall succeed the deceased
Shall lead a life illicit and licentious;
Through negligence, he shall concede to all
That, in the end, the Salic Law must be invoked.
(Centurie V, 38.) Louis XV.
The first third [of his reign] shall be worse than Nero’s;
He shall be seen as valiant only in shedding human blood;
He shall cause the furnace to be rebuilt;
The Golden Age shall die; under the new King, a great scandal.
(IX, 17.) The French Revolution.
The well-to-do shall suddenly be stripped of their wealth;
Through the three brothers, the world shall be thrown into turmoil;
Enemies shall seize the maritime city;
Famine, fire, blood, plague—and a double measure of every woe.
(VIII, 17.) Abolition of privileges.
By night he shall come through the forest of Reines,
Taking two paths via Vaultorte and the White Stone:
The monk in grey shall be found within Varennes;
The elected Cap [King] shall cause tempest, fire, and bloody strife.
(IX, 20.) Louis XVI’s Flight to Varennes.
The King and his court, in a place of foreign tongue,
Shall be held within the Temple, opposite the Palace;
In the garden shall be the Dukes of Mantor and Alba--
Alba and Mantor: the dagger, the tongue, and the Palace.
(IX, 22.) Louis XVI’s Captivity in the Temple.
Letters found in the Queen’s chests,
Bearing no signature nor author’s name;
By the police shall the offers be concealed,
So that none shall know who the suitor was.
(VIII, 23.) Opening of Marie Antoinette’s iron cabinet, November 20, 1792.
From Lake Leman, sermons shall cause vexation;
Days shall be reduced to weeks,
Then months, then years, until all shall fail;
The magistrates shall condemn their own vain laws.
(I, 47.) The Republican Calendar.
A conspired death shall come to full effect,
A charge brought forth, and a journey unto death:
The elected one—created and received by his own—is undone;
The blood of the innocent lies before him, causing deep remorse.
(VIII, 87.) Execution of Louis XVI.
The reign seized, the King shall be conspired against;
The Lady seized—condemned to death by lot;
Life shall be denied to the Queen and her son,
And the concubine shall be cast out from her place of strength.
(IX, 77.) Death of Marie Antoinette.
The usurper shall not recognize his scepter;
The young children [stripped] of their highest honors:
Never before was seen a cruelty so vile;
For the sake of their wives, he shall banish them to a dark death.
(X, 67.) Captivity of Louis XVII.
From the deepest depths of Western Europe,
From poor folk a young child shall be born,
Who by his tongue shall seduce a great multitude,
Whose fame shall grow even in the realm of the East.
(III, 35.) Napoleon Bonaparte.
From simple soldier he shall rise to empire,
From short robe he shall rise to the long:
Valiant in arms, in the Church or worse,
Vexing the priests as water does a sponge.
(VIII, 67.) Napoleon, Emperor.
The two malign ones joined in Scorpio,
The great lord murdered within his hall;
A plague upon the Church by the new
King joined; [afflicting] Southern and Northern Europe.
(I, 52.) The quarrel between Napoleon and the Pope.
The great Empire shall be wholly transferred
To a small place that shall soon begin to grow,
A most lowly place of a tiny county,
Wherein, in the very center, he shall set his scepter.
(I, 32.) Napoleon on the Isle of Elba.
The leader of Fossano with throat cut,
By the handler of the bloodhound and greyhound:
The deed done by those of the Tarpeian Mount,
Saturn in Leo, the 13th of February.
(III, 96.) Assassination of the Duke of Berry, February 13, 1820.
For seven years shall Philip prosper in fortune;
He shall humble the might of the Arabs;
Then, at his meridian, a perplexing reversal of affairs;
A young upstart shall seal his doom.
(IX, 89.) Louis-Philippe.
By the decision of two illegitimate claimants,
A nephew of the blood shall seize the throne;
Within the bedchamber shall the dagger-thrusts fall;
The nephew, out of fear, shall strike his colors.
(VIII, 43.) Napoleon III.
From humble soil and lowly lineage,
Through toil and peace she shall rise to the Empire;
Long shall a young female reign--
One than whom none worse has ever appeared in the realm.
(III, 28.) Empress Eugénie.
Around the Pyrenees mountains, great throngs
Of foreign folk shall come to aid a new King;
Near the Garonne, by the great temple of Mas,
A Roman leader shall hold him in awe within Pau.
(VI, 1.) The Apparition at Lourdes in the Massabielle rocks.
The horrible war that gathers in the West--
The following year shall bring the pestilence;
So dreadful shall it be that neither young, nor old, nor beast shall be spared:
Blood, fire, Mercury, Mars, and Jupiter in France.
(IX, 4.) The War of 1870 and the Commune.
For six days the assault is launched against the city:
A fierce and bitter battle shall be waged:
Three shall surrender it, and be granted pardon;
The rest shall be put to the sword, amidst fire and blood.
(III, 22.) Sedan.
The Celtic river shall change its banks;
The city of Agrippina shall hold out no longer;
All shall be transformed, save for the ancient tongue;
Saturn, Leo, Mars, and Cancer—all bent on plunder.
(VI, 40.) Loss of Alsace-Lorraine.
Celestial fire strikes the Royal edifice,
When the light of Mars begins to wane;
Seven months of great war, death to those of evil intent;
Rouen and Évreux shall not fail their King.
(IV, 100.) The Burning of the Tuileries.
Arriving late, the execution already carried out;
Adverse winds, letters intercepted on the road;
The conspirators—fourteen of a single sect--
Their plot exposed by Rousseau.
(I, 7.) The Dreyfus Affair — The 14 Conspirators. Waldeck-Rousseau.
From this enterprise shall come great confusion,
A loss of men and treasure beyond reckoning;
You must not yet commit your full strength to it;
France—heed my words—ensure that you are remembered.
(III, 24.) The War of 1914.
A bridge of small boats shall be swiftly built,
To allow the army of the great Belgian Prince to cross;
In the depths, and not far from Brussels,
They shall pass beyond, and entrench themselves steeply.
(IV, 81.) Belgium: Trench Warfare.
And fair-haired Ferdinand shall be deserted,
Forsaking the flower to follow the Macedonian;
In his hour of greatest need, his path shall fail him,
And he shall march against the Myrmidon.
(IX, 35.) Ferdinand of Bulgaria.
The great one of the thunderbolt falls in the light of day--
A dire event, foretold by a messenger;
Following this omen, another falls in the dead of night:
Conflict in Reims and London; pestilence in Etruria.
(I, 26.) The Bombardment of Paris by “Big Bertha”; the Bombardment of Reims, London, and Italy.
With the passing of the flowers, the world diminishes;
For a long time, peace shall reign over uninhabited lands;
Men shall travel safely across the sky, land, and sea,
Until, once again, wars are stirred up anew.
(I, 63.) The Post-War Era.
PREDICTIONS
P. L. Jacobs
The author of The Elucidation of Nostradamus’s Quatrains relates the following account:
“While visiting Monsieur and Madame de Florinville at the Château de Fains (near Bar-le-Duc), I learned from them that the Sieur de Nostradamus was staying there. It was there that he attended upon Madame de Florinville—grandmother to the current Lord of Florinville—and where the following incident occurred; a tale which, being rather amusing, has been recounted in various places. Monsieur de Florinville, while strolling through the courtyard of his château in the company of the Sieur de Nostradamus, spotted two suckling pigs: one white, the other black. Upon seeing them, he asked the Sieur de Nostradamus, merely for the sake of amusement, what would become of these two little beasts. Nostradamus replied instantly: ‘We shall eat the black one, and the wolf shall eat the white one.’ Monsieur de Florinville, wishing to prove the prophet wrong, secretly ordered his cook to slaughter the white pig and serve it for supper. The cook killed the white pig, dressed it, and placed it on the spit, ready to be roasted when the appointed hour arrived. However, while the cook was briefly away from the kitchen attending to other matters, a young wolf which was being kept and hand-reared in an attempt to tame it wandered in and devoured the hindquarters of the white pig that lay ready for roasting. The cook returned just then; fearing a severe reprimand from his master, he seized the black pig instead, slaughtered and dressed it, and served it that evening for supper. Thus, Monsieur de Florinville turned to Nostradamus and said: ‘Well, Monsieur, as you can see, we are now eating the white pig, and the wolf has not touched it.’ ‘I beg to differ,’ replied Nostradamus; ‘it is the black one that lies upon the table.’ The cook was immediately summoned; he admitted to the mishap, which served as an even more delightful dish for the company.
“In that same locality of Fains, he forewarned several people that, within the mountain bordering the château, lay a hidden treasure—one that would never be found if sought out intentionally, but which would be uncovered when the ground was dug for some other purpose.
“There is a ring of plausibility to this prediction,” adds our author, “for the idolaters had once built a magnificent temple there; indeed, whenever one excavates the site, one frequently unearths some piece of antiquity beneath the pickaxe and spade.”
[Onetime royal official Baltazar] Guynaud composed a historical commentary [1] to demonstrate that the events predicted by Nostradamus have indeed come to pass. Here are a few excerpts from this truly curious book:
Centurie vii, quatrain 39:
L’Aîné royal, sur coursier voltigeant,
Picquer viendra si rudement courir,
Gueule lipée, pied dans l’étrieu ploignant,
Traîné, tiré, horriblement mourir.
[The Royal Heir, upon a prancing steed,
Shall come to charge with such fierce speed;
With gaping maw and foot caught in the stirrup,
Dragged and pulled, to die a death most horrible.]
“The historian Sainte-Marthe, in Book IV—speaking of the House of France—as well as the Memoirs of Languedoc by Catel, state that Henry d’Albret, second of that name, King of Navarre, met his death while schooling a horse on May 25, 1555. He was the eldest son of John III, who subsequently became King of Navarre in his brother’s stead. While handling the animal, the prince spurred it so sharply, and the horse bolted with such velocity, that Henry, realizing the peril he was in, yanked back on the reins with such violence that the horse’s mouth was torn open... The horse, driven by its momentum and fury, began to rear and kick; consequently, the King was thrown from the saddle, yet his foot remained caught in the stirrup. In this helpless state, he was dragged and hauled along for a considerable time, and as a result, he died that very same day.”
Centurie X, quatrain 39. [2]
Premier fils vefve, malheureux mariage,
Sans nuls enfants, deux isles en discord,
Avant dix-huit, incompétant aage:
De l’autre près plus bas sera l’accord.
[First son, widowed; an unhappy marriage,
Leaving no children behind; two islands in discord;
Before the age of eighteen—an incompetent age--
The accord shall be reached closer to the other side, and lower down.]
“On September 14 of that same year, 1560, Francis II died at the age of approximately fifteen, having thus reigned as King of France for only about thirteen or fourteen months. The prophecy is self-explanatory, as he was the eldest son and the ‘First Son of France’: he had married Mary Stuart, Princess of England, and died as King of Scotland, a realm over which he also reigned by virtue of his wife, whom he left a widow and childless. This is precisely what the prophecy states: ‘First son widowed, unhappy marriage, without any children, two islands in discord.’ At the same time, the author foretells the discord that Francis II’s death would sow between the two queens, the Queen of England and the Queen of Scotland (his widow). The third and final lines—’Before eighteen, an incompetent age; with the next nearest, the accord shall be lower’—signify that Charles IX, his brother (who stood next in line to the throne), would succeed him, and that he would subsequently marry before reaching the age of eighteen. ‘The accord shall be lower’ implies, that is to say, that peace would be established shortly thereafter.”
“Omens concerning the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, which took place in Paris on August 24, 1572, just as Nostradamus had foretold.” [3]
Le gros airain qui les heures ordonne
Sur le trépas du tiran cassera,
Pleurs, plaintes et cris, eaux glace, pain ne donne,
V. S. C. paix, l’armée passera.
[The great bronze bell that orders the hours
Shall toll upon the tyrant’s demise;
Tears, laments, and cries, waters frozen, bread not given,
V. S. C.: peace; the army shall pass through.]
“On Sunday, August 24, 1572—which was the Feast of Saint Bartholomew—at around two o’clock past midnight, the clocks of Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois and the Palais sounded the alarm, etc. This marks the fulfillment of the prophecy contained in the first two verses, which allude to the death of Admiral Coligny. As for the second part of the third verse—’Waters frozen, bread not given...’—it is reasonable to assume that, in that very same year (January 1572), the River Seine remained frozen for a considerable period, such that grain and other provisions could no longer reach Paris as they had previously. As for the final verse, it signifies peace with the successor of Charles V. The remainder of the verse—’the army shall pass through’—means that the French army (which at the time numbered five thousand men and was commanded by Monsieur, the Duke of Anjou) would advance, as indeed it did, accompanied by sixty pieces of artillery, to lay siege to La Rochelle, where nearly all the remaining Huguenots had taken refuge.”
Centurie XX, quatrain 6. [4]
Quand de Robin la traiteuse entreprinse
Mettra seigneurs et en peine un grand prince,
Sceu par la fin, chef on lui tranchera,
La plume au vent amie dans Espagne,
Poste attrapé étant à la campagne,
Et l’écrivain dans l’eau se jettera.
[When Robin’s treacherous enterprise
Shall trouble lords and a great prince,
Once discovered—as the outcome shows—his head shall be severed;
His pen, scattered to the wind, shall find a friend in Spain;
The courier shall be intercepted while in the countryside,
And the scribe shall cast himself into the water.
“Robin is a word that, letter by letter, spells out Biron... According to the account of Biron’s trial—found at the end of the History of France, printed in Rouen in 1611 by Jean Petit—we learn that Biron, originally the younger son of his house, became the eldest upon the death of his brother... Upon his arrival at Court, he became embroiled in a quarrel with the eldest son of the Count of La Vauguïon. The affair concluded to his advantage...; however, the friends of the deceased spread rumors alleging that foul play had occurred during the duel... The Duke of Épernon secured a pardon for Biron and had it formally ratified by the Parliament... From the day of the duel until the day of his pardon, Biron was forced to remain in hiding. To avoid recognition, he disguised himself as a letter-carrier and went to visit an elderly astrologer named La Brosse, who resided near the Luxembourg Palace; Biron posed as the valet of a nobleman, for whom he claimed to be delivering a horoscope... La Brosse told him that he was, in fact, a man of quality... and that the horoscope in question must surely be his own. Biron denied this. ‘My son,’ said the astrologer, ‘I will tell you this: the subject of this nativity is destined to attain great honors and dignities... wherein he shall be happy—even to the point of becoming a king—were it not for a Caput Algol [the star representing Medusa’s severed head].’ Biron demanded to know the meaning of this Caput Algol. La Brosse was finally compelled to answer him: ‘I mean—since you insist upon knowing—that your master will carry his actions so far that, one day, his head shall be severed upon a scaffold.’ Thereupon, Biron threw himself upon the astrologer and beat him so severely that he left him all but dead in his booth...
“Another astrologer, named César—who was reputed to be the most skilled in the realm—never told him anything other than this: that he would be so successful in every undertaking that he would lack only a single blow from a Burgundian from behind to become king. Biron’s executioner was, in fact, a Burgundian.”
Centurie III, quatrain 11. [5]
Les armes batre, au ciel, longue saison,
L’arbre au milieu de la cité tombé,
Vermine, rongne, glaive, en face tison,
Lors le monarque d’Hadrie succombé.
[Weapons clashing in the heavens for a long season;
The tree in the midst of the city fallen;
Vermin, plague, sword, and firebrand in the face;
Then the monarch of Hadrie shall succumb.]
De Prade, author of a History of France printed in Paris by Augustin Besoigne in 1683, makes mention of a great number of prodigious signs that preceded the murder of Henry the Great—and, among others, that the stone slab sealing the crypt where the kings rest at Saint-Denis was found to be dislodged; that a statue in Boulogne shed tears; and that, in the Angoumois region—of which Ravaillac was a native and an inhabitant—an army of ten to twelve thousand men was seen to appear, led by a commander of imposing stature, marching in good order for more than a league before vanishing into a forest. (See the Mercure françois.)
“It was customary, on the first day of May each year, to plant the ‘May Tree’ in the center of the Louvre courtyard, to the sound of trumpets, oboes, violins, and all other instruments befitting a royal household... The green, leafy tree that had been planted as the May Tree in the Louvre courtyard fell of its own accord on the very day it was planted...: herein lies the proof of the truth of the second verse: ‘The tree in the midst of the city fallen...’ The previous year, a star appeared in the sky at high noon. ‘Then the monarch of Hadrie succumbed’—meaning that, once all these signs had come to pass, the death of Henry the Great—whom Nostradamus, in his First Century, refers to as ‘the great Hadrie’—would follow shortly thereafter. Nostradamus goes even further, for he specifies the very manner in which this great monarch would meet his end when he speaks of a glaive—that is to say, by a knife.”
The author of a book directed entirely against Nostradamus [6]—whom he accuses of mendacity and declares incapable, due to his ignorance of astronomy, of casting anyone’s horoscope—nevertheless reveals to us a few errors committed by the great astrologer:
“In the said year (1553), in the month of October, you predicted that there would be an ailment causing great internal heat, such that the more one drank, the more one would feel parched and inflamed. I suspect that in this region, no one experienced this more acutely than you yourself, having drunk unmixed old wine; for you are not content to drink only in the finest households, but go about drinking in every tavern and alehouse like a common foot soldier. I return now to your deceptions and ignorance. In the month of January 1555, you placed the full moon on the 7th, at six minutes past midnight. Why did you say ‘six minutes,’ you ignoramus? For the full moon on that day will occur after eight o’clock in the evening, and not at six minutes past midnight. Immediately thereafter, you stated that you dared not reveal what would come to pass that year. Why did you employ such stratagems? Was it not solely so that you might be summoned to the Court? For you also declared: ‘The King must guard himself against a certain individual—or perhaps several—who seek only to carry out that which I dare not commit to writing, in accordance with what the stars, aligned with occult philosophy, reveal.’ You knew full well that the King would wish to learn the truth.
“And thus shall you be thwarted in all your circumlocutions and foolish threats that you level against the whole world, seeking to terrify it with your clamor, just as you did in your Almanac for the year 1556, when you stated: ‘Happy is he who walks, and yet walks not, upon the earth; and happier still is he who possesses nothing, or very little!’ Is that not a fine prediction? Yet you yourself had no desire to be counted among those ‘happy’ souls who possess nothing or very little; for, thanks to your deceptions and seditious schemes, you had managed to amass some three or four hundred crowns. What, pray tell, did you mean in that same Almanac for the year 1556—specifically in the month of January—when you wrote: ‘Nox incubat atra’ [Black night looms], only to add ‘...se dira à plein midi’ [...will be spoken of at high noon]? You merely wished for people to know that you had read Virgil. And furthermore, did you not speak most improperly when you declared: ‘O dii talem avertite pestem et superii servate globam!’ [Oh gods, avert such a plague and preserve the heavenly body!]? You will doubtless claim that this was the printer’s error—and indeed, it may well have been—yet you yourself have committed blunders just as egregious.”
Georges Buchanan [7] reports the following:
“David Beaton, Archbishop of St. Andrews and Cardinal in Scotland, unable to tolerate George Sophocard (a man of great learning who stood in opposition to his designs), devised a means to have him apprehended in the year 1546; and, despite all remonstrances to the contrary, having held him prisoner for several days, he ultimately sent him to his death. As George lay on the verge of yielding his soul to God in the presence of his judge and accuser, the Cardinal, the latter, gazing down upon him from a ceremonial window, began to remark to those standing nearest him: ‘Do you see that Cardinal looking down at me with such haughty and spiteful eyes from that lofty perch? Within a few days, he shall be cast down from it no less ignominiously than he now rests there so arrogantly.’ A few weeks after George’s death, the son of the Count of Rothuse, having fallen into a bitter quarrel with the Cardinal, resolved, together with several gentlemen of his faction, to ‘settle the score’ (as the saying goes) and to exterminate him. There appeared to be scarcely any prospect of success in this entire scheme. Nevertheless, this nobleman, accompanied by only six others, came to the city of Saint Andrews, where ten more of his party were already gathered; he managed to surprise and seize the castle before daybreak, burst into the Cardinal’s bedchamber, and slew him with dagger thrusts. Now, as the townspeople began to stir and rush to the Cardinal’s aid to apprehend the attackers, the nobleman had the Cardinal, still dripping with blood, hung from the very windows from which he had once watched the execution of George Sophocard. Thus, the most incensed among the crowd retreated in utter confusion; while many others silently adored the Great Judge of the World, who had thereby so authentically sealed the decree of His vengeance—a vengeance foretold, but a short while before, by the innocent victim.
“The account of this memorable event,” observes Goulart [8] (citing Zwinger) [9], “prompted certain individuals to inquire of an acquaintance of Dr. Crato, physician to the Emperor, as to the true nature of such occurrences. He recounted to them that, according to the annals of the city of Prague, Charles IV—prior to his election as King of the Romans—once sought out a blind Tartar, a renowned soothsayer who would answer but a single question per day. Charles, without revealing his identity, greeted this blind man in these terms: ‘May good befall you, if you are of God; otherwise, I wish you no good whatsoever.’ The blind man replied: ‘I am of God; and in return: May good befall you, Charles, Marquis of Moravia—you who are soon to become King of the Romans!’ Having conversed for a while, Charles inquired about his successors to the Kingdom of Bohemia. The blind man, taking a sheet of paper, inscribed upon it twelve letters forming twelve arcane words: I. C. U. S. A. L. G. U. L. E. M. A. He immediately provided the interpretation by identifying the proper names corresponding to each letter: John, Charles, Wenceslas, Sigismund—these make up Icus; then Albert, Ladislas, George, Uladislaus, Louis, Ferdinand, Maximilian, Albert. These eight constitute Algulema. The final letter, however, does not align with historical fact, inasmuch as Rudolph reigned in Bohemia after Maximilian. Charles spoke again, asking the blind man: ‘What shall come to pass thereafter?’ ‘That which has been before,’ replied the blind man.
“It has been heard”—so reports Goulart [10]—“from the Maréchale de Raiz, that Queen Catherine (de’ Medici), desirous of knowing what would become of her children and who would succeed them, was shown a vision by a certain individual who undertook to provide her with this assurance. He caused her to see them in a mirror, which depicted a great hall wherein each of her children walked as many circuits as the number of years he was destined to reign; and it is said that, after King Henry III had completed his allotted circuits, the Duke of Guise suddenly cut across his path like a flash of lightning.” Then the Prince of Navarre appeared, who performed twenty-two feats, and immediately thereafter vanished.”
“While visiting Monsieur and Madame de Florinville at the Château de Fains (near Bar-le-Duc), I learned from them that the Sieur de Nostradamus was staying there. It was there that he attended upon Madame de Florinville—grandmother to the current Lord of Florinville—and where the following incident occurred; a tale which, being rather amusing, has been recounted in various places. Monsieur de Florinville, while strolling through the courtyard of his château in the company of the Sieur de Nostradamus, spotted two suckling pigs: one white, the other black. Upon seeing them, he asked the Sieur de Nostradamus, merely for the sake of amusement, what would become of these two little beasts. Nostradamus replied instantly: ‘We shall eat the black one, and the wolf shall eat the white one.’ Monsieur de Florinville, wishing to prove the prophet wrong, secretly ordered his cook to slaughter the white pig and serve it for supper. The cook killed the white pig, dressed it, and placed it on the spit, ready to be roasted when the appointed hour arrived. However, while the cook was briefly away from the kitchen attending to other matters, a young wolf which was being kept and hand-reared in an attempt to tame it wandered in and devoured the hindquarters of the white pig that lay ready for roasting. The cook returned just then; fearing a severe reprimand from his master, he seized the black pig instead, slaughtered and dressed it, and served it that evening for supper. Thus, Monsieur de Florinville turned to Nostradamus and said: ‘Well, Monsieur, as you can see, we are now eating the white pig, and the wolf has not touched it.’ ‘I beg to differ,’ replied Nostradamus; ‘it is the black one that lies upon the table.’ The cook was immediately summoned; he admitted to the mishap, which served as an even more delightful dish for the company.
“In that same locality of Fains, he forewarned several people that, within the mountain bordering the château, lay a hidden treasure—one that would never be found if sought out intentionally, but which would be uncovered when the ground was dug for some other purpose.
“There is a ring of plausibility to this prediction,” adds our author, “for the idolaters had once built a magnificent temple there; indeed, whenever one excavates the site, one frequently unearths some piece of antiquity beneath the pickaxe and spade.”
[Onetime royal official Baltazar] Guynaud composed a historical commentary [1] to demonstrate that the events predicted by Nostradamus have indeed come to pass. Here are a few excerpts from this truly curious book:
Centurie vii, quatrain 39:
L’Aîné royal, sur coursier voltigeant,
Picquer viendra si rudement courir,
Gueule lipée, pied dans l’étrieu ploignant,
Traîné, tiré, horriblement mourir.
[The Royal Heir, upon a prancing steed,
Shall come to charge with such fierce speed;
With gaping maw and foot caught in the stirrup,
Dragged and pulled, to die a death most horrible.]
“The historian Sainte-Marthe, in Book IV—speaking of the House of France—as well as the Memoirs of Languedoc by Catel, state that Henry d’Albret, second of that name, King of Navarre, met his death while schooling a horse on May 25, 1555. He was the eldest son of John III, who subsequently became King of Navarre in his brother’s stead. While handling the animal, the prince spurred it so sharply, and the horse bolted with such velocity, that Henry, realizing the peril he was in, yanked back on the reins with such violence that the horse’s mouth was torn open... The horse, driven by its momentum and fury, began to rear and kick; consequently, the King was thrown from the saddle, yet his foot remained caught in the stirrup. In this helpless state, he was dragged and hauled along for a considerable time, and as a result, he died that very same day.”
Centurie X, quatrain 39. [2]
Premier fils vefve, malheureux mariage,
Sans nuls enfants, deux isles en discord,
Avant dix-huit, incompétant aage:
De l’autre près plus bas sera l’accord.
[First son, widowed; an unhappy marriage,
Leaving no children behind; two islands in discord;
Before the age of eighteen—an incompetent age--
The accord shall be reached closer to the other side, and lower down.]
“On September 14 of that same year, 1560, Francis II died at the age of approximately fifteen, having thus reigned as King of France for only about thirteen or fourteen months. The prophecy is self-explanatory, as he was the eldest son and the ‘First Son of France’: he had married Mary Stuart, Princess of England, and died as King of Scotland, a realm over which he also reigned by virtue of his wife, whom he left a widow and childless. This is precisely what the prophecy states: ‘First son widowed, unhappy marriage, without any children, two islands in discord.’ At the same time, the author foretells the discord that Francis II’s death would sow between the two queens, the Queen of England and the Queen of Scotland (his widow). The third and final lines—’Before eighteen, an incompetent age; with the next nearest, the accord shall be lower’—signify that Charles IX, his brother (who stood next in line to the throne), would succeed him, and that he would subsequently marry before reaching the age of eighteen. ‘The accord shall be lower’ implies, that is to say, that peace would be established shortly thereafter.”
“Omens concerning the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, which took place in Paris on August 24, 1572, just as Nostradamus had foretold.” [3]
Le gros airain qui les heures ordonne
Sur le trépas du tiran cassera,
Pleurs, plaintes et cris, eaux glace, pain ne donne,
V. S. C. paix, l’armée passera.
[The great bronze bell that orders the hours
Shall toll upon the tyrant’s demise;
Tears, laments, and cries, waters frozen, bread not given,
V. S. C.: peace; the army shall pass through.]
“On Sunday, August 24, 1572—which was the Feast of Saint Bartholomew—at around two o’clock past midnight, the clocks of Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois and the Palais sounded the alarm, etc. This marks the fulfillment of the prophecy contained in the first two verses, which allude to the death of Admiral Coligny. As for the second part of the third verse—’Waters frozen, bread not given...’—it is reasonable to assume that, in that very same year (January 1572), the River Seine remained frozen for a considerable period, such that grain and other provisions could no longer reach Paris as they had previously. As for the final verse, it signifies peace with the successor of Charles V. The remainder of the verse—’the army shall pass through’—means that the French army (which at the time numbered five thousand men and was commanded by Monsieur, the Duke of Anjou) would advance, as indeed it did, accompanied by sixty pieces of artillery, to lay siege to La Rochelle, where nearly all the remaining Huguenots had taken refuge.”
Centurie XX, quatrain 6. [4]
Quand de Robin la traiteuse entreprinse
Mettra seigneurs et en peine un grand prince,
Sceu par la fin, chef on lui tranchera,
La plume au vent amie dans Espagne,
Poste attrapé étant à la campagne,
Et l’écrivain dans l’eau se jettera.
[When Robin’s treacherous enterprise
Shall trouble lords and a great prince,
Once discovered—as the outcome shows—his head shall be severed;
His pen, scattered to the wind, shall find a friend in Spain;
The courier shall be intercepted while in the countryside,
And the scribe shall cast himself into the water.
“Robin is a word that, letter by letter, spells out Biron... According to the account of Biron’s trial—found at the end of the History of France, printed in Rouen in 1611 by Jean Petit—we learn that Biron, originally the younger son of his house, became the eldest upon the death of his brother... Upon his arrival at Court, he became embroiled in a quarrel with the eldest son of the Count of La Vauguïon. The affair concluded to his advantage...; however, the friends of the deceased spread rumors alleging that foul play had occurred during the duel... The Duke of Épernon secured a pardon for Biron and had it formally ratified by the Parliament... From the day of the duel until the day of his pardon, Biron was forced to remain in hiding. To avoid recognition, he disguised himself as a letter-carrier and went to visit an elderly astrologer named La Brosse, who resided near the Luxembourg Palace; Biron posed as the valet of a nobleman, for whom he claimed to be delivering a horoscope... La Brosse told him that he was, in fact, a man of quality... and that the horoscope in question must surely be his own. Biron denied this. ‘My son,’ said the astrologer, ‘I will tell you this: the subject of this nativity is destined to attain great honors and dignities... wherein he shall be happy—even to the point of becoming a king—were it not for a Caput Algol [the star representing Medusa’s severed head].’ Biron demanded to know the meaning of this Caput Algol. La Brosse was finally compelled to answer him: ‘I mean—since you insist upon knowing—that your master will carry his actions so far that, one day, his head shall be severed upon a scaffold.’ Thereupon, Biron threw himself upon the astrologer and beat him so severely that he left him all but dead in his booth...
“Another astrologer, named César—who was reputed to be the most skilled in the realm—never told him anything other than this: that he would be so successful in every undertaking that he would lack only a single blow from a Burgundian from behind to become king. Biron’s executioner was, in fact, a Burgundian.”
Centurie III, quatrain 11. [5]
Les armes batre, au ciel, longue saison,
L’arbre au milieu de la cité tombé,
Vermine, rongne, glaive, en face tison,
Lors le monarque d’Hadrie succombé.
[Weapons clashing in the heavens for a long season;
The tree in the midst of the city fallen;
Vermin, plague, sword, and firebrand in the face;
Then the monarch of Hadrie shall succumb.]
De Prade, author of a History of France printed in Paris by Augustin Besoigne in 1683, makes mention of a great number of prodigious signs that preceded the murder of Henry the Great—and, among others, that the stone slab sealing the crypt where the kings rest at Saint-Denis was found to be dislodged; that a statue in Boulogne shed tears; and that, in the Angoumois region—of which Ravaillac was a native and an inhabitant—an army of ten to twelve thousand men was seen to appear, led by a commander of imposing stature, marching in good order for more than a league before vanishing into a forest. (See the Mercure françois.)
“It was customary, on the first day of May each year, to plant the ‘May Tree’ in the center of the Louvre courtyard, to the sound of trumpets, oboes, violins, and all other instruments befitting a royal household... The green, leafy tree that had been planted as the May Tree in the Louvre courtyard fell of its own accord on the very day it was planted...: herein lies the proof of the truth of the second verse: ‘The tree in the midst of the city fallen...’ The previous year, a star appeared in the sky at high noon. ‘Then the monarch of Hadrie succumbed’—meaning that, once all these signs had come to pass, the death of Henry the Great—whom Nostradamus, in his First Century, refers to as ‘the great Hadrie’—would follow shortly thereafter. Nostradamus goes even further, for he specifies the very manner in which this great monarch would meet his end when he speaks of a glaive—that is to say, by a knife.”
The author of a book directed entirely against Nostradamus [6]—whom he accuses of mendacity and declares incapable, due to his ignorance of astronomy, of casting anyone’s horoscope—nevertheless reveals to us a few errors committed by the great astrologer:
“In the said year (1553), in the month of October, you predicted that there would be an ailment causing great internal heat, such that the more one drank, the more one would feel parched and inflamed. I suspect that in this region, no one experienced this more acutely than you yourself, having drunk unmixed old wine; for you are not content to drink only in the finest households, but go about drinking in every tavern and alehouse like a common foot soldier. I return now to your deceptions and ignorance. In the month of January 1555, you placed the full moon on the 7th, at six minutes past midnight. Why did you say ‘six minutes,’ you ignoramus? For the full moon on that day will occur after eight o’clock in the evening, and not at six minutes past midnight. Immediately thereafter, you stated that you dared not reveal what would come to pass that year. Why did you employ such stratagems? Was it not solely so that you might be summoned to the Court? For you also declared: ‘The King must guard himself against a certain individual—or perhaps several—who seek only to carry out that which I dare not commit to writing, in accordance with what the stars, aligned with occult philosophy, reveal.’ You knew full well that the King would wish to learn the truth.
“And thus shall you be thwarted in all your circumlocutions and foolish threats that you level against the whole world, seeking to terrify it with your clamor, just as you did in your Almanac for the year 1556, when you stated: ‘Happy is he who walks, and yet walks not, upon the earth; and happier still is he who possesses nothing, or very little!’ Is that not a fine prediction? Yet you yourself had no desire to be counted among those ‘happy’ souls who possess nothing or very little; for, thanks to your deceptions and seditious schemes, you had managed to amass some three or four hundred crowns. What, pray tell, did you mean in that same Almanac for the year 1556—specifically in the month of January—when you wrote: ‘Nox incubat atra’ [Black night looms], only to add ‘...se dira à plein midi’ [...will be spoken of at high noon]? You merely wished for people to know that you had read Virgil. And furthermore, did you not speak most improperly when you declared: ‘O dii talem avertite pestem et superii servate globam!’ [Oh gods, avert such a plague and preserve the heavenly body!]? You will doubtless claim that this was the printer’s error—and indeed, it may well have been—yet you yourself have committed blunders just as egregious.”
Georges Buchanan [7] reports the following:
“David Beaton, Archbishop of St. Andrews and Cardinal in Scotland, unable to tolerate George Sophocard (a man of great learning who stood in opposition to his designs), devised a means to have him apprehended in the year 1546; and, despite all remonstrances to the contrary, having held him prisoner for several days, he ultimately sent him to his death. As George lay on the verge of yielding his soul to God in the presence of his judge and accuser, the Cardinal, the latter, gazing down upon him from a ceremonial window, began to remark to those standing nearest him: ‘Do you see that Cardinal looking down at me with such haughty and spiteful eyes from that lofty perch? Within a few days, he shall be cast down from it no less ignominiously than he now rests there so arrogantly.’ A few weeks after George’s death, the son of the Count of Rothuse, having fallen into a bitter quarrel with the Cardinal, resolved, together with several gentlemen of his faction, to ‘settle the score’ (as the saying goes) and to exterminate him. There appeared to be scarcely any prospect of success in this entire scheme. Nevertheless, this nobleman, accompanied by only six others, came to the city of Saint Andrews, where ten more of his party were already gathered; he managed to surprise and seize the castle before daybreak, burst into the Cardinal’s bedchamber, and slew him with dagger thrusts. Now, as the townspeople began to stir and rush to the Cardinal’s aid to apprehend the attackers, the nobleman had the Cardinal, still dripping with blood, hung from the very windows from which he had once watched the execution of George Sophocard. Thus, the most incensed among the crowd retreated in utter confusion; while many others silently adored the Great Judge of the World, who had thereby so authentically sealed the decree of His vengeance—a vengeance foretold, but a short while before, by the innocent victim.
“The account of this memorable event,” observes Goulart [8] (citing Zwinger) [9], “prompted certain individuals to inquire of an acquaintance of Dr. Crato, physician to the Emperor, as to the true nature of such occurrences. He recounted to them that, according to the annals of the city of Prague, Charles IV—prior to his election as King of the Romans—once sought out a blind Tartar, a renowned soothsayer who would answer but a single question per day. Charles, without revealing his identity, greeted this blind man in these terms: ‘May good befall you, if you are of God; otherwise, I wish you no good whatsoever.’ The blind man replied: ‘I am of God; and in return: May good befall you, Charles, Marquis of Moravia—you who are soon to become King of the Romans!’ Having conversed for a while, Charles inquired about his successors to the Kingdom of Bohemia. The blind man, taking a sheet of paper, inscribed upon it twelve letters forming twelve arcane words: I. C. U. S. A. L. G. U. L. E. M. A. He immediately provided the interpretation by identifying the proper names corresponding to each letter: John, Charles, Wenceslas, Sigismund—these make up Icus; then Albert, Ladislas, George, Uladislaus, Louis, Ferdinand, Maximilian, Albert. These eight constitute Algulema. The final letter, however, does not align with historical fact, inasmuch as Rudolph reigned in Bohemia after Maximilian. Charles spoke again, asking the blind man: ‘What shall come to pass thereafter?’ ‘That which has been before,’ replied the blind man.
“It has been heard”—so reports Goulart [10]—“from the Maréchale de Raiz, that Queen Catherine (de’ Medici), desirous of knowing what would become of her children and who would succeed them, was shown a vision by a certain individual who undertook to provide her with this assurance. He caused her to see them in a mirror, which depicted a great hall wherein each of her children walked as many circuits as the number of years he was destined to reign; and it is said that, after King Henry III had completed his allotted circuits, the Duke of Guise suddenly cut across his path like a flash of lightning.” Then the Prince of Navarre appeared, who performed twenty-two feats, and immediately thereafter vanished.”
Notes
[1] Concordance des Propheties de Nostradamus avec l’histoire, by M. Guynaud. Paris. J. Morel, 1693, in-12, p. 79.
[2] Concordance des Prophéties de Nostradamus, etc., p. 101.
[3] Concordance des Prophéties de Nostradamus, etc., p. 107.
[4] Concordance des Prophéties de Nostradamus, etc., p. 139.
[5] Concordance des Prophéties de Nostradamus, etc., p. 149.
[6] Déclaration des abus, ignorances et séditions de Mich. Nostradamus. Avignon, P. Roux, 1558, quarto, in.-4°.
[7] In the fifteenth book of the History of Scotland, cited by Goulart. Thrésor d’histoires admirables, Vol. II, p. 311.
[8] Thrésor d’histoires admirables, Vol. III, p. 319.
[9] Théodore Zwinger, in the fifth volume of his Grand Théâtre de la vie humaine, Book IV, p. 1445.
[10] Thrésor d’histoires admirables, Vol. IV, p. 438.
[2] Concordance des Prophéties de Nostradamus, etc., p. 101.
[3] Concordance des Prophéties de Nostradamus, etc., p. 107.
[4] Concordance des Prophéties de Nostradamus, etc., p. 139.
[5] Concordance des Prophéties de Nostradamus, etc., p. 149.
[6] Déclaration des abus, ignorances et séditions de Mich. Nostradamus. Avignon, P. Roux, 1558, quarto, in.-4°.
[7] In the fifteenth book of the History of Scotland, cited by Goulart. Thrésor d’histoires admirables, Vol. II, p. 311.
[8] Thrésor d’histoires admirables, Vol. III, p. 319.
[9] Théodore Zwinger, in the fifth volume of his Grand Théâtre de la vie humaine, Book IV, p. 1445.
[10] Thrésor d’histoires admirables, Vol. IV, p. 438.
Sources: P. L. Jacob, Curiosités des science occultes (Paris: Adolphe Delahays, 1862), 250-261; Grillot de Givry, Anthologie de l’occultisme (Paris: Éditions de Serène, 1922), 282-289.
