by Sax Rohmer
For the peace of mind of Henri II and Catherine, and also perhaps in the interests of his own safety, Nostradamus, when erecting the horoscopes of their three sons, had placed the best complexion he could upon their future; but that he knew what should take place during the reign of each, and the manner in which each should meet his end, is proved by the fact, say contemporary chroniclers, that he had already announced these things in his Centuries.
Mr. Charles A. Ward, in his Oracles of Nostradamus, selects Century V, Quatrain 67, as predicting the death of Henri III:
Quand chef Pérouse n’osera sa Tunique,
Sans au couvert tout nud s’expolier,
Seront prins sept, faict aristocratique:
Le père et fils mort par poincte au colter.
To my mind this quatrain has no bearing whatever upon the death of the monarch in question, and I am entirely at a loss to understand how the learned author reconciles it with history. I must confess that, despite contemporary statements, I have failed to find any other more suitable, either in regard to Henri III, Charles IX, or François II; but nevertheless I cannot accept Century V, Quatrain 67.
Following his journey to Paris, Nostradamus published in 1558 a new and augmented edition of the Centuries, prefaced by a letter to Henri II, the reigning King. On the death of this monarch, in 1559, there was a great demand for the new issue of his work, for those courtiers who were acquainted with the quatrains of the physician of Salon saw this melancholy event predicted in the 35th quatrain of the first Century, and written in the year 1555:
Le lion jeune le vieux surmontera.
En champ bellique par singulier duel,
Dans cage d’or les yeux lui crevera,
Deu play es une, puis mourir mort cruelle.
To the explanation of the foregoing must be added for guidance a few facts concerning the tournament in the Rue Saint-Antoine.
Henri II, desiring to celebrate the nuptials of his daughter, the Princess Elizabeth of France, caused it to be announced publicly by the heralds, in the streets of the capital, that a tournament would be held on the first day of July 1559, near to the Bastille Saint Antoine. He further commanded that it be made known that he would attend the tourney and himself break lances with the foremost knights of his kingdom.
The chivalric contests opened, and the King indulged in jousts with a few of his gentlemen, each of whom gave way to his sovereign. Whether the excitement of combat had seized him, or whether he flattered himself upon having disposed of such valiant antagonists, it is now impossible to say; but toward sundown he announced his intention of once more entering the lists, this time challenging a young Scottish nobleman of his bodyguard, the Comte Gabriel de Montgomery.
We know that the Duc de Savoie remonstrated with His Majesty, pointing out that he had risked his life already more than once during the day, and that he had gained sufficient honour in consequence. The King, however, was adamant, and paid no heed to the wise counsels of the Duc. Montgomery, on his part, was unwilling to engage his sovereign, and repeatedly prayed him that he should not fight. Henri, however, persisted in his challenge, and there was nothing left to Montgomery but to accept.
Accordingly they took up their respective positions, closed their vizors, and prepared for the charge.
At the given signal they rode against each other. The young Scottish captain endeavoured to avoid the King, but in this he failed, and nearly unhorsed the monarch. In spite of the anxious requests of several gentlemen there that he should now abandon the tourney, the King decided once more to ride against Montgomery.
This final charge justified the advice previously proffered him by Henri’s attendants; for, failing to turn aside his antagonist’s weapon, he received the full force of the blow on the head. The lance penetrated the helm, and the head of Montgomery’s weapon pierced the right eye of the King.
The young lion vanquisheth the old.
When on the field he duelleth,
His eyes destroyed in cage of gold,
Two wounds are his — then cruel death.
The King indeed suffered cruelly during ten days — as Nostradamus had predicted: “Deux playes une, puis mourir mort cruelle.” By “the old lion” we understand the King, and “the young lion” the Comte de Montgomery, the latter having triumphed (surmontera). The expression “en champ bellique” (field of battle) is also justified. But “single combat” or “duel” is still more extraordinary, since the tournaments served for single combats. “In cage of gold his eyes will be destroyed” was also realized — Montgomery destroyed the eyes of the King in piercing the latter’s helm, which was gilded.
Beyond doubt this prophecy is very curious, but it nearly brought its author to the stake. The enemies of Nostradamus, finding that they could not successfully denounce him in any other manner, caused it again to be noised abroad that he was a magician, a sorcerer, and possessed of the devil.
But whilst the populace busied itself in burning in effigy the celebrated doctor, the Duc and Duchesse de Savoie turned from their route and hastened to Salon to render homage to the genius of the astrologer of this town. The calumnies concerning Nostradamus
Another version reads:
The young lion will conquer the old one
In a single duel upon the field of battle.
He will pierce his eyes in a gilded cage.
This is the first of two blows, after which
Will come a cruel death.
It has been suggested that the “second blow” refers to the murder of the King’s son, Henri III, by Jacques Clément. did not prevent even the high personages of the Court from consulting him.
For instance, Madame de Lesdiguières having consulted him upon the future of her son, Nostradamus told her, in clear terms, that the young man would become one of the first in the kingdom. And this descendant of the Lesdiguières was made Constable. Trone de Condoulet, a wealthy bourgeois of Salon, who was intimately acquainted with Nostradamus, records a fact of which he was witness:
“One evening,” he says, “Michel having seen the Prince of Béarn, who was yet a child, said to those to whose care he was entrusted, ‘This young prince will ascend the throne of France, and the title of “Great” will be added to his name.’”
The dignitaries laughed, and would not believe this prediction of Nostradamus. But this Béarnais became, as is well known, King of France, under the name of Henri IV, or, which accords more closely with the prophecy of Nostradamus, under that of Henri le Grand.
On another occasion, having met a young Franciscan, named Felix Peretti, he saluted him by bending before him on one knee; and those who accompanied the monk, surprised at this deference, on asking of Nostradamus the reason for it, received the following reply: “Because I must bow the knee to holiness.”
This Franciscan monk became, in 1585, Pope Sixtus V.
VI. DAWN: JULY 2, 1566
In 1564, Charles IX, when visiting Provence, accompanied by Catherine de Médicis, desired to go himself and visit Nostradamus. The notables of Salon gathered before the gate of the town to receive with dignity their King; but Charles contented himself with replying to the usual complimentary speeches by saying, “I am come to Provence only that I may see Nostradamus.”
The latter, who was amongst the knot of magistrates, was immediately presented. The King, taking him by the hand, made him mount the horse of one of his suite, and rode through Salon engaged in animated conversation with Nostradamus at his side.
So gracious and honourable a reception aroused such feelings of joy within this great man that he could not refrain from comparing his treatment with that which he had received at the hands of the people, and could not suppress the exclamation against his ungrateful country, “O ingrata patria!”
On leaving Provence the King made him a. present of two hundred pieces of gold, and appointed him physician-in-ordinary and counsellor to his person. The Queen-Mother, Catherine de Médicis, added to this gift another of two hundred pieces of g
old, in recognition of his double science of medicine and astrology.
And now the people, easily moved by such events, yet again changed their opinion, and Nostradamus passed for a man of genius; for martyr; for diviner; for a god! In the streets some knelt before him, nor was he ever forgotten in public prayers; and when he attended church, every one rose and bowed to him with respect.
I need scarcely add that his accusers were hunted from the town, and that after this period no one dared to speak a word against the prophecies of Nostradamus.
But age, sorrows, work, and illness undermined the constitution of the astrologer. He never went out, and received at his house only a few intimate and devoted friends, such as Chavigny, Palamèdes, and Condoulet. He knew that his end was approaching, and in his own hand wrote the following: “Hic propre mors est” (“My death is not far off”).
Never, perhaps, did he give so exact a prediction; for ten or twelve days later, his illness having developed into dropsy, he expired on July 2, 1566, at the age of sixty-two years. Before he died he called for Père Vidal, to whom he confessed sincerely, with contrite heart and with tears in his eyes.
Upon June 30, 1566, that is, two days before his death, he called Maître Roche, notary in Salon, and to him dictated his testament. On July 1 he said to Chavigny, who was leaving him in order to obtain some repose: “To-morrow, at dawn, I shall be no more.” In the morning, when his friends entered his room, he was found seated upon a bench near his bed, but life was extinct. What makes this death yet more surprising is that it was predicted a year previously by Nostradamus, in a collection of “presages” which he was then composing. I give this famous quatrain:
Du retour d’ambassade, don du roy, mis au lieu
Plus n’en fera; sera allé à Dieu
Proches parens, amis, frères de sang
Trouvé tout mort, près du lit et du banc,’
By this quatrain Nostradamus predicts that on his return from his visit to the King at Arles, where His Majesty would bestow gifts upon him, he would no more practise the science of astrology, but would await the divine call; finally, that he would be found quite dead near to his bed, seated upon a bench.
Janus Gallicus relates that a few hours after his death his friends entered the house to inquire after the condition of the seer, and, as he had predicted, they found him in a sitting position, near the bed, and quite dead. His body was swollen as the result of dropsy; and, finding it impossible to lie upon his bed in this state, he had crawled to the bench, and, seating himself upon it, patiently awaited his end, which occurred at dawn.
When the death of Nostradamus became known, his friends, and those who still remembered the devotion to the afflicted, during the plagues, displayed by this good man, were stricken with grief. Crowds gathered before his house, many dressed in mourning attire; and at his funeral, which took place in the Eglise des Cordeliers of Salon, the church of the Frères Mineurs, many were the orations that were delivered. Nostradamus was buried in the left wall. The following epitaph is inscribed on his tomb:
RELIQVIÆ MICHAELIS NOSTRADAMI IN HOC SACELLVM TRANSLATÆ FVERVNT POST ANNVM MDCCLXXXIX EPITAPHIVM RESTITVTVM MENSE IVLIO ANNO MDCCCXHI.
D. Ο. M.
CLARISSIMI OSSA MICHAELIS NOSTRADAMI VNIVS OMNIVM MORTALIVM IVDICIO DIGNI CVIVS PENE DIVINO CALAMO TOTIVS ORBIS EX ASTRORVM INFLVXV FVTVRI EVENTVS CONSCRIBERENTVR. VIXIT ANNOS LXII MENSES VI DIES XVII OBIIT SALONE ANNO MDLXVI. OVIETEM POSTERI NE INVIDETE ANNA PONTIA GEMELLA SALONIA CONIVGI OPTAT V. FELICIT.
VII. SOME REMARKABLE QUATRAINS
Nothing like a complete examination of the Centuries thus far has been attempted in the language. The task would be one of peculiar difficulty for many reasons, but here I may give one or two examples of quatrains which, without distortion, seem certainly to synchronize with history. I have availed myself of some licence in translating, and I have not attempted to parallel the metre of the original French.
CENTURY III, QUATRAIN 30
Celuy qu’en luitte et fer au faict bellique
Aura porté plus grand qui luy le pris,
De nuict au lict six luy feront la pique,
Nud, sans harnois, subit sera surpris.
To him who, armour’d, on the field of fight,
Did snatch the laurel from a greater brow;
Six foes do wound him, in the still of night.
Surpris’d, alone, unarmour’d is he now.
Montgomery, the gentleman so unfortunate as to vanquish his King, Henri II — and to cause his death—” carried off the prize,” or, as I have expressed it, “the laurel,” on that lamentable occasion. Montgomery is clearly indicated in the first two lines, I think; and the third and fourth predict that six men will surprise him in bed at night, naked and unarmed.
Although, according to some accounts, the King, dying, freely pardoned the man who had brought about his death, others aver that Montgomery fled to England for safety. He certainly came to England and espoused the Protestant cause. On his return to France he placed himself at the head of the Norman Huguenots, and was beseiged in Domfront by the Marshal de Matignon and a numerous force, to which he ultimately surrendered.
The terms guaranteed his life, but at express command of Catherine de Médicis he was arrested in his own castle of Domfront on the night of May 27, 1574, by six gentlemen of the Royal forces, and carried to the Château de Caen and thence to the Conciergerie at Paris, where he was imprisoned.
I next shall quote a quatrain which Garencières believed to relate to Charles II, but which more closely corresponds with the fate of his father:
Du règne Anglais le digne dechassé,
Le conseiller par ire mis à feu,
Ses adhérans iront si bas tracer,
Que le bastard sera demy receu.
When heir of England’s crown shall — driven from the throne —
His counsellor on Demos’ altar immolate; —
So base shall prove those friends he call’d his own,
The upstart, now Half-king, shall grasp the State.
The counsellor abandoned to the rage of the people (“par ire”) we may regard as the unhappy Strafford, whose harshest reproach upon Charles was his heartwrung cry, “Put not your trust in princes!” The Covenanters’ bloody bargain (“si bas tracer”) and the accession of Cromwell (“le bastard”) to the Protectorship (“sera demi receu”) make up a sufficiently extraordinary sequence.
In conclusion I append the following quatrain, said to point to the execution of Charles I, January 30,1649:
Gand et Bruxeles marcheront contre Anvers,
Sénat de Londres mettront à mort leur Roy;
Le sel et vin luy seront à l’envers
Pour eux avoir le régné en désarroi.
‘Gainst Antwerp, Brussels and Ghent combine,
The Senate of London their monarch slay;
Wine serves for salt and salt serves for wine
In this kingdom of chaos and disarray.
Bouys says that this quatrain alone is sufficient to prove that Nostradamus had true prophetic insight. He points out the fact that until the execution of Charles I no King had ever been condemned to death by a Senate.
DR. JOHN DEE
I. THE BLACK SKULL-CAP
THE life of John Dee is a tragedy. It offers us the spectacle of a wise man courting folly, of a philosopher duped by knaves. Had Dr. Dee been born not in 1527 but in 1827, it is possible, it is probable, that his name would generally be known and revered; whereas now he lives but in the annals of alchemy, endures only in the laboratory of the hermetic researcher and in the study of the curious. What he actually accomplished we shall see in due time, and it was little enough; but in futile research John Dee lost his youth and what the world had to offer to youth; immolated his peace, his reputation; ruined his body and seared his mind; finally, in the height of his scientific frenzy, he prostituted his wife upon the altar of alchemy, and passed unmourned to a pauper’s grave.
John Dee was born in Lond
on on July 13, 1527, and in his earliest youth, in London and at Chelmsford, he displayed a marked inclination for study. Proceeding to St. John’s College, Cambridge, at the age of fifteen, he became so absorbed in his reading that eighteen hours of every twenty-four were spent among his books. Since of the six remaining hours he devoted only four to repose, his was evidently that type of constitution which enables its possessor to dispense entirely with physical exercise and almost to dispense with sleep.
A brilliant scholar, and one of the original Fellows of Trinity, 1546, he early found himself a man shunned — a social pariah. Sinister rumours began to circulate, and we can readily imagine that the midnight lamp shining out from Dee’s window often enough became the focus of fearful glances. His mechanical beetle, presented in a performance of Aristophanes’ Peace, added to the reputation already attaching to the youthful student; and when, about 1547, he returned from a visit to the Low Countries with much bulky luggage in the shape of strange instruments, a whisper disturbed the peace of the colleges— “Sorcery!” — when morning after morning dawn came to dim the philosopher’s lamp.
We can see men taking the wall as Dee passes and retracing their steps in preference to meeting him on the stair. Groups melt at his coming; silence falls upon the room in which he appears. But always there are nervous movements and sidelong glances. Conversation, hushed and ominous, springs up anew as the young mystic departs.
Such environment becoming intolerable, and covert accusation developing into open persecution, Dee quitted Cambridge and sought a more congenial abode at the University of Louvain, where, surrounded by kindred spirits, he found every encouragement in his strange studies, which now had led him out upon the hazardous path to the philosopher’s stone.