Nostradamus ebook

The Greatest Sinner Ever

An easy to read, historical, spiritual novel about the life of Nostradamus, the famous seer from the 16th century.

After a happy childhood, Michel de Nostredame successfully battles the plague, as a young physician, during the last part of the dark Middle Ages. But then a great calamity befalls his own family and totally destroys his life...

a novel by Eric Mellema

Book cover

Translator Dutch English: Maria-Bonita Kapitany

The nice version with pages: free ebook in PDF

© 2006 Eric Mellema
All rights reserved

Thanks to:

Maria-Bonita Kapitany
Jack van Mildert
Liesbeth Gijsbers
Moene Seuntjens
Marleen van Haeren
Ria Adriaensen
Els Pellis
Guus Janssens
Ronald Mengerink
Arthur Hendriks

Special thanks to: Trudi Koning

Chapter 8/16

Chapter 1

"Brrr, it's so cold in here!"
"Stop complaining, Mercury; only thirty-one days till you'll be turned around."
"Who's there?"
"I am Hermes, your higher self."
"Hermes, your visit is timely because those boring turns around my orbit are driving me stark-raving mad."
"Well, I'll tell you, Zeus has decided that your assignment is almost done. You only have to be of the flesh for a while before you get to shine."
"And how do you know all this?"
"I am the fastest one in the Milky Way, and I put my ear to the ground here and there, so to speak. Besides, it's my job to relay messages."
"How much longer do I have?"
"Until you're lined up with the Sun and the Earth, so not much longer."
"Hmm, at least it's a change from being a dead planet. My only diversion is causing shock waves and sun baths."
"You might well come to miss this simple existence, my material brother, but please be patient just a little longer."

A month later, an extraordinary birth took place on planet Earth. A person with unprecedented prophetic gifts was born. The astrologer's birth in the village took place at the very beginning of the Renaissance, in the French town of Saint Rémy de Provence. In a stately mansion behind the market halls where the merchants had been hawking their wares for some time, the contractions had started. Reynière de Nostredame had carefully calculated the date of birth, but the onset of labor still came unexpectedly. The little one probably had a slightly earlier birth in mind in order to meet the optimum position of the planets. The noticeably large mucus plug, which closes off the cervix during pregnancy, had just come out. This was the sign that showed the end of the pregnancy was nearing. Reynière lost some blood and asked for her father, Jean de Saint Rémy to come; her father was the court physician of the Good King René, the former count of Provence. She lay on the bed, perspiring, and her husband, Jacques, who had risen to the status of notary public, hurriedly entered along with her father. The contractions were now coming regularly and were becoming more painful, until, at their peak, they suddenly stopped. Her father looked worried and felt his daughter's belly with a professional touch. Relieved, the physician established that the unborn child was still moving and that Reynière was losing amniotic fluid at a normal rate. Regular contractions returned and the membranes broke; labor was now well underway. Slowly but surely, Reynière's body made an opening for the baby to move through. The cervix, which during pregnancy is drawn tight, was now gradually opening. The peculiar newcomer was fighting as if his life depended on it and the expulsion stage was exhausting. The labor would take as many as ten hours. Finally, the little head emerged, the wide-open eyes critically taking in the world. Jean and Jacques were amazed and looked at each other with great joy. The shoulders were next, after which the rest of the little body slid out, without any problems.
"Michel!" his mother proudly welcomed the wet little bundle. Jean carefully picked up the slightly bloody baby, who was still attached to the umbilical cord, and put him on the mother's belly. The boy was born with a caul* (with the membranes wrapped around the head: clairvoyant children). Michel de Nostredame appeared at exactly high noon on December 14 of the year 1503, with the church bells of Saint Rémy loudly ringing in the background. His parents were overjoyed with their first child, who would have a safe future as a Catholic. Jacques and Reynière were both descended from old Jewish families, but several years earlier, all Jews had been forced, under pain of death, to convert to Catholicism. There was still a menorah on the table, however, symbolizing the Jewish festival of lights, Hanukkah, that was being celebrated that month. For these special holidays, the tradition was secretly honored and Jacques always read from the Talmud. This time, he ceremoniously addressed his newborn son, surrounded by the entire family, and told him that the Talmud speaks about the wonder of Hanukah. Michel, securely wrapped in swaddling cloths, only heard some paternal sounds.

When the little one, crawling and later walking, began to discover the world, he showed himself to be a very curious little boy. He wanted to investigate everything in sight and examine every object. He enthusiastically attacked visitors and sometimes liked to play with their hair. He quickly expanded his boundaries to outdoors, where he ignored the other children his age. He thought they were playing aimlessly round and round. Once, he extinguished the fire in the fireplace with water and sat there looking at the clouds of steam with great fascination. During his first visit to the market, his gift came to light. The family was walking past the booths displaying wares. Because of his limited height, Michel was amusing himself with what was going on underneath the wooden tables: fish remains, rotting fruit, blood waste, broken jute sacs, an occasional rat chewing on things, and countless shuffling feet. His mother was keeping a close eye on him. The Nostredame family stopped at a booth with glassware and wanted to buy something pretty for the holidays. In the previous century, one only saw drinking glasses among the socially elite, but nowadays glass was being produced on a larger scale, which made it more affordable. The eager market merchant quickly grabbed the most delicate bowl between his teeth, trying to impress the young mother.
"You know, Madam, pottery and wood and tin dishes are functional, but very ugly. Glass dishes are all the rage now." Reynière cheerfully listened to him, while keeping her child close by.
"There are several types of glass drinking cups available," he continued. "Look at this: gorgeous cups with hollow, funnel-shaped stems, and low chalice-type glasses with tall, graceful stems. Behind them are cylinder-shaped cups, decorated with polka dots."
"And what type is this?" she asked.
"Those are Berkenmeiers, Madam, drinking glasses with a funnel shaped cup and a finely ridged foot ring."
The merchant took everything out of the cabinet because the family looked like they had money to spend. Jacques thought the ridged one were quite nice.
"The ridged ones are very popular," the merchant repeated immediately, "besides the low drinking bowls, cabbage stalks and Berkenmeiers, of course."
"What are those ridges for?" inquired Reynière.
"The ridges or polka dots ensure a better grip on the glass."
"And which ones do you sell most of?" asked her husband.
"The glass drinking dishes sell especially well. Pouring devices, such as bottles, are very expensive." The specialist apparently was the only person in the area who possessed a grand collection of glassware and he proudly brought out his most beautiful bottle. The family was getting completely entranced by his products and Jacques asked the man if he could look at the bottle more closely. Little Michel had been behaving himself in a most exemplary fashion all this time and was quietly looking at the half-filled boxes under the table. Above, Jacques grabbed the glass showpiece clumsily and it immediately slipped out of his grasp. The expected crash, however, surprisingly didn't come and everybody's startled attention focused below. There, their son had just effortlessly caught the very expensive bottle. He put the heavenly gift to his lips, whereupon the owner quickly grabbed it out of his little hands. After many apologies, the disillusioned family went home without buying anything. When they got there, the father, who got away with just a scare, was full of praise for his son.

His parents left the boy's upbringing to his grandfather. With the erudite Jean, he was in good hands. The former court physician and astrologer taught his grandson not only mathematics, but also ancient Greek, Latin and Hebrew as well as the preliminaries of astrology. Jean often took him outside the village at night, so they could lie in the field together and look up at the stars. There, he told him that you can see the northern sky better in the winter and the southern sky in the summer and that the winter constellations, such as the Canis Major and Canis Minoris, can be easily found, using the star Orion as a guide.
"When I grow up, I want to be a star too," said his grandson.
"Funny you should say that. I was just thinking about the story where someone gets punished by being put in the sky as a star. It's about Orion, who was chasing his seven sisters, the Pleiades. The sisters felt threatened by the chase and prayed for help, which caused the goddess of the hunt to come to their rescue and she killed their brother with one of her arrows. Then Orion was placed in the sky as a star. But I don't know if that's possible for people made out of flesh and blood too, Michel. Although, I just remembered, there is some mention of it in the old scriptures. So, who knows? By the way, the Pleiades are visible with the naked eye. Look, they're right there," and Jean stretched his arm toward the black sky.
"Those stars look like they're touching each other," the boy remarked.
"Yes, it does look that way, but in reality they are very far away from each other," replied the grandfather.
When spring came around, Grandpa showed Michel the stars Arcturus, Regulus and the sparkling Spica, the brightest stars in the spring sky, which together formed the Spring Triangle. That summer, the stars were not very clearly visible and it wasn't until autumn that grandfather showed the winged horse, Pegasus, which is often difficult to find, because it is up-side-down. Through these little excursions, Michel got to know the constellations and his parents kept grumbling that he and his grandfather came home so late at night.

One clear evening, when Jean had once again taken his grandson out, the weather suddenly changed and turned gloomy. No celestial bodies were visible and Michel cursed the dark clouds that were gathering. That night, the little rascal was tossing and turning in his bed, which was separated from other sleeping places with long curtains, and couldn't sleep. He was still angry and disappointed, when suddenly, the window shutters blew open and a furious tornado pulled him out of his bed. He just managed to grab hold of the window sill, with his body dangling outside. Reynière was woken up at that very moment by maternal instinct, shook her husband awake and together they ran to the child who was in mortal peril. Together, the two of them pulled the child back into the room and shut the window tightly. Not really realizing what had happened, they went back to sleep, and a short time later, the window was pulled open once more. Again, the whirlwind directed its energy toward the gifted child, with a seething fury, but his parents were there in a heartbeat and defeated the catastrophe before he was sucked out of the room. The shutters were nailed shut permanently. This was a lesson their son would never forget. No more cursing anyone or anything, he resolved.

One day, a message arrived from Pierre de Nostredame, Michel's paternal grandfather. Pierre and his wife lived in Grasse and invited the whole family to come and stay with them for a few weeks. Pierre had also been a court physician, in the service of the son of the Good King René. After his patient was murdered in Barcelona, Pierre settled in the developing perfume town. Jacques and Reynière decided to accept his invitation. Many preparations had to be made for the trip, because Grasse was not exactly next door and they had had four more children through the years; all boys. A busy household. A few weeks later, they were ready and they all climbed into the rented carriage which was pulled by a team of horses. Father, mother and three sons. Jean stayed home with the two youngest ones. After a few days, they reached Cannes, and from there a path lead them inland toward Grasse. The landscape was surrounded on all sides by lush tree-covered hills and invited them to take a break. It would have been better if they hadn't, because little Hector immediately disappeared and it took three hours to find him in a crack in the rocks. And guess who found him? Of course: Michel! Hector got a cuff on the ear and they continued on their way. Behind them, they could still catch an occasional glimpse of the Mediterranean Sea. There were not many flowers blooming in the perfume region. Summer was coming to an end and bees were looking for the last of the honey. Finally, they saw Grasse, situated against a mountain slope, surrounded by fields that would only display their flowers again in the spring. When they entered the wealthy trading town, the boys were very excited by all the sights. There were all kinds of tanneries, which, their father told them, used to spread a terrible stink not too long ago. In order to dispel the penetrating scent of the leather, the Grassois got the idea to saturate the leather with a mixture of animal fats and flowers. Necessity is the mother of invention and in this way, perfumed handbags, gloves and belts turned into a true fashion rage. The carriage bumped along laboriously, past the many shops with displayed leather wares, but finally, they reached Place aux Aires, where their grandparents lived. Bertrand passionately flung open the carriage doors to get out as quickly as possible and start horsing around, but his father stopped him.
"First you're going to greet your grandparents, young man," he said. Meanwhile, Pierre came walking up, swaying, and immediately began to lug the suitcases in. Despite his advanced age he was very vigorous and he still worked for the physicians' guild. After kissing Grandpa, the three brothers ran off into the perfectly unknown but oh so alluring city in great ecstasy.
"Just let them play for a while," Reynière said tiredly to her husband, "that will give us a chance to unpack our bags in peace." The children, meanwhile, were parading past the many perfumers, soap-boilers, distillers and other merchants. Grasse was a dazzling but also very dirty town and the open sewers could barely handle the mountains of waste. Nevertheless, it smelled wonderful in the streets. There were cases, bags and balloons full of flower water, oils, wine, lavender soap, herbs and scented leather, everywhere. Eleven-year-old Michel found himself in a virtual paradise for the senses and was soon enchanted with a specific scent that pulled him into an alley.
"Where are you going now?" Bertrand and Hector exclaimed, surprised. But Michel wouldn't say and followed the narrow lane toward an archway that led outside of the town. Beneath the stone arc he stopped for a moment, closed his eyes and smelled. Here, the scent was at its strongest. He deeply inhaled the peculiar odor, which was sweet and dark at the same time. A few minutes later he returned, fulfilled, and found his brothers playing in the square. The days flew by in this fantastic town and tomorrow would be extra exciting: they were to visit a well-known perfumery. Grandfather Pierre was friends with Amalfi, the proprietor of the factory. She had promised him that his family could have a tour. That morning, they went among the potential buyers who had flocked from far and near, and Amalfi personally gave them a guided tour. The distinguished people all saw Hector elaborately picking his nose and Father chastised him. Amalfi, meanwhile, told them all about her famous line of scents.
"These azure flasks hold various types of eau de toilet and Soliflores for women." After her introduction, the group shuffled towards the next table, while the other son started to be troublesome. Bertrand tried to surreptitiously open the flasks.
"Don't touch those, Bertrand," his father warned. The madam fortunately didn't notice and continued: "Soliflores are scent water made from only one type of flower, plant or fruit." After an elaborate listing of the assortment, the guests followed her to another room, where ingenious devices were set up.
"These are our distillation alambiks. Distillation was developed by the Arabs." While attentively listening, Michel and his grandfather heard Hector whining at his mother that he needed to pee. It distracted the factory owner from her story and she coughed agitatedly.
"Okay, go outside quickly, but be quiet!" Reynière commanded her child.
"Jasmine originally comes from India and Spanish sailors introduced the flower in Grasse via North-Africa not long ago. Maître Gantier managed to get a monopoly on it," continued Madam.
"This is a good opportunity to buy some perfume," Reynière whispered to her husband. Jacques idly agreed because he was completely caught up in taking care of the little ones. Fortunately, they were hanging around Pierre and were behaving themselves for the moment. Father even managed to catch the last part of the story.
"When I compare it to jasmine from abroad, I always notice that Jasmin Grassois has more depth and volume. Oh, I could tell you so much more about our perfumery, but it is time to finish the tour. Are there any questions or comments?" Unexpectedly, Michel came forward with panache and asked if he could say a few words. Father was starting to get a headache from all the unpredictable behaviors of his youngsters, whereas Madam Amalfi was quite charmed with the childish request and agreed. Michel's heart started to beat faster. The little prophet squared his shoulders and with great force pronounced his first prophesy.
"Some day, this perfumery will be very famous. This will be because of a student with an exceptionally good nose. His name is Montesquieu and he will produce three amazing scents. At the height of his career, he will create a bizarre perfume for himself with the scent of recently killed bodies of young girls. After his death, the success will decline." With this, the pre-teen ended his oration and walked back to his parents with dignity. Everyone was dumbstruck and even Amalfi didn't know how to respond. Jacques decided not to chastise his son, because the boy had followed all the rules of proper conduct. No one mentioned the dark prophesy again; they could not make any sense of it. A little embarrassed about the behavior of his strange grandson, Pierre thanked the owner for the fascinating outing and the family returned home. Soon the vacation came to an end.

Grandpa Jean was very happy with their return, especially because of Michel, with whom he had developed a special bond. When the carriage rode into their street, the Rue des Remparts, the two immediately sought eye contact. Hector and Bertrand were dead-tired from the long trip and went straight to bed, but Michel was still excited about his performance. Feverishly, he discussed his peculiar prophesy and his urge to speak out with his grandfather. The strange scent in Grasse had awakened something in him, the pre-teen reported. Jean took him seriously and suggested that he would share all his insights relating to astrology with him, but now Michel had to go to bed. It took hours before the sparkle in his mind diminished and he finally fell asleep. A few months later, Grandpa found a suitable moment to further his eldest grandchild's education in astrology. He decided to tell him all the ins and outs of it and took him up to the attic. This was his personal domain and no one was allowed to snoop around in there uninvited. Especially not children, because he was afraid his delicate instruments might get damaged or his papers lost. From his easy chair Grandfather told Michel that he had managed to pick up an ingenious piece of equipment in Paris a while back. It consisted of two polished lenses in a pipe, through which you could see very far.
"Thanks to this invention, a whole new world has opened up for me," he said, "and in my mind, you are now old enough to enter into this world. I foresee a great future for you. You have exceptional mental capacities and that is why I am now going to tell you everything I know about astrology. Up till now I have never allowed anyone to be in this room without supervision, but for you I am making an exception. I hereby give you permission to use all of my instruments and books anytime you want to." His grandfather got up and retrieved a large object from underneath a dusty cloth.
"Using this spy-glass, young man, you can see the planets so closely that it seems like you are right there. But first, I will give you some theory, before we explore the heavens." His grandson was looking at the exciting device, his eyes like saucers.
"Astrology looks for the relationship between events in the cosmos, on earth and in humans. But haven't we already talked about this before?" Michel shook his head "no."
"My memory is not what it used to be, my boy. Through this research we are able to use information about one moment to trace a series of events which follow it. In other words: we can predict the future from it. This is much more difficult than it seems. Since time immemorial it has been accepted that the Sun, the Moon and the planets influence our lives here on Earth." Grandfather got up again, opened the attic shutter and placed the spy-glass on its stand.
"Come and stand over here. The sun has just set and we will probably be able to see several planets. Let me see if… there it is! Look Michel, about one hand above the last rays of the sun: Mercury, the planet of the intellect and mental capacities." His grandson looked through the device and discovered a pink planet that was twinkling. Jean continued.
"As you know, the Earth rotates around the Sun in one year and not the other way around as the Church claims. They're also still insisting that the Earth is flat and that you can fall off it. Poppycock! They just prefer to keep their followers ignorant."
"But doesn't the Sun also make a circle every year?"
"Yes, but not around the Earth, but along various groups of stars. Those groups all together are called the Zodiac. For example, there is Gemini, Aries, Taurus, etcetera."
"I'm a Sagittarius."
"Undeniably true, my boy, but it will take some time before the Sun will pass by there, because we are not currently living in the age of Sagittarius."
Grandpa peered through the spy-glass again and continued his tale.
"Mercury is always near the Sun and for that reason it not always clearly visible, but tonight we are lucky," and he passed the device over.
"That planet's not very exciting," said Michel, while he peered through the lenses.
"Well, you should see the Moon," and Jean serenely looked up the celestial body in the cloudless canopy. There was genuine love between grandfather and grandson. Perhaps because they were so much alike. They both had the same interests and they were both of slight build. Only the youngest one still had his life stretching out before him and Grandpa obviously didn't anymore.
"This is what you want to see," said Jean and stepped aside.
"Wow!" exclaimed Michel and gazed at the gigantic Moon, full of craters, mountains and crevices.
"Someone is walking around on there, Grandpa."
"Ha-ha, that's funny. Even if that were possible, it is too far away to be able to see such details."
"I really do see him," the boy insisted. "He is planting a flag with red and white stripes and stars." Jean made an unbelieving face and took over the spy-glass. There was his familiar Moon, much too far to be able to see a person on it.
"I don't see what you're seeing, Michel."
"Maybe it's something that will happen in the future?"
"Anything is possible, my boy, but I can only talk about matters that I know something about. I still wanted to explain to you how to cast a horoscope," and they let the heavens be and sat down on the bed.
"To calculate a horoscope, you need a number of particulars, namely the date, time and place of your birth; but the most important thing is the birth date. Let me show you your own horoscope as an example." Grandfather looked through a drawer in his desk and brought out a piece of paper covered with strange symbols.
"Is that mine?"
"Let me see, born in Saint Rémy, on December 12, 1503. Yes, this is yours."
"It is actually the 14th."
"The 14th? I must have written it wrong at the top, because I always check everything three times. Must be old age," and Grandpa apologized. "In any case, you have a heavily loaded horoscope with three outer planets: Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. Because of this fierce configuration, you will need iron discipline in order to control the creative power. If you don't succeed in this, the power will turn destructive."
"You mean, like Samson, who made an entire temple collapse?"
"Hmm, that's not such a good comparison. In any case, you will have to learn to channel your energy. And always remember, that in every person there is as much good as evil," and Jean brought his attention back to the horoscope.
"This picture here shows the twelve houses and…" But his voice suddenly faltered.
"I'm tired," he wheezed, "but if you want to learn more, everything is described in that massive volume over there," and he pointed towards a bookshelf. Grandfather was no longer approachable.

As time went on, Jean and Michel became more and more devoted to each other. They often spent the entire day at an old convent*(The later institution where Vincent van Gogh stayed in 1890) that lay hidden a few miles south of Saint Rémy. They spent hours reading original bibles. Michel learned, above all, to pray to the Christian God and effortlessly followed the Catholic scriptures, despite his Jewish background. It is, after all, the same God as the one from the Old Testament, he thought. Jean always hummed while they prayed, at least when no one else was around. From the priory, when the weather was fine, they foraged about in the surrounding lavender fields, where they had found a mysterious, half caved-in pyramid-like structure. His well-read grandfather could comment on just about anything.
"From ancient Greek times," he said about the structure while at the same time using it to take a rest. Michel, by contrast, was full of energy and went exploring in the area while Jean took his customary little nap. One day, the boy came back excitedly.
"A little ways over there, there are all kinds of holes hacked out of the cliffs, Grandpa. Come and see!" But Jean quietly stayed where he was and coolly explained that long ago, goatherds had made those holes for their goats to protect them from predators. Apparently, he had discovered them before. One time, he could barely get up and Michel had to literally drag him home.
During adolescence, the young man began to notice girls and this was a good opportunity for his mentor to speak about the marriage of two souls. He explained how the male and female souls can merge together and the male/female principle is represented everywhere in the universe.
"You mean there are male and female planets too?" asked Michel.
"The planets are, in principle, all female. That's why they call our planet Mother Earth," answered Jean.
"And do we men have anything to say, in the cosmos?"
"Well, the stars are male, in contrast with dust and darkness, wich are female. These eternal polarities are also the essence of alchemy."
The boy spent the majority of his childhood outdoors with his grandfather and his parents didn't see much of their rapidly developing son. They only got together at mealtimes. It was not only Michel and Jean's fault they saw so little of each other; Jacques worked at the notary's practice all day and Reynière, besides running the household, had her hands full with the youngest children. Seven-year-old Antoine was a particularly challenging case, because he always exhibited recalcitrant behavior. For the rest, Michel got along well with his little brothers, but play with them? No, there was little chance of that.

The seasons flew by very pleasantly, until that one sad day. They found dear old Grandfather in his quarters. He had died of old age. Michel had been watching him deteriorate for a while and knew the end was in sight. Nevertheless, it was a devastating event.
It was drizzling on the day of Jean de Saint Rémy's funeral. They took turns keeping vigil with the body in the house, until it was brought out for the burial services. All the family members were there. Old Pierre and his wife had come all the way from Grasse, as well as Jean's three sisters and cousins from near-by Marseille. The Catholic prayer service took place in the church of Selongey. The families walked to the church, where the coffin had been placed. Michel's grandparents were walking so slowly, that he had plenty of time to carefully observe the fancy houses with turrets at the Place des Halles. Finally they arrived at the church, where many friends and acquaintances had gathered. At the entrance, a large man with reddish hair accidentally bumped into Michel. His shoes were covered in paint. He was apparently not an invited guest, but he wanted to go in. Michel didn't pay any attention to him and the funeral procession slowly moved through the gate with the imposing round arch door. Jacques and Reynière were the first ones to stride past a row of pillars in the church and they were followed by Michel and his four brothers in chronological order. Reynière was overcome with emotion and shed a tear for her father every now and then. The public was seated at the wooden benches in the main chapel where the coffin was set up in the center. The church of Selongey had various chapels, which were all lit by windows with blood-red divisions. Way up high was a painting of an apostle. The last visitor had found a spot and Priest Bergé, who was wearing a faded red shoulder covering, began his sermon. The funeral service was, as everyone knew, aimed at the purification and eternal rest of the soul of the deceased.
"When someone has died, this means that he has irrevocably taken his leave of this world. This person will then be with God. This is not an ending, but a new beginning. Those who have lived good lives will go to heaven, and those who have lived sinful lives will go to hell. The transition from life to death is often not a harmonious passage. But the Lord protects us all, because he understands the complicated lives of humans and accepts everyone as he is." The Priest then awkwardly leafed through his Bible, from behind his lectern and began to read a long drawn-out passage in Latin. Michel looked around and recognized the metal holy-water font, an up-side-down church tower, in which one of his friends had once almost drowned. Candles were burning everywhere; there were so many that even the tomb of the founder of the church in the front chapel was lit up. His engraved image was visible at the entry. Jean had long ago managed to interest his grandson in art and culture and they had visited the church of Selongey together a number of times. Michel knew the interior well and would have rather examined the murals than to have to listen to the droning sound of Bergé's voice. Or the armor-plated vault in the sacrist! Of course, he couldn't. Though he knew it would be perfectly fine with Grandfather. "Life before death," he had always said. Finally, God's servant praised the deceased for his charity, in ordinary French and the visitors sat up straight again. Michel saw the carilloneur, who was hard of hearing, get up. He was dying to get to his forty-eight church bells and start ringing them and began to climb up the stairs in the turret. Meanwhile, the priest was sprinkling the body with holy water and scenting it with frankincense. This was to indicate that the body of the deceased was in a state of holiness before God. The acolyte said a few more prayers asking for forgiveness for Jean's sins. After the hymns, the priest and his helpers strode out of the church and the pall bearers followed with the coffin. All those gathered walked behind them. The church bells were ringing and they all approached the cemetery in silence. Family, friends and other interested people who had joined, gathered around the grave that had been prepared and the pall bearers slowly lowered the coffin into it. Reynière quickly put a few flowers on the lid before the priest, who was standing at the head, silently blessed the grave and said an "Our Father." After he finished the prayer, he threw a small amount of soil onto the coffin, with the words, "Earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust." Then everyone said goodbye to the jovial Jean by adding their own scoop of soil onto the coffin and Michel watched his deceased friend slowly disappear. Finally, Jacques thanked all those present for their sympathy and the family sadly returned home.
After the mourning period, Michel and Mother visited Grandfather's hallowed place up in the attic. Still feeling sad, Reynière opened the shutters to let the light into the room and then they took an inventory of the estate. Memories drifted up and her son stared, unseeing, through the attic window for a while, feeling depressed.
"This attic is so lifeless and desolate now," he grumbled, when mother was unexpectedly called downstairs by one of her children.
"I'll be right back, Michel," and left him there, alone. From the attic window he had a good view of the town. He discovered a new home about half a mile away that had been built without his noticing. One of its windows was open; it was a glass one. Unprecedented, but it was too far away to see it very well.
I know, I can use Grandpa's spy glass, he suddenly realized and soon he could see every speck of the house. Then the youngster could not resist the temptation to sneak a look inside. He saw a tall man with short, dark hair, who was passionately working at a painting easel.
Why would anyone imitate sunflowers? Michel wondered in surprise. The unknown person was standing in front of a canvas and repeatedly dipped his paint brush into the paint. At one point, he picked up another brush that he used for painting in finer detail and again glanced at the real sunflowers, which were arranged carelessly on a table behind it. Suddenly, the artist felt as if he was being observed and he turned around with a start. The voyeur was startled out of his wits, feeling caught, although he couldn't possibly be seen, he thought. Still, it looked as though the stranger was staring at him, albeit with a friendly look. Only then did Michel realize that this was another peek into the future. The other world dissolved almost instantly after this. The house was also completely gone.
Too bad; no one to share my daydream with, he thought sorrowfully.

Chapter 2

A few months later, Michel, who was sixteen by now, went to Avignon to study astrology. His parents had reluctantly given him permission to make this unusual choice for his university studies. Avignon was only twenty miles away from Saint Rémy, so he would be able to easily visit his parents and brothers. Avignon was a very important town, because the Papal Palace was situated there. From 1304 on, there had been a series of French popes and these religious leaders all went to live in Avignon, because their chance of survival in Rome was not great. The French town and its surroundings had been papal property ever since. Jacques had heard from a client that Mrs. Plombier, whose husband had died of the plague six months earlier, was moving to Avignon with her daughters, to live with relatives. Michel could get a ride, provided that he would help the widow with her household goods. That was no problem for him and they set a date. Mrs. Plombier had been cleaning her house that last week and all her possessions were packed up and waiting for her young fellow traveler. Michel knocked on her door on the day of departure, and began to fill up the old, rickety wagon according to her instructions. With the next-door neighbors unexpectedly rolling up their sleeves as well, the whole lot was quickly loaded. The madame then took her place on the driver's seat and, with the two girls, they drove to the Rue des Remparts, so their companion could say goodbye to his family. They were all anxiously waiting, while the widow, who was not very experienced, brought the horse to a halt. Michel jumped down from the wagon and embraced his father and mother. The latter was looking very sad.
"It seems like saying goodbye is becoming a regular occurrence", Reynière lamented with tears once again streaming down her beautiful face.
"I'll come and visit soon," her son promised.
"You'd better," said Father, who gave him a hug. When the brand-new student had said goodbye to his brothers too, it was time to leave. Everyone waved until the horse and wagon had disappeared from sight. Not far outside Saint Rémy it began to pour. The rain was coming down in buckets and it got dark so fast it was scary. The female driver, fortunately, was prepared for rain and with Michel's help she stretched a canvas over the wagon. When lightning struck, the horse became restless and the widow kept control of it with great difficulty. Her daughters, aged five and seven, were hunkered down deep beneath the canvas. Soon, the path became barely passable because of the abundant amount of rain water and it looked like they might be in trouble. Half-way through the journey they could see frightening fires on both sides of the road. Bodies were being burned. The plague, the greatest disaster in the history of mankind had once again exacted its price and the horrifying disease raged through all of Europe. Madame already knew, as no other, what those fires were for. Her husband had been cremated not long ago in order to prevent the plague from spreading more. But she bravely held on, and kept driving. Suddenly, they heard shrieking in the distance, someone seemed to be calling for help. They decided to ignore it and to keep going. It kept raining unusually fiercely and to make matters even worse, a vicious wind began to howl. The horse could scarcely get the wagon to move forward anymore and continually slipped in the mud. It was getting tired and every meter was a victory. Gradually, a violent storm developed and there were branches and shrubs flying across the road.
"Hell and damnation," Madame could occasionally be heard saying to herself. They had to stop many times and then Michel would drag the debris off the path. After many hours of beastly weather, they reached the papal region. They were exhausted and completely drenched. One more obstacle had to be faced: crossing the Rhône River. With a strong head wind, they arrived at the famous bridge of Avignon. So far, Mrs. Plombier and her traveling companion had been taking turns on the driver's seat, but once they arrived at the bridge, where the wind was dangerously powerful, the widow preferred to keep control of the reins herself. She was just about to encourage the horse to cross the angry water, when Michel suddenly shouted "Stop!" She immediately pulled hard on the reins which caused the horse to neigh and the wagon to come abruptly to a halt. The youngest girl began to cry and her sister tried to comfort her.
"What on earth is the matter?" their mother asked with astonishment. De Nostredame didn't say a word, jumped off the wagon and landed in the mud. Then he plodded fearlessly through the storm to the bridge, with his long coat flapping in the wind. When he arrived at the stone connector, he stood for a moment, his eyes on the road. He felt how the greatly swollen river streamed past the piles and walked back again.
"What are you up to?" Plombier called out.
"All the stuff has to be loaded off the wagon" he answered, barely audible through the volatile wind.
"Are you crazy?" Michel climbed up on the driver's seat and explained himself.
"The bridge is about to collapse!"
"You idiot, wagons have been crossing it for years," she said, irritably. The student jumped down from the wagon in protest and sat down in the mud with his arms folded across his chest. After a short deliberation, she decided she might as well obey.
"All right, as long as you're willing to do the work," she demanded, upon which the young man began to drag the suitcases to the other side right away. Mother, meanwhile, retrieved her children from under the canvas and clasped together they followed their peculiar traveling companion. On the other side of the river the little family looked for shelter beside a cliff, while Michel went back to the horse and wagon. When, after much plodding, he had brought over all of the household belongings, he tied a long rope to the horse and walked to the bridge with it. Above them, threatening clouds rushed past and the horse refused to come along. Michel spurred it on with firm tugging movements. Hesitantly, the frightened horse stepped forward and the wagon slowly began to move. They approached the age-old bridge, which looked totally solid and showed no sign of any defect, and the student led the horse and wagon across it. After the very smooth crossing, Madame made a sour face and refused to say another word to him. After the wagon had been loaded up again, the journey continued. Finally, they were approaching the big city. They arrived just before sundown and not much later they were sitting warm and safe in front of a crackling fire with the Plombier family. After a good meal and a night's rest, their paths would separate. The youth expressed his thanks for the hospitality and carrying his things, he started to walk towards the university. In the city center, the mayor was announcing some hot news and the student joined the gathering crowd which was flocking near. The announcer theatrically unrolled a parchment.
"The bridge of Avignon has collapsed," he began. "Seven people were killed tonight. The bridge was once destroyed, in 1226. As you can see, the Lord does not wish this bridge to be here. Our bridge builder, Bénézet, from days gone by has wrongly been declared a saint." It was now completely crowded with people and many of them blocked Michel's view, but he had heard enough and strolled away.

A harsh atmosphere pervaded in Avignon, whose history started high on the cliff by the river. The city, once the center of a Celtic tribe, hated visitors. His grandfather used to talk about the mercilessness of the Avignois, a long time ago. "In Paris they argue, in Avignon they will stick a knife in you," he had said. Avignon was situated on the well-known Via Agrippa, the main road between Cologne, Lyon and Arles. In the Parc des Papes Michel sat down on a park bench to calm his mind. He concentrated on the old oaks in front of the university, before his initiation into it. The freshman had been having a lot of dreams lately and sometimes he couldn't tell his dreams from real life anymore. He would have to find some technique to create clarity in this. Maybe his astrology studies would give him the aid he sought. After his small indulgence in navel-gazing, he went to meet his teachers and at their advice he moved into a small room in the Rue St-Agricol, a little street not far away. From that day on, he walked to the school building every day, through the inner city. From the Rocher des Doms he had been able to map out the city quite well. The Rocher des Doms was the cliff that stuck out above everything and from which the city was easy to explore. Michel usually preferred to saunter along the large boulevards, because there he could ponder his studies better. He got along well with a number of students, although they were soon often jealous of the exceedingly intelligent young man. At the esoteric school he gathered useful knowledge for the first few months. He learned that man possesses various bodies, a total of seven: the physical, vital, astral and mental bodies and, at a higher lever, the causal, buddhi and atma bodies. He was taught that these represent seven levels of consciousness and that the planets and stars are also made up of them. All of these bodies are connected to each other and are present in every person, in at least a dormant form. The visible material body is the crudest type. The vital body holds the material together and provides the energy required. The astral body is connected to the emotions and reveals itself primarily in the dream world. The mental body represents thinking and the causal body only develops itself when thinking has completely plumbed the depths of cause and effect. Buddhi is understood to be the state where a person truly awakens and atma is the breath of life, a condition that is achieved when a someone becomes One with the All-that-is and the individual aspect is dissolved. It was an exciting theory, but there were no practical examples.
One day, the industrious first-year student went to the Place de l'Horloge around five o'clock in the morning to do his exercises. The square was still pristinely clean at that time of day and there was no one there to bother him. After finishing his exercises, he walked through the streets in good spirits and had arrived outside the city wall, when several carriages with guards surprisingly came driving up. A mysterious stop-over took place, because several large men hurriedly began to exchange the used-up horses for fresh ones. Moreover, inside one of the parked carriages sat a small fat man, decorated with many badges, who was wedged tightly between two solid-looking guards.
That guy must have committed some kind of crime, the student understood. The convoy had obviously arrived so early so as not to attract any unwanted attention. The changing of the horses and stocking up of provisions took some time. Meanwhile, Michel was looking at the prisoner with fascination. That man must have illusions of grandeur: he exuded the air of an emperor. Suddenly, there was a great commotion. Hordes of Avignois rushed from de Porte St. Lazare upon the carriages, wanting revenge on "the small corporal from Corsica." The city guard tried to control the riot, but there was no stopping the furious citizens and they surrounded the carriage in the center. They called the decorated prisoner every name in the book. Other insurgents threw rocks at him or threatened him with their swords. A few minutes later, several people jumped onto the carriage, climbed inside and started to tear off his badges of honor. An officer who arrived in a hurry managed to calm the heated tempers, after which the last horses were quickly hitched. The besieged carriage with "the small corporal" managed to escape, after a guard succeeded in pulling a few fanatics off the wheels. The rest of the carriages had been left alone and were able to follow their course uninterruptedly. Afterwards, the student was reflecting on the event.
"Hey, asshole, are you growing roots there, or what!" a workman suddenly swore.
"Didn't you see that riot just now?" asked Michel.
"I only see a stranger, and we don't like those here," and he continued on his way, rolling his barrel. It was the old Avignon mentality. And the strange riots*(1814 the dethroned Emperor Napoleon, nearly stoned in Avignon) turned out to have been nothing but hallucinations.

After the first trimester, the teachers were full of praise for the young De Nostredame. That was very nice, but the gifted student was not learning very much from them. His grandfather had already taught him so much about astrology that it was impossible for his teachers to add much to it. The disappointed Michel therefore didn't expect them to expand his knowledge much. Fortunately, there was a three-storey library that was the most beautiful one he could ever imagine. He liked to pass the time in there and examine the ancient texts. The teachers encouraged the genius to research related areas. They instructed Mr. Grimbert, the librarian who, due to some illness, was always shivering, to gather together a list of books for the student. Grimbert has set up the literature in a separate part of the library where the young man could go about his business without being disturbed. Michel devoured the stack of documents in a short time. Aside from a few works by Grandfather, the only book he had studied in depth was the Bible, and the change of fare was very welcome. In the end, there was really only one manuscript that really spoke to him. This was an essay about alchemy. It seemed like a cliché, but who didn't see images of an old, bearded wizard, performing strange experiments in a dusty old lab when they heard the word alchemy. The book contradicted his preconceived notions and he wanted to go more deeply into the subject matter. In the manuscript in question, it said that alchemy was introduced in Spain by the Arabs after the crusades, and so he scrutinized the Spanish department for days on end. During his search he came upon an eye-catching article, written by Artephius in the twelfth century, entitled: "The art of increasing the lifespan of man." The Spanish article was written in Latin, which he was familiar with. Curious, he began to read it.
"I, Artephius, have learned all the arts in the magical book of Hermes. During my long life, I have seen people who wanted to perfect alchemy. However, I did not want to write down anything that would make the laws more accessible to a broader audience, because they may only be revealed by God or a master. It is therefore useful to read my book only if one possesses broad knowledge and a free spirit. I once was like others: jealous. I have now been alive for about a thousand years, ultimately by the grace of God alone."
That man is as old as Methuselah! Michel thought, excitedly. He was determined to read those two books, but indefatigable as he was in his search, he did not find them.
That one by Hermes probably doesn't even exist, he thought, and he consoled himself by reading all the alchemical literature he could find. In one of the works, he read that metal can be changed into gold, using a mystical object, the so-called "Philosopher's Stone." The stone had been sought after for centuries, but was never found and in the thirteenth century, most alchemists had given up on it. Another manuscript told that alchemy can have a medical effect. If one ingested exactly accurate proportions of salt, sulfur and mercury, it could have a positive effect on one's health. The Greek philosophers Thales and Aristotle believed that earth, water, air and fire were the basic elements from which everything material could be created. Another essay spoke about a fifth basic element: the essence. But for now he had read enough and he put the books away.
"Thanks for your help, Mr. Grimbert, see you tomorrow." Another day had flown by and the tired student went back to his austere room in the Rue St. Agricol. After cooking and eating some warm mush, he meditated on the book of Hermes, without any effect, and then tried out "the philosopher's stone", but unexpectedly fell asleep. That night his desires were fulfilled. The searching soul was touched by something magnificent and powerful and with a shiver he sat up straight in his bed.
"Michel de Nostredame, I am the one you are looking for, I am Hermes, the son of Zeus and Maia, the daughter of Atlas, one of the Titans." Right before him sat a radiant, powerful, athletic being, wearing a winged hat and holding a golden staff entwined with snakes. Hermes continued, "I am the leader of the three worlds. I was born in a cave in Arcadia. I am the fastest of all the gods and the god of thieves. The Egyptians call me Toth. The Romans call me Mercury. I am Hermes Trismegistus from Genesis. I am "The Hope of the Stones", "The Philosopher's Stone" and "The Emerald Tablet." My material brother, your fate has been determined. You will play a role in the cosmic drama that will unfold on earth during the coming millennia. But for now, until the Moon is mature, you will go in another direction in order to allow your slumbering knowledge to be awakened by Black Death." Hermes vanished as quickly as he had appeared and left behind an enormous emptiness. Michel could not cope with the powerful, supernatural confrontation and collapsed. He did not wake up until the next afternoon. Feeling awful, he got up and, stumbling, picked up his school bag so he could get back to studying. But it was much too late to go the university and feeling confused he sat back down on his bed.
"I feel so wretched," he groaned. With great difficulty, he reconstructed the message from Hermes, but he could not absorb it all. Meanwhile, his father - driven by higher powers - was in Saint Rémy, worrying about the less than practical education of his son. Although astrology had become an acknowledged science, there was not much you could do with it. He discussed it with Reynière, who initially stayed supportive of Michel's choice. But Jacques kept harping on the fact that there was no future in it and she finally had to admit that the disadvantages outweighed the advantages. They wrote a letter to their son, in which they expressed their concerns and suggested that he consider a study in the field of medicine; after all, both of his grandfathers had been physicians. Michel received their mail the next day and read their suggestion to change the course of his studies. He was pleasantly surprised and thought about Hermes, who had spoken about a change of direction.
So medicine is my destiny, he concluded. The next day he carefully approached his teachers, because he did not want discredit them in any way. During the parting discussion it turned out that they sympathized with his parents' arguments and he left his studies in Avignon on friendly terms.

After a short stay with his family, he left for the next university, in Montpellier.
"Welcome, Mr. De Nostredame", the caretaker greeted him most charmingly when he came in. "I will take you to the lecture hall right away, because you are the last one to arrive," and the stout woman got up from her stool with some difficulty and showed him the way. They walked through the main hallway and turned a corner at the end.
"The lecture will begin momentarily and will be given by Dr. Hache," she informed him. The lady brought him to the back room, where she showed him a spot at a table beside a young man with extraordinarily lively eyes. Professor Hache, unlike the caretaker, did not take the trouble to welcome his students, and began his lecture without delay.
"Thousands of years ago, the first doctors tried to cure their patients by drilling a hole in their heads," he said. François, the person seated next to Michel, pointed to his forehead condescendingly.
"Precisely, that is where that gesture originates," said Hache, who noticed, "but it really wasn't such a crazy idea, because in this way, they wanted to allow the evil spirits, which they thought were the cause of illness, to escape from the body. This was also called trepan." A student from Toulouse put up his hand.
"Questions may be asked at the end of my lecture," the professor said. "Later, in ancient Greek times, a sick person would go to a temple and make animal sacrifices to Aesculapius, the god of healing. Afterwards, the patient would drink healing water as well as bathe in it, and then follow a strict diet." The same student again raised his hand.
"What did I just tell you?" said the teacher.
"I'm just trying to let an evil spirit escape from my arm," clarified the student, trying to be funny.
"Please leave!" Hache said, unexpectedly strict. The student got up, crestfallen, and left the room.
"Stupid jokes are not tolerated here," and the professor continued his speech. "In four hundred BC, the Greek physician Hippocrates lays the foundation for our scientific medical science. He says that illness is not caused by sorcery, but by nature, and can only be cured by her." His pupils were now keeping close ranks and no one dared make another sound.
"Around two hundred AD, Galenus, also a Greek physician, taught us that the body contains four types of fluids, or humors: blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile and that they must be in balance with each other. That's it for the introductory history. Now is the time to ask questions, but briefly." The students hesitated for a few moments.
"Do women have the same amount of blood, phlegm and bile as men?" someone asked.
"We're not exactly sure about that, but when these humors are out of balance, men and women both get sick," he answered.
"My mother sure spews a lot of bile anyway," a Basque fellow commented.
"She must be sick," Hache supposed
"Not really, she's as fit as a fiddle."
"In any case, I can't make a diagnosis from a distance. Fortunately, we have advanced far beyond Galenus and we conduct scientific studies by cutting open human bodies, among other things. So, if your mother is nearby…" The blood drained from the Basque's face when he heard his teacher's serious-sounding suggestion.
"You mean you cut open live people too?" he asked.
"Certainly, but that happens only rarely. We primarily study cadavers and make elaborate drawings of them. Due to these studies we have gained innumerable insights and many people can be cured of present-day diseases."
"What methods currently exist to cure diseases?" Michel now asked.
"For instance, with medications, that are processed into liquids, powders or tablets," the lecturer answered. "Unfortunately, there are many quacks, herbalists and witches who pose as pharmacists. Another very effective method is phlebotomy or bloodletting, which allows the disease to drain out of the body; this is my specialty." Question period came to an end and there was an afternoon break. After this, Hache lectured uninterruptedly until sundown. In the evening, after a cheap meal in the cafeteria, Michel and his classmates left the university building to go home.
"Feel like walking through town?" someone who caught up to him at the Notre-Dame-des-Tables church called. It was François Rabelais, the student with the lively eyes who sat next to him in class. It sounded like a good idea to Michel and they walked through the town and quickly became friends. François turned out to be a masterful story teller who wore his heart on his sleeve. Everywhere they went he named everything in such a frank and unusual way that many would have blushed just listening to it. The rebel literally had no qualms about discussing anything: he talked about heretical matters, painful emotions or body parts that people usually avoided mentioning. And when he found that Michel responded too seriously to something, he suddenly acted like a little child or became surprisingly obscene. François, for his part, was deeply impressed by Michel's enormous amount of knowledge. The student from Saint Rémy seemed like a walking encyclopedia. In a pub, Michel told about his Jewish background, his education from his grandfather and, finally, about the interrupted studies in Avignon.
"Then we're both in the same boat," said François.
"What boat?" his classmate asked, surprised.
"Well, Jews and Kathars are both considered a threat to the Catholic religion. You're a Jew and I'm a Kathar."
"How can you be Kathar? Kathars were the last Gnostics."
"Of course, his Lordship would know," François grinned. "We, as true Christians, no longer practice our religion in public but underground. In Montpellier there are actually quite a lot of fellow believers. My father runs a restaurant over there, where meetings are held once in a while, in secret of course. I'll bring you there some time if you want."
"Sounds interesting. I'm curious to know what you people preach. Gnostics always had a very well-founded argument because of their thorough study of the Latin Bible, among other things."
"Right, and that's why the Catholic leaders hate us so much," the Kathar added.
"Is that the only reason your religion is prohibited?"
"No, we are individualists and our Holy Books have been translated directly from the Gospel. The foundation of the Church, on the other hand, is based on power and their message is about the original sin."
"Oh well, popes, bishops and priests often interpret the Bible to suit their own purposes, but in principle, we all believe the same thing," was Michel's opinion. Rabelais cast some doubt on his findings.
"We have our own laws and we don't believe that one single being created all good and evil, like the Catholics do. Furthermore, we are for individual freedom, equality of women and against any form of violence. They're not!"
"I was talking about the original Greek Bible," Michel clarified. "In there, such points of view are not refuted."
"Hmm, that may be. I'm not as learned as you are."

After the foundation course at the medical university, the two friends effortlessly passed to the next grade. The class had shrunk to thirty students by then and today they were to have their first practicum. Professor Hache was standing on his platform and was wringing his hands in anticipation.
"Gentlemen, we always begin the second year with a practical demonstration of blood-letting. This will be performed by me personally on a person who has been declared incurably ill. Don't worry, there is no Black Death involved."
"What is the Black Death?" asked Michel pointedly.
"It's a nick-name for the plague, my dear fellow, but don't keep interrupting me. I hope for all of you that you won't faint, because it is a bloody business. I've gotten used to it." His colleagues carried in a woman with a seriously yellow complexion, who was tied to a chair; she was too weak to sit up. The patient could no longer look straight ahead and her eyes wandered in all directions. For the rest there was not much to her and she was uttering uncontrolled sounds. She was a poignant case and a commotion started in the room.
"I understand you feel compassion for her and you undoubtedly think I'm being somewhat heartless," said the professor, "but this experiment is in the service of science and the end justifies the means. Moreover, I assure you that this lady will receive some financial compensation." The bully moved closer to the guinea pig and picked up where he left off.
"There are two ways we can perform bloodletting. The first one is to cut into a blood vessel," and he pointed to a suitable spot on the patient's forearm. "The second method is to place leeches." He took a number of glass pots out of his pockets and showed various specimens.
"Today, I will demonstrate only the first one; these little creatures are already sated anyway. For the first method, the patient needs to squeeze a stick in his fist. This causes the veins to swell and speeds up the process of the phlebotomy. Unfortunately, this lady is too weak for this and we will have to cut deeper," and he brought the lancet out of his doctor's bag.
"Are there any volunteers to try this with me?" he asked. No one dared say yes, so he appointed someone.
"Mr. De Nostredame, would you be so kind?" His student obediently got up and walked towards him.
"Make a cut right here, lengthwise," his teacher commanded while handing him the blades.
"Shouldn't I wash my hands first?" Michel asked.
"Wash hands. What for? If you're afraid to do it, I will do it myself."
"Sir," François bravely interrupted, "what my study partner means is that if the monk, the flabby kind, does not work the land, the farmer will not guard the land. As doctor he does not teach or preach to the people, so the warrior does not heal the sick. Do you understand?" Hache didn't understand a word of it.
"Um, right," he lied and he viciously made a deep cut into the forearm himself. As expected, little blood flowed out and he skillfully collected it in a glass bowl. Michel just let him be and returned to his spot. After staunching the wound, the woman still served as an overview for the arteries, which had to always be avoided. After this, she was removed. When closing the practicum, the professor looked around with satisfaction and asked if his students had any speculation about the future of medicine. Michel was the first one to put up his hand.
"Ah, the inquisitive but frightened student, go ahead," Hache teased.
"I could see people using body parts in the future," his student proposed.
"I thought you were a serious kind of person."
"Yes, I am."
"Apparently not," the teacher denied.
"I do try to be," Michel insisted.
"No one is interested in unsubstantiated nonsense stories."
"Obviously, I can't give a scientific basis, sir, but you were asking for speculations, weren't you?"
"Okay, that is quite enough. Leave your rubbish out of my class from now on," the teacher said, insulted. After school, Michel asked François what he meant when he was talking about the monk of the flabby type.
"Oh, nothing really, I was only trying to test the thinking capacity of that ogre," he said, carelessly.
"Gee, you can be mean!"
"Sure can," Rabelais laughed, without being the least bit embarrassed, and on the way home they discussed the usefulness of hygiene.

One evening the two friends were being treated to a plate of mussels by François' father in his restaurant. The place was filling up with fellow believers and they were fervently chattering with each other. A little later there would be prayers in the back room and the Jewish student had been invited to join in. François meanwhile confessed he has been busy translating Italian medical letters.
"That's ambitious," Michel said.
"And that's not all. I am also writing my debut novel: Les Horribles et Espouvantables Faict et Prouesses du très renommé Pantagruel."
"An impressive title. Perhaps a bit long though," his friend opined.
"Maybe I'll just call it Pantagruel then. But, to change the subject, are you someone who indulges in self-gratification?"
"Excuse me?"
"Do you masturbate?" De Nostredame surreptitiously looked around to see if anyone was listening.
"Now you're really going too far, François. That's none of your business," he said angry.
"Hey, I only wanted to prepare you for the mystical lesson you're about to hear."
"What are you talking about?" Michel asked, confused.
"Well, there is not only going to be praying, but gnosis or holy knowledge is also going to be revealed and this time it is about sexuality." They were interrupted by the noise of the mixed company that was moving to the back room. Apparently it was time for the gathering and the two young men followed to the private room, where everyone was taking place on thick carpets. After a short prayer, a volunteer stood up to give the lecture and he brought out a stack of papers.
"Tonight, I will be speaking about the Hermes Cups," he announced.
Holy cow, Michel said to himself, the son of Zeus and Maia, the messenger of the gods. The man showed a mystical image of the human body to clarify what he was talking about. In the head there were two symbolic overflowing cups and from the sacrum a pair of snakes crept up around the spine towards the opened wings at the height of the heart.
"As everyone knows, the old scriptures teach us to treat our sexual powers with great care. But why have we been taught for ages to behave chastely? The answer is different from what the Church deludes us with. Go forth and multiply, it preaches. It's easy to get new recruits among your own offspring. Eager for power, the church leaders have obscured and twisted the Gospel in order to keep the real reason hidden. The old scriptures only say "Do not lose any seed." In other words, never allow it to be lost, not even during the act of love." Michel looked at François in surprise. So that's what the funny guy had been alluding to.
"The holy objective of gnosis is enlightenment of the individual," the mystic continued, "and the coming home of the soul to the divine nature. This drawing shows the sexual transmutation of the Ens Seminis*(the human sperm). This delicate knowledge is only taught at mystical inauguration schools, such as the one in Montpellier. The pharaohs of the old Egypt were some of the people who were instructed in this. The technique requires the utmost self-control of sexual powers during lovemaking between man and woman. Especially for the man. By withholding the semen during the melting together of the two souls, a divine spark can be created, which can be compared to an actual ignition. "Ignatius" in Latin, which is where the word "gnosis" originated. The spark is created by the induction between the male and female sexual organs and produces a supernatural power, which rises up along the spinal column. Hence the two twisting snakes. The re-born energy reaches up to the top of the so-called caduceus of Mercury through these channels and there opens the wings of the spirit. The energy, or kundalini, can rise further, up to the Hermes Cups, but only if there is true love. If this is present, the cups are gradually filled. When they are full, they overflow and the energy slowly flows down the front to the heart. After repeating this process seven times, man is completely developed." The mystic put the drawing away.
"Now I ask you all to rise." The believers all stood and started to recite the standard prayers. François sang along with full conviction. Finally, after fifteen religious mysteries had been contemplated, the service was completed and tea was served. At the end of the evening the two students evaluated the material in the now abandoned room.
"I thought you had stooped to obscenity again, before the service," Michel apologized, "but I was truly fascinated with what they were saying."
"I knew you would find it interesting," François answered.
"It sure was, but it does make life seem like punishment."
"Well, the fruits can be picked during one's lifetime, and if you apply this technique properly, you can cultivate special powers. Nature will listen to you."
"You mean I could talk to a horse?" the invited guest asked frivolous.
"For instance."
"Are you serious, or are you playing with me?"
"No, seriously; the Red Sea opened for Moses, didn't it?" Rabelais indicated.
"Then everyone should apply that technique as soon as possible."
'Better not; hardly anyone is pure enough and you can create a lot of havoc with bad intentions. Those are the Brothers of Darkness. Watch out for them!" Michel let everything sink in for a while.
"Are children still conceived among practitioners of this technique?" he then asked.
"They are still being delivered by the stork."
"Oh great, the stupid jokes are back," and, making a long face, Michel got up to leave.
"Sorry, sorry, I'll answer your question seriously. Ordinary mortals are having enough babies to preserve our population. Besides, very advanced children are often born of initiates."
"I suppose the transcendence of lust is the basis of this," his guest speculated.
"Indeed, once upon a time, Eve ate the forbidden fruit and ever since then man has been banished from paradise. Now we have to move mountains to repair her mistake."
"Forbidden fruit?"
"Forbidden fruit is symbolic for male sperm," François explained, drinking a last cup of tea. "But do you play with yourself, or don't you?" His friend shook his head sadly and walked out of the room. Incorrigible, that Rabelais!

After several years of intense cramming, Michel got permission to establish himself as a physician. His studies were not completed yet, but he definitely wanted to go and help the plague victims in the country. In the back of his mind he always held the thought that the Black Death would awaken his dormant insight, according to the message from Hermes. The nineteen-year-old physician told François about his intention, who regretted it, but agreed that his friend was ready for the real work.
"And what will you call yourself?" François asked.
"Just Doctor De Nostredame."
"You know that scientists embellish their names with a Latin ending, don't you?"
"Yes, but …" Michel hesitated, not wanting to be vain.
"It's important the make an impression, you know. What do you think of Nostradamus?"
"Sounds great!" his buddy laughed, submitting to the idea. A few days later, the two friends bade each other farewell and promised to keep in touch.
Michel returned to his parents' home, so that from Saint Rémy he could offer his knowledge in the surrounding areas. They were very happy with the return of their son, and Father spontaneously offered him Grandpa's attic.
"Shouldn't you discuss that with Julien first?" Reynière cautioned her husband.
"Julien only studies up there, but Michel is going to be bringing in money", he retorted.
"You're just walking all over that boy," she disapproved.
"All right, I'll ask him what he thinks." Julien, who was studying law up in the attic, had no problem with making room for his eldest brother, as it turned out, and he moved back into his former room, along with his books. His older brother's presence was good for him too; he could now help him translate texts. All's well that ends well. Michel was happy to see his family again; his last visit had been a year ago, and he observed the familiar goings-on with a broadened mind. His little brothers had grown into strapping lads and were about to leave the nest and go out into the wide world. Bertrand wanted to be a carpenter. Most of the woodwork in the house was made by him. He definitely didn't want to be a notary like his father, "because he has a deformed forehead from all that brainwork", he claimed. Father did indeed have a strange forehead: it was flat, high and stuck way out. His hands, by contrast, were exceptionally nicely shaped. In addition, Jacques was a bit stuffy; he always considered everything in the minutest detail. His wife was more in touch with her intuition. Michel noticed for the first time what an attractive woman his mother was. She had a great figure, beautiful, warm eyes and long shiny brown hair, which she usually wore up. It was a pity that she was a bit too trusting with strangers; a few times, money had disappeared in her presence. Father, on the other hand, had a healthy dose of suspicion in that regard, so the two completed each other quite well. The other brothers, Hector and Antoine didn't know what they were going to do yet.
"I know: I'm going to make some matzo," Reynière said breezily in reaction to all the heavy plans for the future. "Want to help me, Michel? Then you could tell me what you've been up to in Montpellier at the same time," and the young physician willingly went with her. In the kitchen they mixed water with some flour.
"Okay, tell me," she commanded, and her son began to tell her all about his student days.
"Oops, I still have to stoke the fire in the back garden," she interrupted him. "You go ahead and start kneading; I'll be right back." A few minutes later, she returned, covered in soot and Michel continued his narrative, as if he hadn't noticed anything. Many college stories later the scent of the unleavened bread filled the whole house. Father cut the crunchy matzo at the table and in this way they celebrated the homecoming of their successful son.
"Would you visit a sick acquaintance of mine?" Jacques asked afterwards.
"That's the city chirurgeon's job, isn't it?" Michel asked.
"Well, I don't have a lot of faith in him. Mr. Delblonde's health is steadily declining."
"Okay, I'll go and have a look," his son promised.
"By the way, the municipality of Arles is looking for a physician," Reynière just remembered. "You should go and apply there."
"I will Mother, thanks for the tip." The next day he visited Mr. Delblonde, who had been in the medical care of Villain for some time. This chirurgeon took care of your wounds, cut away swellings, performed phlebotomy, pulled teeth, prepared herbal remedies and cut your hair or shaved your beard. The long-term patient had had the misfortune not to qualify for free treatments. His illness had been dragging on and on and he had been obliged to sell the one family heirloom he possessed, a root wood wardrobe, in order to be able to pay the bills. Only people who were completely destitute were eligible for free services and the municipality covered these cost. Michel's suspicions were confirmed when he entered; Villain was of the old school. Delblonde was completely exhausted due to laxatives and various fontanelles. The patient was lying in bed in critical condition with a sister by his side. Nostradamus introduced himself and the old man thought he remembered him from the past. Half delirious, he began to talk about the old days, but his sister put a stop to it right away.
"Let's not waste any time, doctor," she said and she told him that her brother had gotten much worse after the incisions in the skin had become infected. Villain was trying to release an excess of humors this way. Michel examined the patient and gave his diagnosis.
"I don't think that the cause is serious, but the medical treatment is. If you want your brother to stay alive, those incisions must be closed and you must get rid of those purgative drinks," he insisted. The despondent sister realized that it was time for a change and she agreed. Michel immediately removed the iron tubes from the dozens of fontanelles and cleaned the wounds with water.
"Also, give your brother fresh fruit and vegetables every day," the doctor advised as he was leaving, "as soon as he is a bit stronger, I will be back." At city hall they were furious when they heard about this "illegal practice." They instructed the police to pick up the charlatan, but he showed them his papers which proved that he was an acknowledged physician and that he had every right to treat any patient in France. The city council members were still going berserk and were claiming that there was room for only one chirurgeon in Saint Rémy, but Nostradamus held his ground and there was nothing they could do about it. Within a week, Mr. Delblonde began to regain his strength and the controversial physician told him he should now start to take short walks. The patient did as he was told and walked around the town for the first time in months. His health continued to improve by leaps and bounds and everyone in town witnessed his surprising cure. The city chirurgeon as well as the council members looked like fools and Michel's name as physician was established. Within a few days, sick people started to knock on the De Nostredame's door and the miracle doctor treated all of them with good results. After Villain, in the course of time, had made a few big blunders, Michel was appointed as the official new physician of Saint Rémy. The swearing-in ceremony had barely taken place when there was a sudden massive outbreak of the plague in the Camargue. The District Council reported that there were thousands of victims in the area and the brand new chirurgeon was now facing a huge challenge. The pestilence was extremely contagious and if you had a family member who had the disease, the same fate, as a rule, was awaiting you. Within two to six days, you could be dead and buried. Dogs, cats, chickens and even horses were also its victims. But the young physician was resilient and thought he was immune. Fortunately, Saint Rémy had not been hit with an outbreak of the plague as yet. But the nearby village of Sainte Doffe had been and public life had come to a grinding halt there. Dead bodies were rotting in the streets or tossed into hastily dug graves by shattered loved ones. The unbearable stench of rotting flesh hung in the air and people were burning fragrant pieces of wood in an effort to dissipate it. Many villagers had kicked their family members out of their homes to try to save their own lives. Others had fled elsewhere. Michel visited his first plague patient in this plagued village and was brought to a deathly ill child in a little clay hut. The little boy was spitting up blood, had big black spots and lumps as large as eggs all over his body. His mother was sprinkling the floor with vinegar to freshen the air. The brave doctor examined the child, but truth be told, there was really nothing he could do. No remedy had yet been found for this disease. At the university they were advising to perform bloodletting, but Michel wanted nothing to do with such backward practices. Just to give the family some hope he placed a piece of devil's dung around the child's neck; an herb that was used in exorcism. He wrote down the symptoms of the extremely contagious disease and left without being able to do anything substantial. During the days that followed, the physician visited several plague sufferers, who were initially taking shelter in spiritual peace with God. Wherever he came in, there was always some anxious priest who would be taking confession and promising the patient a place in the hereafter. Medical help, unfortunately, took second place. Ignorance is a cardinal sin, Michel realized more than ever. However, the abundance of superstition, the abuse of power and the ignorance stimulated him to attempt to discover the cause of the disease by using his common sense and to find a solution for it. He distinguished two types of plague: the one with lumps forming on the outside of the body and the one affecting the lungs. After examining the symptoms of the disease, he could see the importance of hygiene, which, in the Jewish religion had been traditional for centuries. An interesting case in Milan confirmed his findings. The archbishop had ordered to brick up the first three houses that had been attacked by the plague, with the residents inside. As a result of this, Milan was protected from a further outbreak. This harsh management had shown that contagion was being passed on invisibly. Nostradamus began to introduce quarantine for new cases, during which time no healthy citizens were permitted to have any contact with the patients, who were still being provided with food and water. This method began to yield some good results. The researcher also had the idea that the disease could be carried by the wind and he therefore distributed masks among the population in a neighboring village that had not been contaminated with the plague yet. The residents were spared from the epidemic and Michel began to suspect the existence of bacteria. He then began to advise everyone to take a bath in warm water once a week if at all possible and to wash their hands with soap before each meal. He also stimulated them to regularly brush their teeth, for example with chewed up licorice root, to rinse the mouth with honey water or wine vinegar, to clip th eir finger nails and cut and wash their hair, moustaches and beards. Everyone also had to change their clothing and thoroughly clean it by washing it, preferably in hot or boiling water. Despite the essential pioneer work, he nevertheless remained a voice calling out in the wilderness, until Pope Clemens VII heard about the willful plague fighter and invited him to his private quarters in Avignon. The pope asked him how he should protect himself against a future outbreak of the plague and Michel advised him to at least withdraw into his residence. When the epidemic reached the neighborhood of the religious leader about a month later, he spent several weeks in solitude. Because of the isolation he stayed alive and Nostradamus gained some fame. The plague, meanwhile, was raging through all parts of the country and exacted a terrible toll in all of Europe. The overpopulated areas were hit the hardest. Armies of well-trained, strong soldiers fell apart after a few days of the epidemic, and local wars were lost before being fought. Quacks tried to take advantage of the panic situation and make a quick fortune. The young doctor worked day and night and treated thousands of people. After four years, the plague had finally spent its fury and Nostradamus returned to Montpellier to finally complete his studies. François had graduated by then and, surprisingly, had left France. The caretaker told him strict measures had been taken against the reformed, the humanists and all dissidents. Even scientists with sharp tongues were no longer welcome in the country. In spite of this, François had the good fortune to be employed as a physician by the viceroy of Piemonte. Michel once again attacked his studies, but he came upon a lot of incomprehension among his former teachers regarding his progressive ideas. His theoretical and practical knowledge was so impressive, however, that the teachers could not deny him his doctor's title a year later. The unconventional physician gave lectures at this university for a short time, but his treatment methods ultimately caused too much consternation. The director-in-chief took action; the culprit was admonished and thereupon left the university. Tried and tested, Michel returned home to Saint Rémy and there decided to resume his practice.

Chapter 3

"There's no place like home," Jacques said, after the umpteenth return of his son, but Michel didn't respond to his corny remark.
"You've changed, boy; you're so quiet."
"I'm getting older, father," he replied tersely. Michel had completely outgrown his parents, but he didn't want to hurt their feelings and didn't say anything else. There had been extra space in the house for a while, and the physician decided to once again move into the abandoned attic. Julien was now studying law in Aix-en-Provence and Bertrand and his wife were living in a house he had built himself at the edge of town. Hector and Antoine were still living at home and were hoping to hear new stories from their worldly brother, but he didn't seem to be in the mood to talk. Michel had been through a lot and his mind had become too heavy and too powerful for wasting time. In fact, it had become so heavy and forceful that it was getting cloudy. The mystical veil protected his higher bodies in their development and it made him inaccessible. And when anyone pulled this blanket off him, his look could burn you. The learned family member badly needed rest and resigned himself to the character changes in himself. Today the fearless physician went to visit some patients in nearby Arles. After a pleasant little trip through the sunny scenery, the carriage stopped in front of a yellow house near the town center. Nostradamus knocked and waited, but there was no response. The shutters were open and he glanced inside
"The doctor's here," he called out in a clear voice, but there was still no sign of life. He decided to try knocking loudly on the front door one more time before climbing in through the window, when suddenly he was approached from behind by a scrawny man with reddish hair. The man, whose shoes were covered with paint, carelessly pushed him aside and entered the house.
"Whoa, wait a minute, I'm visiting a patient here," the doctor said, but the man, who was missing his left ear, seemed deaf and mute and rudely slammed the door shut in his face.
Well, that's never happened to me before! Michel thought, feeling somewhat humiliated. I'm being treated like dirt here.
Still in a funk, the generally well-respected physician walked through Arles, which possibly was one of the most beautiful cities in France. Nostradamus had some extra time because of the strange incident, and ordered a cool drink at Place du Forum, which was littered with cafés. Sitting on a wicker chair, he observed what was going on in the street while he quenched his thirst. The provincial town was known for its cultural manifestations and was visited by many wealthy Italians and Spaniards. The foreigners were noticeable because of their expensive clothing and different looks. It was an enjoyable spectacle and drew a lot of attention. A little while later, an Italian lady walked towards him from a shopping street, and he was instantly taken with her. He guessed her to be about twenty years old, a few years younger than himself. The Italian woman had a small, beautiful head, a long neck and sparkling eyes and she moved very elegantly. The physician stared at the charming lady, who looked to be high-born and he was unable to avert his gaze. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and his heart was pierced by Cupid. Most people did not show off their beauty, but Italians did; the lady was walking around wearing very conspicuous clothing. She was wearing a purple velvet gown with puffed sleeves and an open white collar. The Venetian-style garment flared from her waist down to the ground, held up by hoops. Dozens of them! In addition, her black hair was bound on top of her head as an ornament, decorated with jewels. Around her neck she wore an expensive-looking pearl necklace. While the breathtakingly beautiful lady was walking towards Michel, her dress majestically dragged on the ground and the longer he looked at her, the more unearthly he began to feel. When the Italian woman walked past him, chatting with two gentlemen and a matron, she suddenly gave him a candid look. A spell was cast. He melted like wax, under her unexpected gaze, and he felt as if his life was now just beginning.
"Good heavens," he stammered, totally rattled. And while he kept staring at her he was shaking like a leaf. He suddenly felt very small and more vulnerable than he had ever thought possible. After years of only visiting patients, he had completely forgotten about love and now the sun was beginning to shine in the crevices of his soul. During the heartbeat that their eyes met, she was also struck by a love arrow and she blushed as she continued on her way with her companions. Michel's heart was aflame and he determined he absolutely must court this woman. The love-struck admirer jumped up, threw some money on the table and ran after the Italian woman. He followed the little group from a distance and feverishly tried to think of a way to approach her. The lady sensed him behind her, but did not dare to turn around and look and finally entered an establishment. The unsteady physician almost started to panic.
Now what? he wondered. A serving girl happened to be leaving the same place at the same time. He noticed and called out to her: "Miss, could you please tell me when that last group of people leaves, because I have something to discuss with them." The servant looked at his neat appearance and responded as he had hoped: "You are an acquaintance of the De Vaudemonts?"
"More or less," he twisted the truth. She became talkative and told him that the company would be returning to the Lot en Garonne that coming Saturday. He had the information he wanted, thanked her and returned to Saint Rémy on cloud nine. There, he began to make plans to meet the woman of his dreams. During lunch, a changed housemate sat at the table.
"You're in a good mood," Father remarked.
"And I've never seen you look so handsome," his mother added, "you're positively beaming." Michel just smiled sheepishly, but didn't say a word about it; he kept his heart to himself. But Reynière had an idea.
"I think I know what's going on," she said mischievously and when her son asked for a mirror the next day, she was sure. He must be in love!
"Is it on account of a lady that you're so out of sorts?" she asked.
"Um, yes," he admitted.
"Well, I'd better give you a few tips then. You may be learned, but when it comes to women's business you're better off listening to me." Mother had seen through his secret and the diligent physician looked at his mother expectantly, like a small child.
"Women like it when you pay them compliments," she told him. "Is she from around here?"
"No, she's from Italy."
"Ah, the country where fashion comes from. Then we'd better do something to improve your image." And that same day, Mother bought a trendy suit and fit it on him personally. Hector and Antoine were curious and came to see what was going on with their brother in the living room.
"Mother is dressing Michel?" they scratched their heads. Reynière unpacked the new red jerkin and pulled it on over the buttoned up shirt with ruffles. On top of this came a black over-frock.
"I want one of those too!" Hector shouted enthusiastically, when he saw the expensive velvet overcoat with long, split sleeves. A few minutes later, Father came home from work.
"Michel, I have some mail for you," he reported, looking on in wonder.
"I can't use my hands right now, Dad."
"I'll put it in your desk for you," Jacques offered. His wife, meanwhile, kept pulling on the various pieces of clothing.
"You're slight and this makes you look broader," she said, fidgeting with the coat.
"I'll have to take your word for it," her son answered and kept standing as still as a statue.
Soon he started to hop from one foot to the other, because his mother was trying to put a pair of knickerbockers with a zipper on him. Then she put white stockings on his feet and wide slippers made of cowhide.
"I think those shoes are beautiful," Antoine said.
"They sure are," his fancy brother said, looking down. Finally, Reynière placed a hat with a feather on his head, and the result was charming indeed. He looked both distinguished and stylish, everyone agreed, and their love-struck family member paraded through the living room for them.
"Goodness gracious, you look like a king," said Father, who came in again, shaking his head.
The next day, the physician, who had taken a day off, happily set off to Arles, wearing his new outfit. Once there, he loitered around the boarding house he had seen the beautiful lady enter before, for about an hour. He repeatedly looked into all the windows of the building, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but she was nowhere to be seen. A hunchback, who was advertising bullfights in a most irritating way, came and stood right next to him. The lover slunk away and sat down at the same terrace where had been two days earlier. He had just ordered a drink to calm himself, when the beautiful woman suddenly appeared out of nowhere and walked past, by herself. His disappointment disappeared like snow in the sun and he bravely hurried towards her. He had not been mistaken: she was so beautiful, so elegant and fine. Irresistible! The Italian woman got butterflies in her stomach when she saw him trotting towards her and for a moment she didn't know what to do. On top of that, her face turned scarlet when she saw his modern clothing, which was perfect in every detail.
That must be meant for me, she thought, feeling nervous and honored at the same time.
"Mademoiselle De Vaudemont," he stammered, "as a physician, I must point out to you that the waist of your dress is too tight. This is bad for your circulation." How stupid of me, he thought, I meant to give her a compliment.
"I mean, it could harm your beauty," but there was no reply; The Italian woman didn't know what to say. I should just express myself freely, he decided.
"To be honest, you have made a profound impression on me and I had to see you again," he said. That broke the ice and she smiled at his candor.
"Do you practice here in Arles?" she asked, still a bit stiff, but in flawless French without a trace of an accent.
"Um, no, although, yes sometimes, but I am from Saint Rémy and I work there too." The unnerved physician introduced himself and invited her to sit down and have a drink with him, after which they both walked to the terrace where his drink was still waiting for him. It was quite a feat to maneuver her hoop skirt between the tables, but finally they were sitting down.
"You look truly fabulous," he complimented "Yolande", "but how can you get through the day wearing that dazzling but heavy dress?"
"I only wear this dress when I'm parading through town; as soon as I get home, it is removed," and she nervously thanked the waiter for the anise drink. Bystanders meanwhile, were openly staring at the enchanting couple. The two were completely oblivious to this public attention, however, and the physician tried to think of topics of conversation.
"It's not possible, is it, to deal with such a dress alone?"
"The matron helps me with it," she answered, and then there was a pregnant pause. Michel again searched for words, but he couldn't find any and ordered another drink instead.
"I've heard it is quite a heavy load to study for physician," Yolande commented.
"Oh, five years of university."
"Well, that is very clever; there are not many who could accomplish that," she praised him and slowly but surely, something beautiful began to flow between them.
"What brings you to Arles? It looks like you're journeying through on your way somewhere else," Michel asked. Yolande told him that her family owned a castle in the Lot and Garonne, to which they were traveling and that she was from a noble lineage.
"I suppose the castle belongs to your parents?" he commented. She confirmed this and started to warm up, talking about her father, Count Ferry VI de Vaudemont, and her mother, Queen of Naples. Her parents had nine children, including herself. The chill had completely left the air and the chemistry between them started to manifest. The spark between them was palpable. It was true love and time had never flown by so fast. They were both over the moon when eventually said goodbye to each other and left the scintillated public behind. Yolande promised to write him as soon as she arrived in the Lot. Back in Saint Rémy, Mother immediately inquired how it went for him.
"It was positive," he answered coolly.
"Positive? Is that all you have to say? You are beaming, my man!"
"Oh, all right," he laughed out loud, "but first I've got to get out of this monkey suit." And while he was running up to the attic, he shouted out: "She is going to be my wife!" A week later, he received the first letter from his beloved, in which she expressed her desire for him. After a few more letters it was evident: the fire kept burning and the two were meant for each other. In the last letter Yolande requested him to come and visit her in the Lot soon. Jacques and Reynière were overjoyed that their eldest son had finally found a woman, and one from a wealthy, noble family no less.
"You've caught a big fish, Michel. I hope you'll put us in your will," his father, the notary, teased.
"Certified idiot," his son replied unusually lightheartedly.
"I guess you'll get to live in that beautiful castle," his mother supposed.
"That's a bit premature Mom. First let's see how this visit goes." But her intuition told her that her son was about to leave the village for good.

Not long after, Nostradamus left to go and see his princess. He was going to rescue her and in his mind he saw a beautiful drama unfold. Love really did have a blinding effect, the lucky devil realized while making the long trip in the carriage, by way of Toulouse. And on the way he found himself possessed by a longing for Yolande that would - he thought - burn eternally. In the Ariège, the carriage passed the historic Mount Montségur, where the last of the Kathars were murdered en masse centuries ago, and he remembered his old university friend François Rabelais. The scenery was now getting a lot greener and he began to see vineyards everywhere.
Picking grapes, he fantasized right away, just to pick grapes with her would be enough, and he looked at the blooming vineyards stretching to the horizon, intoxicated by his love for her. When dusk began to fall, the silhouette of Castle Puivert loomed in the distance: it was the castle that belonged to the De Vaudemonts. The castle was beautifully situated on top of the hill and Orion shone above it, seemingly symbolically. The coachman had planned the trip well, because they arrived at seven o'clock and he parked his vehicle in the twilight. The keyed-up lover got out and looked for a sign of life. Abruptly, the portcullis in the massive entrance tower was raised. Michel took a deep breath and walked to the opened gate with his luggage. While he was looking around, he caught a glimpse of his beloved behind an open window. Nervously, he walked through the portcullis and across an enormous courtyard, while the gate slammed shut behind him, to keep out intruders.
"Good evening, Mr. Nostradamus," Count De Vaudemont greeted him, smoothing out his drooping moustache. Yolande's father kept his distance and a servant rushed to take the bags of the visitor.
"So you are the young physician my daughter has been so enthusiastically exclaiming about. Did you have a good trip?"
"Indeed I did my Lord, but my body is craving some movement now," Michel answered and demonstratively started to stretch his limbs. Yolande arrived, elated, but was unable to exchange one word with her lover, for he was taken to his quarters immediately as ordered by her father.
"Tonight during dinner, you will have plenty of chance to speak to him," he whispered to his daughter. It was repugnant to the castle lord to see her following the newcomer like a panting deer. Such nonsense! And the count disappeared into one of the rooms with a disapproving look on his face. The guest was taken to a donjon that was twenty meters high.
"You'll be staying on the top floor," the servant mumbled, carrying an oil lamp and slowly ascending the stairs. A thousand steps higher, the tired traveler was left in a room with a four-poster bed that was guarded by the sculptures of eight musicians. After a short nap, Michel decided to explore his immediate surroundings. In the dark, he climbed a narrow, wooden staircase to the roof terrace, where he had a great view of the area. The full moon was shining onto the village of Puivert which was situated on a tranquil lake. Some commotion in the courtyard caught his attention. Several well-groomed guests were there, waiting for dinner. Michel hurried back to his room to get changed and then joined the group, which was just starting to go in. In the large, fancy room stood a gorgeous dining table with matching chairs. The kind of furniture belonging to the avant-garde. A servant showed the physician to a place across from Yolande, but between Ferry VI and the queen of Naples. They would put this serious candidate for their daughter to the test. The sweethearts were looking expectantly at each other, but were also a bit unsure about the parents' verdict. Yolande was wearing a brilliant turquoise gown and her hair was coiffed in a low chignon this time. She sent a restrained smile to her friend, who subtly answered. The dining table was set for royalty. There were glass dishes with golden trim and hand-painted replicas of the family coat of arms. The linen and cutlery were also decorated with it. The emblems were everywhere. The staff, meanwhile, had started serving the entrees. In addition to the count and the countess there were five sons, four daughters, three in-laws, several grandchildren and a handful of guests. During the rich meal, the turtle doves could not take their eyes off each other and they began to flirt.
"You're not the only ones at this table, you know", a son-in-law said, irritated. In any case, one thing was clear: the two were in love.
"You seem to have built up a good reputation in the Provence," the count remarked, while his drooping moustache just missed his soup.
"I do my best to cure the ill," the physician said, "but I'm glad the last outbreak of the plague has run its course, because I have very little control over it."
"We're very fortunate to not have experienced that terrible disease here," the queen of Naples said.
"But did you actually graduate?" the count suddenly asked.
"I already talked to you about that, Father," Yolande defended her beau.
"I will bring you my certificate after dinner, my Lord," Michel promised.
"Please do, I am very interested in seeing it. I'll be expecting you in my room shortly then. I happen to have some excellent cognac there as well. I'm sure you understand that I only want the best for my daughter." Ferry VI remained suspicious and was not in the least embarrassed to go through a list of questions that should determine if the physician was qualified as a son-in-law. The questions were about random topics; Nostradamus was able to give an impeccable answer to each one and slowly the mistrust began to diminish. After the dessert the count had a brief private consultation with his wife outside of the dining hall and then returned. It seemed the couple had decided that the prospective new husband was good enough for their daughter. After that, Michel could do no wrong. After Ferry VI had spent some time with him in his room, the lovers finally had a chance to be together and they quietly took a walk outside the gate. They seemed to understand each other so well, that words were superfluous. Behind a chestnut tree they furtively kissed, and the touch was like magic. After a week at the castle, Michel asked for Yolande's hand in marriage, and she accepted only too happily. Her calculated father gave his permission that same day; after all, the candidate met all of his conditions. A dream was coming true and Nostradamus felt as though he could take on the entire world. The physician, who had been freed from his melancholy, informed his parents of the coming wedding at Puivert, but they sent a message that it would not be possible for them to make the long trip, due to their geriatric ailments. Only his brother Hector would be able to attend. Their eldest son requested them to send his personal possessions and promised to come to Saint Rémy with Yolande as soon as possible.

The auspicious day arrived and countless prominent ladies and gentlemen gathered to make it a splendid occasion. And it was a spectacular wedding party. When the newly-weds were finally alone, they could not get enough of each other.
"It is a like fairytale to be married to you," Michel swooned, while they were lying in his four-poster bed, kissing.
"It is a fairytale," she replied softly and they continued to melt together with the climax as the grand finale. The eight sculptures of the musicians had been turned to face the walls. After the celestial wedding night, they got down to business right away; they decided to settle in Agen. The guild there was looking for a licensed physician and they had accepted Nostradamus for the position. The influential town was not far from Puivert and so the young couple was able to be independent as well maintain contact with the family. The blissfully happy pair went on a house hunt and quickly found a suitable residence, situated on the town square, which had a beautiful fountain. While decorating their new home, they enjoyed their freedom, the summer days, and especially each other. One sultry night, the lovers scampered to the fountain and danced under the spraying water to their hearts' content. They sat down on the edge, dripping, and laughing with glee.
"Close your eyes," Yolande requested and she put something in his mouth.
"A cherry!" he uttered.
"I have something else for you."
"Another fruit?"
"Yes, I am pregnant," and they continued to kiss ecstatically.

Aside from his work, Nostradamus set up a small perfume factory, where concentrated oils for medicinal use were manufactured. A dozen employees distilled plants and herbs into ethereal oils there and their master would develop a recipe for every ailment. In the meantime, the married couple was starting to feel comfortably at home in Agen. In the Rue du Soleil, there was a special book store, in which Michel decided to nose around one day.
"Are you finding what you want?" the owner called from the back.
"I'm just browsing. I'm not looking for anything in particular," the visitor answered. The bookseller, who had a long beard, walked towards him.
"Aren't you the new doctor?"
"That's right!"
"I'm Abigail. Nice to finally meet another well-read person around here. In that regard, it is slim pickings in this little town."
"I don't know the people here very well yet," Michel apologized.
"Of course, a book is much more expensive than a loaf of bread and almost no one can afford to buy one," Abigail qualified his comment, "but if you're ever looking for medical literature, I will certainly be able to help you. I have good connections with publishers in London, who are progressive in that area."
"Possibly later, when I have more time," the busy physician said. "I'm afraid I have to go already, goodbye," and he went on to see his next patient.

After the doctor had acquired a decent collection of medical works in the course of time, their first child was born. It was a son: Victor. And while he was still in diapers, his mother got pregnant again. His father, meanwhile, had become friends with the bookseller, who one day had a mysterious bundle set aside for him. Nostradamus was pleasantly surprised when he saw the work, which had the word "Kabala" written on it in Gothic letters. Of course, he had heard of it a long time ago, but he had never studied it. Amazing that he would now completely unexpectedly receive it from Abigail.
"How much is it?" he asked, reaching for his wallet.
"This book won't cost you anything," Abigail answered.
"Well, thank you very much."
"It's not me you should thank, but a secret admirer of yours." The doctor shrugged his shoulders in surprise and accepted the gift. At home, Victor was fast asleep in his little bed and his father had a chance to recuperate in peace from his long work day. Yolande poured her husband some jasmine tea and they enjoyed each other's company, sitting in front of the fire. The successful physician looked contentedly at his beautiful wife, gave her a kiss and laid his hand on her swollen belly; the unborn child was already kicking a bit. When he'd finished his tea, he decided to read his new kabala book and took it down from the shelf. "The bestowal of mystical knowledge", was the sub-title. While he made himself comfortable, nestling close to his spouse on the carpet, he opened the book and found a card in it with a name and address on it: "Julius Scaliger, 15 Avenue de Lattre, Agen." This must undoubtedly be his secret admirer.
"Yolande, do you know someone named Julius Scaliger?"
"Scaliger, that is a famous fellow townsman who is causing quite a stir as a writer. He is highly praised everywhere as a humanist," she answered.
"Why don't I know that?"
"You can't know everything, darling, but why are you asking?"
"He gave me this book. Look, here's his card," and he gave it to her.
"Why would he do that?" Yolande asked, surprised.
"Darned if I know."
"Wait a minute, he's a physician too," she suddenly remembered, "court physician of the Bishop of Agen. That must be the link. Maybe he knows you from the medical university in Montpellier?"
"No, definitely not," he said. "Let's see what kind of book he gave me," and he began to read.
"Besides the written tradition of the Bible, there is also the tradition of the Kabala. This mystical knowledge is based on Genesis and is passed on primarily from teacher to student. The Tree of Life is the prescribed model and this form is the key to the mystical reading of the Bible. We are speaking here of the four worlds, which symbolize the different levels of consciousness in the story of Creation, and this knowledge is deepened with the aid of meditation. The Kabala was originally a Jewish mystical tradition used to reveal secret messages in the bible, but is now also used in scholasticism. The Kabala is practiced in esoteric schools and by individual magicians."
Michel closed the book and painfully had to acknowledge that on the spiritual level he had been at a stand-still for years. This book was a gift from heaven. After changing Victor, the three of them happily went to bed.
"I'll have to pay this Scaliger a visit soon," said Michel, while their son's eyes were slowly closing.
"Take your time, sweetheart. Scaliger's not going anywhere; he's been living here for years," his wife whispered.
A few days later, the doctor knocked on the door at number fifteen in the Avenue de Lattre. A hefty servant opened the door and claimed that his master was not in, but a gaunt little man came walking down the stairs. It was the court physician himself.
"Oh, doctor, I have a terribly sore throat," Julius Scaliger joked, but his humor went right over Nostradamus' head.
"I'll have a look at it in a minute, but allow me first to thank you for the beautiful book you gave me," he answered, seriously.
"No problem. To tell you the truth, it was Abigail's choice." And the two gentlemen proceeded to the drawing room, which was decorated with many portraits of scientists and philosophers.
"Impressive; you know them all personally?" the visitor inquired.
"Not all of them, but the portrait you're looking at right now is of Erasmus, with whom I have been arguing by correspondence lately. They call him the greatest thinker of Europe, but I think there are quite a few gaps in his line of reasoning," and Julius sat down in an easy chair.
"I've heard of him," admitted Michel. "But what exactly is the reason you sought contact with me?" en he sat down in a chair too.
"Your name comes up on a regular basis," his host explained. "A physician who doesn't care about the religious authorities is rare. I am attracted to recalcitrant scientists and since I also studied medicine, it seemed to me a good idea for us to get to know each other."
"I feel honored," Michel replied, while he looked around the interior.
"It is such a coincidence that you moved to Agen of all places," Julius continued, "especially with that beautiful noble flower, who makes my heart skip a beat."
"Aha, so that's why you sent me a present!"
"Who knows; everything plays a role. You're very lucky to have such a beautiful wife."
"Indeed I am. And who is that?" Michel asked, pointing to a portrait.
"That is Cardano."
"Hmm, Cardano. If I'm not mistaken, he is a mathematician and astrologer."
"But also a fraud," Scaliger said, scornfully. "In his book De Subtilitate, he speaks of demons, but the passage was taken word for word from my writing."
"Plagiarism is a nasty business," his guest responded. 'And what kind of humanist works have you written?"
"Many, but my most important work is the summary of all of the literature that has been published everywhere, far past our borders. Furthermore, I am considered to be one of the great thinkers of this century, along with Erasmus," he boasted.
"Of the entire century no less?"
"I can't stand false modesty," his host declared, and Michel had to smile at the self-willed humanist. The scientists were well matched, and spent some time discussing medical documents by Aristotle. They hit it off very well and decided to visit each other more often. During the next few months, the bonds of friendship grew between them and one day, Julius showed his secret library. Secret, because many books were seen as a threat by the Church.
"Look Michel, the revolutionary document by Copernicus with "The sun as the center of the universe."
"Actually, mystics and astrologers see the sun as one of the stars," his friend commented. "But I suppose a scientist wants to see proof and what can he do with these kinds of pipe dreams?"
"On the contrary, dreams can be very useful," Julius answered. "Why don't you write them down some time. You'll see that your personal development will benefit from it."

Isabelle was born. She shone like the sun and grew rapidly. The girl seemed to be the center of the universe and Victor was her constant companion. The maid, who didn't have any children of her own, liked to pretend the beautiful baby was hers. While the family grew and blossomed, something sinister was beginning to happen in the outside world. Agen had been spared from the plague so far, but fate now struck. After the first case became known, public life immediately came to a grinding halt. Terrified of being infected with the disease, everyone avoided contact with each other as much as possible. And rightly so, because soon there were more victims. The progressive city doctor immediately set up quarantine for various districts of the city, where hundreds of dogs and cats already lay rotting. Notradamus was working overtime, rushing from one patient to the next. The tough physician gave the authorities orders to bury the bodies of both humans and animals between layers of lime, in order to prevent infection. He also ordered everyone to burn their garbage, so that nothing would be left to feed rats and fleas. After this, there was a constant smell of smoke and fire in the air. He told the plague victims who were still alive to rub a cream made with garlic and aloe on their bodies. The doctor kept stressing the importance of hygiene and good food and most of the townspeople supported his method. Some didn't trust him, however, and were looking for a scapegoat for the disaster. Riots began to break out in the town square; exactly where the Nostradamus family was living. The overworked physician heard the noise, walked to the window and was amazed to see that a fire stake was being prepared next to the fountain. In no time at all a huge crowd had gathered around it and two men were led towards it. The Agenois were furious and shouting at the top of their lungs. Michel realized that the townspeople were playing judge and jury. Things were getting out of hand.
"God almighty, they've got Abigail," he suddenly called out. One of those poor bastards was his friend, the book seller. He was being called all kinds of names and the doctor's anger began to boil over. Yolande came to stand beside him, alarmed.
"You will stay here, won't you?" she said, frightened, but her husband didn't listen to her and ran into the street, seething. His common sense told him just in time to keep his head cool and he pushed through the crowd in a somewhat controlled manner.
"Those rotten Jews are the cause of all this evil, burn them!" some of them yelled, full of hatred. Yolande looked on helplessly.
Please, don't argue with them, she thought, stiff with fear. The two Jews were tied to the poles and someone tried to ignite the stake.
"Stop!" Nostradamus screamed. The compelling order silenced the crowd and people moved back to make way for the physician, who, after all was married to one of the Vaudemonts. He coldly ordered the last of the instigators to move aside and climbed up on the stake. With great determination he wrenched off the ropes that tied the unfortunates to the poles. The rescuer focused his attention on his old friend Abigail for a moment. Abigail looked at him, filled with faith and a light began to shine in his eyes.
What is happening to me? Michel thought. And for a minute the intense beauty of those eyes unbalanced him.
No, don't show any vulnerability in front of the wolves, and guarding against a possible change in the crowd's mood, he turned around resolutely and spoke strongly to the people.
"The plague is not cause by the Jews. If this were true, it would first have to be irrefutably proven. You have all been whipped into this frenzy by fear and fury. Go home and return to your senses and don't disturb the public order again." The heated crowd turned around, deflated, and the square emptied out. Yolande was finally freed of her intense fear when Michel was safely back in the house.
"Don't you ever do that again!" she called out, still shivering.
"I couldn't very well have left them to that rabble!"
"Your family needs you alive!'
"I am alive," he teased, which made Yolande mockingly attack him with a pillow. The plague, meanwhile, continued to rage and the doctor worked around the clock during those days.

A few weeks later fate knocked on the Nostradamus family's door. Yolande and Victor got sick. Michel was confronted with it when he came home from work, late in the evening. As white as a sheet, he diagnosed them with the feared disease.
"It's the damn plague," he swore, when he was alone in the kitchen and punched the walls with his fists. It was a horrible concurrence: the plague fighter defeated at the home front. Deeply upset, he broke the bad news to his wife.
"All my attention was on my patients instead of on you," he lamented.
"Michel, please don't blame yourself and promise me that you will go on living with Isabelle."
"I don't know if I can live without you!"
"A higher power will come through for you, darling," she tried to comfort him. He washed their wounds as they appeared, prepared the best food he could think of and hoped for a miracle up to the last minute, but to no avail. His flower quickly faded and died in his arms. He watched the last glow disappear from her eyes, and saw her spirit leave her body. The next day, Victor also left his life and while he was kissing his son goodbye, he heard his daughter calling him. Isabelle had been locked up in her room to keep her safe. The devastated physician left his daughter in the care of the servant for a day and brought the remains of his family members to Puivert. His wife had wanted to be buried in the family grave. The De Vaudemonts, watched in horror as a wagon carrying coffins approached. Of course, they understood what had happened, but out of fear they left the gate shut.
"This is killing us," the count called through a window, "but there are others here that I love too."
"I understand. Can someone help me dig a grave at a safe distance?" the son-in-law asked.
"No, sorry. Good luck," the count heartlessly ended the conversation and closed the shutters. Bitter and alone, the widower buried his wife and child in the family grave, which was just outside the gate. His wife's family secretly watched from the castle. Back in Agen, the doctor took charge of his daughter, who forced him to go on with his life. The first lie about him began to spread through the city: Yolande, buried by her own father. That evening, the maid knocked on the door. A heavily depressed Nostradamus opened it as asked what was the matter.
"Doctor, I came to warn you. The De Vaudemonts have set the townspeople against you. They are accusing you of purposely letting your wife die, so that you can run off with the dowry. It is also being rumored that you are a friend of the Jews. I had to tell you, sir, because I know you are a good person," and she ran away. Michel bolted the front door, walked around the house brooding and then took some precautionary measures. Upstairs in the bedroom he looked at Isabelle's carefree little face as she lay sleeping peacefully. Finally, he was able to cry and the wind, blowing through the open window, brushed his tears. Then the silence was broken and all hell broke loose. Enraged townspeople carrying torches and shouting malicious battle cries began to gather in front of the house in great numbers.
"Murderer," they shouted, "you deserve the death penalty." Michel looked with one eye, from behind the curtains, and saw the crowd.
"Let's get him now," he heard someone say. He knew that this time he would have to leave. The locked front door was creaking with the effort of the brutes trying to break it open and then a burning torch was thrown into the house, barely missing him. Quick as a wink, Nostradamus picked up his daughter who woke up with a start; he tied her onto his back and ordered her to be quiet. Behind her bed, he wrenched open a drawer in a bureau, grabbed a bag of provisions out of it and threw it over his shoulder. Then he ran up the attic stairs with Isabelle. The bedroom curtains were already in flames and a few minutes later the whole house was ablaze. The hooligans finally managed to break down the front door and started to search for the evil magician on the main floor, but because of the towering flames, they didn't dare to go up any higher. Meanwhile, Father, with his child bound onto his back, was climbing onto the roof at the back of the h