Nostradamus' poetry having been decyphered between 1993 and 1996, it is now possible to state exactly what his Prophecy is all about.
It is a cobweb of events spanning 460 years, from 1557 to 2017, all related, directly or indirectly, to one, single, future event, described below.
In August 2017, in China, Revolution strikes again. A horde of anti-American Communist hardliners storm the US embassy in Beijing (or, as it used to be known, Peking), takes hostage the entire male diplomatic staff, seventy-nine of them, parades them through Tienanmen Square and, in full view of the world, slaughters them all.
A rage greater than that which followed Pearl Harbour seizes Washington. Revenge! The order is immediately given to obliterate Tienanmen from the face of the Earth.
Everything being done in haste, the young recruit on duty that Saturday night (US time) is much too nervous, too excited, to calmly follow the procedure for targeting his missile in accordance with the order he has just received. Is he reading from a code book? Or is he looking at a computer screen for the codeword to target Peking? All he has to do is to look at the intended target, retrieve the corresponding codeword, and enter it in his computer for it to be sent to the guidance system of his ICBM.
What does he do? He does that, all right, but is too negligent to line-up his intended target with its codeword, and mistakenly reads the codeword above the one he is supposed to read. What is the name of the target above Peking? Listed alphabetically, it is... Paris! The exact target? The Place de la Concorde.
He enters the codeword, thinking he has just targeted Peking, and sends it to the missile, ready for launch. He does not know what he has just done. No one else does.
Newly elected in November 2016, and having taken office in January 2017, US President Joseph Patrick Kennedy III gives the final order. The missile leaves its silo at 3:30 a.m., Paris time, its launch having been properly authorized.
In France, the weather is splendid. Paris is greeting with open arms thousands of mid-August tourists, many of whom having come to ridicule Nostradamus' prophecy. The US has even sent a very special tourist, an old man, close to the US Administration, fully knowledgeable of US military procedures, able to reassure the good people of Paris that they face no danger at all on this fateful weekend of August 12-13, 2017.
At 3:53 a.m., Paris time, alongside millions of others, he is cooked instantly by 'the big heat of the atom', as Nostradamus calls it. The missile has arrived. On the outskirts of Paris, those who are spending the night outside, looking at the stars, see a brilliant flash of light coming from the city. Fireworks? At this time of night? Perhaps. After all, the weather is so magnificent that the Parisians might have decided to celebrate a little later than usual.
Inside the city, Hell has fallen. The centre of Paris is in ruins, twisted, melted steel is all that is left of the so proud Eiffel Tower. Notre-Dame is not pretty anymore, its stones blackened with soot. The river Seine has been boiled over. Fried bodies litter her bed.
Some time later, a very unusual 'snow' starts falling. Snow? In August? In Paris? Those who have not been fried by the blast and who have not fled the city afterwards cannot escape 'the atomic plague', Nostradamus' way of referring to the ensuing radioactive fallouts. These survivors shall eventually all perish from that 'plague'.
A group of brave people rush to the Sacré-Coeur of Montmartre to call for help. They ring the bell, over and over, in the hope of summoning assistance. In vain. The bell tolls for two days until it breaks. No one comes. Paris is abandoned.
Food and drink have been contaminated by radiations. But people are hungry, are thirsty. They shall poison themselves eating and drinking.
The books of Paris have burned, her artistic treasures are gone. Only the reserves of the Bank of France has been saved. How come? The President of France saw to it. Where has it been sent for safekeeping? To Québec. Secretly, of course.
Despite calls from a newly elected pope for total nuclear disarmamant, the US shall respond only by dismantling her system targeting both friend and foe, just in case. Too late.
In London, England, the fate of Paris is confirmed in a televised address by King George VII who orders a national period of mourning. Why? His two sons were in Paris. This time, he shall be unable to retrieve their bodies, something he was able to do for the body of their mother.
In New York, the UN Security Council is meeting at Britain's request. At first, the US denies everything. There is no evidence of what happened. Photographic reconnaissance planes shall be sent over Paris to bring back such evidence. Help is needed, France demands it. China offers her precious food. For many days, there is nothing but talk at the UN. No wonder: China also has a vote!
For six days, Paris shall be left to her own devices. When the UN finally sends some assistance, it is much too late for any first aid. All the US can do is offer billions of dollars to compensate France for the loss of a priceless city.
By order of the French Government, Marseille shall become France's capital; Marseille, in Provence, Nostradamus' own country.
Which brings us back to his Prophecy: he wrote about the above everywhere in his encyphered poetry and prose, my only contribution to it having been to find it, far from France, in beautiful downtown Toronto, Ontario, Canada. This is also part of the prophecy.
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Copyright Claude LATRÉMOUILLE © 2004, tous droits réservés, reproduction interdite
Last updated on 2004-02-25
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