DOS RITOS DE NAVEGAÇÃO ENTRE B-LOGS CLICA AÍ NO 1666 º POSTE NO ANO QUE TERMINA EM 666 NOSTRADAMUS LONDRES ARDERÁ E DAÍ TALVEZ NÃO

Oracles of Nostradamus"

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I 




ORACLES 



NOSTRADAMUS 



3> 







JOHN M. KELLY LIBDADY 



Donated by 
The Redemptorists of 
the Toronto Province 

from the Library Collection of 
Holy Redeemer College, Windsor 



University of 
St. Michael's College, Toronto 



"QLr REQEEhi 



uhiff^fini 



WINDSOR 





Oracles of NostradaiMus 



TR^w 



CHAS. A. WARD. 




" Gentem quidem nullam video, ncque tarn humanam atque 
doctam, neque tam immanctn tamque barbaram, qua: non significan 
futura, et h quibusdam intelligi prxdicique posac censcftt." — CiCERo. 
/V Pii/inatione, i. 2. 




LONDON : 

The Leadenhall Prefs, E.C. served.) 



"Quorum poientia intellectualis immediate a Deo agitata 
creditur, prophetos dicuntur ; quorum voluntas heroes ; at 
quorum intellectus et voluntas censetur agitata a potentiis 
invisibil

DOS EXCESSOS -Beuverie, car privatio prœsupponit habitum. Je suis clerc : Fœcundi calices quem non fecere disertum? — Nous autres innocents ne buvons que trop sans soif. — Non moi, pécheur, sans soif, et sinon présente, pour le moins future, la prévenant comme entendez. Je bois pour la soif à venir. — Je bois éternellement. Ce m'est éternité de beuverie et beuverie d'éternité. — Chantons, buvons ; un motet entonnons. — Où est mon entonnoir ? — Quoi ? je ne bois que par procuration ! — Mouillez-vDus pour sécher, ou vous séchez pour mouiller ? — Je n'entends point la théorique ; de la pratique je m'aide queLQUE SOI La vie très horrifique du grand GARGANTUA, père de PANTAGRUEL, jadis composée par M. Alcofribas, abstracteur de quinte essence. Livre plein de pantagrviélisme. COMMENT GARGANTUA FUT ONZE MOIS PORTÉ ON^ VENTRE DE SA MÈRE. PANTAGRUEL E GARGÂNTUA

DA SOLIDÃO DOS LIVROS À SOLIDÃO FACEBOOKIANA UM TRAJECTO DO SÉCULO XXI E SEGUINTES

THE DARK NEBULA Years melted into the past, centuries, aeons. The light of the incandescent star, sank to a furious red. It was later, that I saw the dark nebula—at first, an impalpable cloud, away to my right. It grew, steadily, to a clot of blackness in the night. How long I watched, it is impossible to say; for time, as we count it, was a thing of the past. It came closer, a shapeless monstrosity of darkness—tremendous. It seemed to slip across the night, sleepily—a very hell-fog. Slowly, it slid nearer, and passed into the void, between me and the Central Suns. It was as though a curtain had been drawn before my vision. A strange tremor of fear took me, and a fresh sense of wonder. The green twilight that had reigned for so many millions of years, had now given place to impenetrable gloom. Motionless, I peered about me. A century fled, and it seemed to me that I detected occasional dull glows of red, passing me at intervals. Earnestly, I gazed, and, presently, seemed to see circular masses, that showed muddily red, within the clouded blackness. They appeared to be growing out of the nebulous murk. Awhile, and they became plainer to my accustomed vision. I could see them, now, with a fair amount of distinctness—ruddy-tinged spheres, similar, in size, to the luminous globes that I had seen, so long previously. They floated past me, continually. Gradually, a peculiar uneasiness seized me. I became aware of a growing feeling of repugnance and dread. It was directed against those passing orbs, and seemed born of intuitive knowledge, rather than of any real cause or reason. Some of the passing globes were brighter than others; and, it was from one of these, that a face looked, suddenly. A face, human in its outline; but so tortured with woe, that I stared, aghast. I had not thought there was such sorrow, as I saw there. I was conscious of an added sense of pain, on perceiving that the eyes, which glared so wildly, were sightless. A while longer, I saw it; then it had passed on, into the surrounding gloom. After this, I saw others—all wearing that look of hopeless sorrow; and blind. A long time went by, and I became aware that I was nearer to the orbs, than I had been. At this, I grew uneasy; though I was less in fear of those strange globules, than I had been, before seeing their sorrowful inhabitants; for sympathy had tempered my fear. Later, there was no doubt but that I was being carried closer to the red spheres, and, presently, I floated among them. In awhile, I perceived one bearing down upon me. I was helpless to move from its path. In a minute, it seemed, it was upon me, and I was submerged in a deep red mist. This cleared, and I stared, confusedly, across the immense breadth of the Plain of Silence. It appeared just as I had first seen it. I was moving forward, steadily, across its surface. Away ahead, shone the vast, blood-red ring [15] that lit the place. All around, was spread the extraordinary desolation of stillness, that had so impressed me during my previous wanderings across its starkness. Presently, I saw, rising up into the ruddy gloom, the distant peaks of the mighty amphitheatre of mountains, where, untold ages before, I had been shown my first glimpse of the terrors that underlie many things; and where, vast and silent, watched by a thousand mute gods, stands the replica of this house of mysteries—this house that I had seen swallowed up in that hell-fire, ere the earth had kissed the sun, and vanished for ever. Though I could see the crests of the mountain-amphitheatre, yet it was a great while before their lower portions became visible. Possibly, this was due to the strange, ruddy haze, that seemed to cling to the surface of the Plain. However, be this as it may, I saw them at last. In a still further space of time, I had come so close to the mountains, that they appeared to overhang me. Presently, I saw the great rift, open before me, and I drifted into it; without volition on my part. Later, I came out upon the breadth of the enormous arena. There, at an apparent distance of some five miles, stood the House, huge, monstrous and silent—lying in the very center of that stupendous amphitheatre. So far as I could see, it had not altered in any way; but looked as though it were only yesterday that I had seen it. Around, the grim, dark mountains frowned down upon me from their lofty silences. Far to my right, away up among inaccessible peaks, loomed the enormous bulk of the great Beast-god. Higher, I saw the hideous form of the dread goddess, rising up through the red gloom, thousands of fathoms above me. To the left, I made out the monstrous Eyeless-Thing, grey and inscrutable. Further off, reclining on its lofty ledge, the livid Ghoul-Shape showed—a splash of sinister color, among the dark mountains. Slowly, I moved out across the great arena—floating. As I went, I made out the dim forms of many of the other lurking Horrors that peopled those supreme heights. Gradually, I neared the House, and my thoughts flashed back across the abyss of years. I remembered the dread Specter of the Place. A short while passed, and I saw that I was being wafted directly toward the enormous mass of that silent building. About this time, I became aware, in an indifferent sort of way, of a growing sense of numbness, that robbed me of the fear, which I should otherwise have felt, on approaching that awesome Pile. As it was, I viewed it, calmly—much as a man views calamity through the haze of his tobacco smoke. In a little while, I had come so close to the House, as to be able to distinguish many of the details about it. The longer I looked, the more was I confirmed in my long-ago impressions of its entire similitude to this strange house. Save in its enormous size, I could find nothing unlike. Suddenly, as I stared, a great feeling of amazement filled me. I had come opposite to that part, where the outer door, leading into the study, is situated. There, lying right across the threshold, lay a great length of coping stone, identical—save in size and color—with the piece I had dislodged in my fight with the Pit-creatures. I floated nearer, and my astonishment increased, as I noted that the door was broken partly from its hinges, precisely in the manner that my study door had been forced inward, by the assaults of the Swine-things. The sight started a train of thoughts, and I began to trace, dimly, that the attack on this house, might have a far deeper significance than I had, hitherto, imagined. I remembered how, long ago, in the old earth-days, I had half suspected that, in some unexplainable manner, this house, in which I live, was en rapport—to use a recognized term—with that other tremendous structure, away in the midst of that incomparable Plain. Now, however, it began to be borne upon me, that I had but vaguely conceived what the realization of my suspicion meant. I began to understand, with a more than human clearness, that the attack I had repelled, was, in some extraordinary manner, connected with an attack upon that strange edifice. With a curious inconsequence, my thoughts abruptly left the matter; to dwell, wonderingly, upon the peculiar material, out of which the House was constructed. It was—as I have mentioned, earlier—of a deep, green color. Yet, now that I had come so close to it, I perceived that it fluctuated at times, though slightly—glowing and fading, much as do the fumes of phosphorus, when rubbed upon the hand, in the dark. Presently, my attention was distracted from this, by coming to the great entrance. Here, for the first time, I was afraid; for, all in a moment, the huge doors swung back, and I drifted in between them, helplessly. Inside, all was blackness, impalpable. In an instant, I had crossed the threshold, and the great doors closed, silently, shutting me in that lightless place. For a while, I seemed to hang, motionless; suspended amid the darkness. Then, I became conscious that I was moving again; where, I could not tell. Suddenly, far down beneath me, I seemed to hear a murmurous noise of Swine-laughter. It sank away, and the succeeding silence appeared clogged with horror. Then a door opened somewhere ahead; a white haze of light filtered through, and I floated slowly into a room, that seemed strangely familiar. All at once, there came a bewildering, screaming noise, that deafened me. I saw a blurred vista of visions, flaming before my sight. My senses were dazed, through the space of an eternal moment. Then, my power of seeing, came back to me. The dizzy, hazy feeling passed, and I saw, clearly. XXIII

This vain fat Austrian with hard, suspicious eyes, with his relentless ambition, and his cynical schemes, may like all Austrians, have a certain weakness for the heroes of ancient Rome and the Italian civilization of Renaissance, but he has sufficient sense of the ridiculous to realize that the Germany of Weimar could never be dominated by a little Upper-Austrian bourgeois disguised as a Sulla, a Julius Caesar or a condottiere … His ideal hero is Julius Caesar in Tyrolese dress” (224) 2. “Hitler’s intelligence is in point of fact profoundly feminine: his mind, his ambitions, even his will are not in the least virile ... Hitler is the dictator, the “woman” Germany deserves” (239)

 que muestra la evolución del progreso técnico es el de Irán, en agosto de 1952. Los datos los tomo del agudo y delicioso libro de Kart Meyer y Shareen Blair Brysac, titulado “Kingmakers, the invention of the modern Middle East”. El fondo del asunto era, como ahora, el petróleo. El 15 de marzo, 1951, ante la negativa británica de aumentar la participación

DA VIRTUDE DO SILÊNCIO NOS LIVROS ET NOS LIVRES DIRECTOS AO GOLPE DE ESTADO DEMOCRÁTICO TURCO É TUDO UMA QUESTÃO DE PERCEPÇÃO

I returned the egg to Camilla's bare and fevered breastbone, and went back to the house for a long cool drink. That was ten days ago. I know I ought to have kept a record; I examined the blue egg every day, watching how some nameless life grew within it, until finally the angel chipped the shell deftly in two parts. This was evidently done with the aid of small horny out-growths on her elbows; these growths were sloughed off on the second day. I wish I had seen her break the shell, but when I visited the blackberry tangle three days ago she was already out. She poked her exquisite head through Camilla's neck feather, smiled sleepily, and snuggled back into darkness to finish drying off. So what could I do, more than save the broken shell and wriggle my clumsy self out of there? I had removed Camilla's own eggs the day before—Camilla was only moderately annoyed. I was nervous about disposing of them even though they were obviously Camilla's, but no harm was done. I cracked each one to be sure. Very frankly rotten eggs and nothing more. In the evening of that day I thought of rats and weasels, as I should have earlier. I hastily prepared a box in the kitchen and brought the two in, the angel quiet in my closed hand. They are there now. I think they are comfortable. Three days after hatching, the angel is the length of my fore-finger, say three inches tall, with about the relative proportions of a six-year-old girl. Except for head, hands, and probably the soles of her feet, she is clothed in feathery down the color of ivory. What can be seen of her skin is a glowing pink—I do mean glowing, like the inside of certain seashells. Just above the small of her back are two stubs which I take to be infantile wings. They do not suggest an extra pair of specialized forelimbs. I think they are wholly differentiated organs; perhaps they will be like the wings of an insect. Somehow I never thought of angels buzzing. Maybe she won't. I know very little about angels.