Prospero, who art thou?

It is popular to run to the historical visage of the famous physician, astrologer, and scrier, John Dee, as a probable influence whenever the stereotype of the bearded, crystal gazing, and be-robed wizard appears in literature or mythology. Dee has been suggested for Soloman of Francis Bacon’s New Atlantis, Prospero of the Tempest, Faust of the Faust legends, and many other similar wizard-like personages over the centuries. And there is no doubt he has been the major influence on the archetype mage/wizard/alchemist/necromancer… but is it always correct to look only to him as the sole source?

John Dee: The (almost) Universal Mage Icon

John Dee has been suggested as an inspiration for the character of Soloman, the leader of the fictional scientific utopia of Bensalem, in The New Atlantis. But Rosalie Colie, in her 1955 article, Cornelis Drebbel and Solomon de Caus: Two Jacobean Models for Salomon’s House (Huntington Library Quarterly, Vol. 18, No. 3, May, 1955), bypassed Dee. Instead she suggested that the Soloman of Bacon’s utopia could have been partially inspired by Cornelis Drebbel, the alchemist and inventor, and his contemporary, Solomon De Caus. This may be correct in part, for the reasons she has given. Mostly her argument is based on the inventions and experiments described in Bensalem, and in that she does have a point. But rather than the model for the leader of New Atlantis, I personally think that Drebbel is more likely the model for the character who relates the story, who visits the island with his fellow shipwrecked crewmates. I feel this way for several reasons. First of all, back to reality: Drebbel was invited to Rudolf II’s court to present the Emperor with one of his perpetual motion clocks, which were the rage of Europe at the time. While there, Drebbel became Rudolf’s chief alchemist, and also, purportedly, the manager and creator of the royal fireworks displays. In 1612, after Rudolf’s brother Matthias usurped Rudolf, Drebbel was briefly jailed, and almost executed. It was with a promise of return, in a letter from King James, that Drebbel was allowed to return safely to London… along with, significantly, a bounty of 1,000 ducats.

Cornelis Drebbel: The (sometimes) Mage Icon

Now it would be expected that this near fatal sojourn of Drebbel’s would be familiar to Bacon… and right around the time that Bacon was apparently formulating the concept of New Atlantis. In fact, the two men had rooms at Eltham Palace, Drebbel for his experiments in perpetual motion and hydraulics and artificial cooling; Bacon for… well don’t we wish we knew, exactly? But it is reported he “had rooms” there, and so would have been familiar with Drebbel and his experiments. But we don’t have to guess, as Bacon did write of several of these… that is, the cooling experiments, and underwater boats. And, of course, as Colie points out, many of these inventions appear in The New Atlantis. In any case, there is a parallel between the protagonist/relater of the New Atlantis story and Drebbel. Both men went away and visited a place where science and experiments were funded by the state. And both came back to report on their experiences there, and both received a bounty from the state on their leaving… Drebbel, as I said, 1,000 ducats, and the New Atlantis narrator, 2,000 ducats.

Rudolf II The (never chosen) Mage Icon

But then if not Drebbel or DeCaus, who would Soloman, the leader and founder of Bensalem, be modeled on? I feel he is more probably based on Rudolf II than John Dee, or Drebbel or De Caus. Like Rudolf, Soloman spent the fortunes of the nation on the pursuit of knowledge, and collected and honored those who achieved great things. The author of the work, Francis Bacon, was promoting the idea that the state should fund scientific experiment, for the ultimate good of its citizens. Rudolf, for all his inconsistency and unpredictability, and his very short reign, was trying to do just this… to collect and use all the scientific and artistic knowledge of the world, to solve problems and improve the state of humanity. Well, that and  to make gold from lead, to fund his armies, and so protect his interests  and position.  Drebbel was more an experimenter in such a system, he was not a leader. Rudolf II was more the model and hope for, I think, a new beginning of state-run scientific funding and experimentation, and I believe he is the true model for Bacon’s Soloman.
Also worthy of mention, with some parallel to the concepts of New Atlantis, is the experience of Tycho Brahe. He was given the island of Hven by the Swedish government, so that he could pursue his experiments in astronomy. This was purportedly at a greater cost to the nation, a full 7% of the national budget, than any previous or later funding of a scientific project. So in this story, we have an island, a scientist, and scientific funding… no doubt this was of great interest, and possible influence, to Bacon, in writing of his similar concepts in his Utopia. And interestingly, Brahe was later welcomed into the court of Rudolf II, pet moose and all. So we might suspect a cross influence on the history of Brahe, to the story of The New Atlantis, even if I am correct and Rudolf was the model for Soloman.
As for Faust, I can’t disagree with an attribution, in part, to Dee. There was an actual Dr. Faust, which historians do believe was a partial basis for the character, while assuming that many of Dee’s attributes filled out the fictional character. Faust plied his magic, but did not run a state, he was not a leader. Faust uses his powers for purely selfish ends. In the Marlowe version, Faust summons two magicians, Valdes and Cornelius, whose names are somewhat reminiscent of Basil Valentine, and Cornelius Drebbel. But I do not know if this has ever been an issue with scholars of Marlowe, and so it is idle musing on my part. At least, again, with his books and magic, the character of Faust is certainly reminiscent of John Dee, and not of Rudolf at all.

Faust! Watch out! He does not play fair!

Drebbel is the accepted influence for the alchemist Subtle of Ben Johnson’s “The Alchemist”. And Johnson had some interest in Drebbel’s work, we know, as he mentions his perpetual machine in another play. The Subtle character has his magic, and his books, but he is more of a charlatan than a respected purveyor of the “Arts”. From what I understand of Drebbel’s reputation at times, he may have owned a bit of a similar, negative reputation. But at least in this instance, the wizard of choice is Drebbel, and not John Dee.

Sir John Geilgud as Prospero... with prop book

Finally, the character of Prospero, the magical “Right Duke of Milan”, is usually attributed to John Dee, and sometimes, in part, to Drebbel. And of course it would be hard to argue with Prospero being slightly autobiographical to Shakespeare, as many surmise. But I see other parallels which point again, for me, to Rudolf II. Prospero, like Rudolf, is a leader of his realm, while a Dee or Drebbel were really servants to the crown, merely participants in the society. I wouldn’t insult the memories of either man with a comparison to either Ariel or Caliban. But like those two characters, they served, and did not lead. It is true that Prospero not only gives orders to his magical assistants, but also uses the “dark arts”, himself. But this alone should not label him “Dee”, as the same could be said of Rudolf, who had a great interest in the alchemic arts, and dabbled in his own experiments, and wandered about in a long robe covered with mystical symbols. Rudolf was somewhat “Dee-like” in his own right.
Of greater interest, and possibly the trump card to my Prospero-is-Rudolf argument, is that Prospero was usurped by his brother, just as Rudolf was usurped by his brother, Matthias. Both men were nobles, who were unjustly thrown from power, and both, by their brothers. Of course the real story of Rudolf II ends there, in tragedy, while the story of Prospero begins 12 years earlier, in tragedy, and ends in triumph. But I don’t think that this coincidence should be ignored, especially considering the others I have noted. In addition, the timing of the play fits precisely… it was first performed in 1611, the same year that Rudolf was forced from power. Seen in this light, the play could be seen as a hopeful, fantastic and imaginative dream, in which Rudolf, as Prospero, regains his throne from his brother.
Unfortunately Rudolf died before the next known performance of the Tempest, which was at the wedding of Princess Elizabeth and Frederick of the Palatine. But this event also points to Rudolf as Prospero, because Frederick was groomed for, and tragically placed in, the very position Rudolf lost… Holy Roman Emperor… only a few years later. In a sense, if Rudolf failed to attain the retribution which Shakespeare may have imagined in the likeness of Prospero, Frederick succeeded… if all too briefly. The Winter King lost his lands, and the title, in the Battle of White Mountain in 1620. But perhaps the running of this play at the wedding had a hopeful political message for the young couple, and for anyone who knew it was performed there, if I am correct.

Frederick V Elector Palatine & Princess Elizabeth: "Starcrossed" does not come close to describing what happened next.

The historical and contemporary concept of the bearded mage certainly has much to owe to John Dee, but it would be unfair to exclude the powerful influences and contributions to the “wizard lore” that Rudolf II and Cornelis Drebbel made, especially when considering the context at which such wizards were written into literature. All our Prosperos were not, and are not, John Dee. Perhaps not even the original Prospero, the Rightful Duke of Milan… or, should that be of Austria-Hungary?

Old Blank Vellum Sitting Around?

It has often been claimed, both before and after the release of the radiocarbon dating of the Voynich leaves, that it would have been either unlikely or impossible for the book’s creator to have found old vellum to make it from. This assumption has been used to presume the manuscript must have been made soon after the radiocarbon date of the vellum, which is approximately 1404-1438. It has been said that the cost of vellum and parchment throughout history has meant that it would not have ever been stored, blank, for long periods of time. And furthermore, the case of the palimpsest has been used to show that the value of vellum was so great that the religious scribes painstakingly bleached and scraped ancient manuscripts to reuse them. While all these may be true to some extent, during some times, in some places, what I have found is that it is not at all improbable that a Voynich author may have come across a batch of old, blank, vellum somewhere… and also, considering that some of the presumed intentions of said author, it would have actually been a choice more likely than one for your run of the mill herbal or astrological treatise.

Back in 2007 I began looking for examples of blank vellum on the internet. I quickly found a book dealer named Pirages, who was advertising 20 or more sheets of what he described as, “RULED BUT OTHERWISE BLANK VELLUM MANUSCRIPT LEAVES”, which, he said, were from the 16th century. Apparently they were from some book, which was falling apart, because he believed they “were possibly from the previous entry”… a catalog entry which was gone by the time I saw the listing. Unfortunately, all 20+ leaves had also been sold by the time I contacted him, for $35 a piece. The point remains that in 2007, a person with a knowledge of historical ink formulas could have made a 40 page “Voynich Ms.” which would have radiocarbon dated to the 16th century. And, done so, for about $700. That is assuming that these leaves were too small to fold into quires, which would have then allowed an 80 page “Voynich”.

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Further searching revealed a book which was and is still on the market, the ” PROTONOTARII APOSTOLICII”, or Bullae et Statuta Officii Septem Sedis Apostolicae Protonotariorum In Curia Romana Participantium. It is offered by Michael Sharpe Rare & Antiquarian Books, for $95,000. This book is entirely in vellum, and was first created in 1523. It was then used for entries, continuously, until over 300 years later, the last entry being 1839. But it is not finished: The book remains for sale, today, with 44 blank leaves, comprising 88 blank pages, measuring about 11 1/4″ x 8 1/4″. So again, if you have the money, and the knowledge of historical inks, your summer hobby could be to make an 88 page Voynich rival… and when Arizona got it’s hands on a sliver or two, it would reliably date it to 1523.

Protonotarii Apostolicii, 1523, with 88 Blank Vellum Pages

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Listed in the Huntington Library’s periodical, “Miniature Book News”, #65, June, 1990, is this listing,

“The second volume is an odd little manuscript bound in a metal binding which was probably produced in the late fifteenth century. It contains 154 vellum leaves of which all but three are blank. The page size is 3 7/8 inches by 2 7/8 inches. The text is only three odd leaves from a Book of Hours. The first leaf contains fifteen lines to the page with the capital letters in gold and blue. The text is in Latin. The second leaf contains fourteen lines and is an elaborate leaf with a floral border. The text, in Latin, concerns the Virgin Mary. The third leaf contains fifteen lines to the page with capital letters in gold leaf over various colors. The text is in Latin. Apparently the three leaves in the center of the volume were thickened by the blank vellum leaves in order that they would fit inside the metal binding.”

Well that would make a cute little Voynich, so write small! But at least it would make up for number in what it lacks in size, for you would have a full 302 page book when you were done. And there would be some head-scratching among manuscript scholars after Arizona got through with it (if you mixed your inks well, and not in brass containers, either), for it would apparently date to 1450 to 1500.

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In 2008 the British House of Lords had a decision to make. It seems they had some blank parchment left over, after making the decision to finally… after a millenia or more?… stop using it for official purposes. Below is the letter I found.

Dear Mr.Todd,

Thank you for your e-mail of 24 July.

It may be helpful if I clarified the position as far as Acts of Parliament are concerned. William Cowley Ltd. supplies vellum to our printer The Stationery Office. The costs include those for printing.

The unused vellum held by the House administration will be used for the construction of the Roll of the Lords (and not Acts of Parliament). Members sign the Roll when they take the oath.

We do not hold recorded information relevant to your questions concerning the stock of vellum held by the administration. However, I
have spoken to a colleague who deals with the Roll. He informs me that there are approximately 100 sheets. Given the limited use it is likely to take some time to exhaust this supply.

Frances Grey
Freedom of Information Officer
House of Lords

It was probably not very old, I think we might assume. But it was blank, and it was in storage. Should we assume this same case did not exist in 1450, 1500, 1550, 1610, or 1912? Can we assume that for the first time in history, a government agency over-bought vellum, and was not sure what to do with the excess? Do we know that the author of the Voynich Ms. had no access to any such government stores? One is welcome to speculate these cases have always been impossible, up until 2008, but I cannot.

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What was the case in the 19th century? I found in the “Royal Commission on Historic Manuscripts”, 1870, page 69, the following listing,

“A series of loose vellum leaves, large folio, once bound together, the boards still remaining… …Next follows, on a series of like vellum leaves, a Calendar, in which the latest date is the 34th Henry 6 (A.D. 1456) of all grants by deed made by the Royal Founder… …Then follows, after some dozens of blank vellum leaves, a Catalogue of the College Library…”

I’ll take “some dozens” to be more than “two dozen”… but let’s be conservative and begin there. We know that in 1870 there existed (and probably does exist, today), 24 to 36 or more blank vellum leaves, equaling 48 to 72 or more blank vellum pages, which would carbon date to pre-1456.

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105 Blank Vellum Leaves For Sale

The above screenshot is from a dead link, so I would assume the item has been sold. No estimate for the date of this book was given, and the sellers never wrote back to me when I asked.  But as they are a “Rare and Old Book” seller, this is obviously not referring to some recent product. The description reads,

“Volume of 105 blank vellum leaves of 313 x 205 mm, with 3 blank leaves of paper at beginning and end, in old plain vellum binding, blind triple line fillet on covers.”

Not that I need to point this out, again, but with this little volume, whomever bought it, could make a nice little 210 page Voynich replica.

Look familar? You could have owned all 210 blank vellum pages, last year...

And so on. Every so often, I search the internet for such examples. There are dozens more cases of between one and five or so, blank vellum or parchment leaves left blank, but this of course was standard practice to fill out the ends of books. I did not save those references. But examples such as the ones I list above, are easily found, today. There must be many more cases which I have not found, and which may have not made it onto online lists.

The point is obvious, but I’ll summarize nonetheless: It is very possible that the Voynich could have been created at almost any date after 1438, from old, found, blank vellum. The fact that even today, ancient blank vellum leaves exist in quantity, reasonably implies it would have always been so. If a person desired to create an old-looking manuscript, at any time from the 15th century to today, they could have found a usable pile of old vellum, in the back of an old book, unused ledger, government archives, or a dusty old storeroom. Adding to the proven existence of such vellum is the often assumed importance and value of the Voynich to the creator of it. The vellum was out there, we know… and the Voynich author probably had every incentive to find it, and use it… whoever that was, and whenever they made it, from 1404 until 1912.

Of Course It’s a Puzzle

This post is not about whether or not the Voynich Manuscript is from 1420, 1550, 1610 or 1912. It is about just how crazy it is that we simply cannot say for certain. And just how difficult a situation this is, is demonstrated by the curious root on f27v, which I have dubbed “the puzzle piece”. This root looks nothing like a root, or any part of a plant. What it does is look all the world like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle… the locking kind, with all it’s bulbous legs, and it’s flat surface punctuated by an attempt at three-dimensional thickness by the author.

f27v Root: What a puzzler!

Whatever this root is supposed to look like, it is not supposed to be a root, that is clear. The artist went through the trouble of giving it thickness, and actually a pretty non-organic and uniform thickness… just like it was cut out of some flat material with some sort of… well, you get it. But I thought, if this was meant to be a jigsaw puzzle piece, then what would that imply about the dating and meaning of the Voynich Manuscript? So I looked up the history of the jigsaw, and contacted a couple of experts in the puzzle field.

According to Daniel McAdam, on the American Jigsaw Puzzle Society’s “History of Jigsaw Puzzles” page,

“It is generally agreed that the first jigsaw puzzle was produced around 1760 by John Spilsbury, a London engraver and mapmaker.  Spilsbury mounted one of his maps on a sheet of hardwood and cut around the borders of the countries using a fine-bladed marquetry saw.”

But these early puzzles had pieces of all sorts of shapes and sizes, but not yet in the iconic “locking” shapes we might associate best with the f27v root form. Bob Armstrong, a puzzle expert, told me,

“The earliest period such a shape could exist in an American puzzle piece would be 1910s, but more likely the 1920s and 30s. I don’t remember any European puzzles with pieces of that shape before the 1910s either, but it could be possible.”

He then referred my query to Anne Williams, the leading authority on American puzzles. She wrote,

“The image is quite striking. If you took away the shading under the thick line (which seems to give it thickness) it would not look nearly as much like a puzzle piece.

“Your question really has two parts: 1) when did similar shapes appear in jigsaw puzzles? and 2) when did artists begin to think of such a shape as representing a piece of a puzzle?

“In the United States there were several puzzle makers in Philadelphia circa 1860 who used loosely interlocking pieces that resemble your image. Thomas Wagner, Jacob Shaffer and M. H. Traubel are the names that appear on the puzzles.”

And so of course the answer is that if this were meant to evoke a jigsaw puzzle piece, it would could really only mean it was put there after 1860, and the only reasonable explanation as to “why?” it was there would be that the manuscript was a Wilfred Voynich hoax. Of course that is easy to dismiss, on the surface, because of all the mountains one would need to climb before arriving, reputation tattered, at the Wilfred Hoax Theory. I’m not there, and I’m not going there… really, I’m not. But I like to ask questions and explore ideas, and so do you if you read this far.

Not a perfect fit, but close...

You see the problem as I see it is not as much that a root appears as a post-1860 object, but much more so what that object happens to be. This root does not look like a car key, or a cigarette lighter, or any endless number of objects which we would casually dismiss as a coincidence, but this happens to look an awful lot like a post-1860 object which is the best iconic representation of a mystery!

I mused as to why, if Wilfrid was creating the Voynich Manuscript in 1910 or so, he might put this little clue in there,

“[perhaps] Wilfrid Voynich had created a hoax… either for profit, or to “thumb his nose” at the literary scholarly establishment, which he had to deal with often. He needed to validate his works, and their opinion would of course determine the authenticity, and then value, of his collections. Perhaps he wanted to teach them a lesson of sorts, to play a trick on them. Of course if he did this, he would never be able to reveal what he had done. It would have de-legitimized him and his business, and this is an argument against his doing so.

“But the fact that this root has the shape of a puzzle piece which would have been familiar to a hoaxer, in 1910/12 as such, means that it is possible (although still highly unlikely) that the hoaxer included it as a joke. Kind of like when a killer sends a letter to the police, daring them to catch him… it gives a sense of superiority, as though they are better, and smarter, than the powers that be. Wilfred was a well known book dealer, but outside the scholarly establishment, the “powers that be”, to him. Perhaps he couldn’t resist?”

Well of course I have introduced a far-out idea here, and one which I don’t take entirely seriously. I just like to explore various observations, and wonder at the implications they might suggest. At the same time, as I pointed out, it is amazing that other than a brief dismissal of “that’s improbable”, or even, “that’s nuts”, such suggestions cannot be dismissed with facts, or any certainty. So while an idea like this one might, at first blush, seem out of the question, it cannot be said to be impossible, given what little we know. And that is the point. It is still true that many still see in the Voynich Manuscript the influences of so much of literary history, and tantalizing images seemingly drawn from a wide range of cultures, sciences, religions. And again, this book really looks very different from all of them, in every little detail. A person with the materials, means, knowledge, and monetary motive, all of which Wilfrid arguably possessed, could have done it. And maybe he is simply having a good laugh at all of us, for all these decades. Perhaps the puzzle root was Wilfrid Voynich’s gift to us… to help us out of this vicious mess, but we are just too clever to take it.

C14 Dating of Parchment: Testing the Test in ’72

I am, and have been, accepting of the radiocarbon dating results for the Voynich Manuscript, as released by the University of Arizona. Well, at least as far as I believe it is the best possible current method of testing samples of parchment and vellum for age. But I am a skeptic at heart, and a pragmatist by nature, and to not automatically assume the infallibility of science, or of scientists or their methods of experiment. Not being able to test their methods myself, in many cases, I would have to rely on the hope that their methods are correct and accurate. Better yet, in some cases the scientists test themselves, and their own methods and conclusions… and we would hope that when they do, they can be, well, “scientific” about it. I mean, we must even trust them, in this self-regulation.

In the case of the accuracy and value of the radiocarbon dating of vellum, there is at least one, seminal example. The paper is entitled, “Radiocarbon Dating of Parchment” (Nature, volume 235, January 21, 1972). It is a 1972 paper outlining an experiment meant to apply the current radiocarbon testing methods to parchment and vellum, both to determine if it would be an accurate method of determining the age of manuscripts, and also, as a cross check to the dendrochronology of tree rings… itself used as a check of radiocarbon dating methods. I wanted to see the article to learn more about C14, as I was already pretty much in awe of the ability to date vellum, and wanted to learn more about it. But… I have to say I was somewhat shocked at what I found.

In the test, several samples of vellum, with known dates, were radiocarbon dated. The point was to compare the results to the known dates, to see if the radiocarbon results were accurate, and could be used in the future with any accuracy. Here is the list of the results:

But I think there is a problem with these results. Below I’ve broken them down, and commented on them:

1820 ± 40, 1720 ± 30 or 1650 ± 15 for a 1788 document.

Ok, so they had three wildly varying results… peaks I suppose, or whatever they call them, and chose the closest ones, and ignored the 1650 ± 15 result? Why? Because they knew it was from 1788, so 1650 ± 15 must have been wrong… and, by a minimum of 123 years!

1750 ± 20 or 1680 ± 15 for a 1752 document.

Once again, they used the known date to come to a conclusion: One result was dead on, so they rejected the other… which was a minimum of 57, and a maximum of 72, years off.

1650 ± 15 for a 1666 document.

Very good, they got one right. Well, they got one result, which it happens, was correct. If they had no check, though, they would not have known, of course.

1600 ± 30 or 1500 ± 25 for all three of these: 1495, 1579, 1578.

OK now… this is interesting… they got two results, both the same, for three documents… of two very different eras. That alone is somehow disturbing to me. Why would a 1495 sample give the same results as a 1578 sample? That alone is almost 100 years in discrepancy. And then, they chose to feel it was accurate, but seemingly only by applying the 1600 ± 30 to the latter two documents, and 1500 ± 25 to the 1495 one. How do they know their results reflected the assigned ones? Because they knew the date written on them, that is how. But if they did not have the dates, they would, first of all, had a maximum age difference in the results of 155 years! That is, as old as 1475, to as new as 1630. The 1600 ± 30 result, if applied to the 1495 document, would be an error minumum of 75 years, and a maximum of 135 years.

The procedure they used, discarding results based on known dates, actually showed that the tests alone could not be relied on. They would, in effect, have been clueless with undated samples. In fact, although the testers seem to present the results as though “C14 works for vellum”, they actually have this very telling passage:

It is interesting that the radiocarbon dates after correction and calibration for secular variations correspond to thier known historical ages. But the nature of the calibration curve first developed by Suess sometimes permits age ranges or alternative dates rather than unique dates. Consequently, for samples of unknown age it may be necessary to use independent criteria to narrow the choice.

Italics are mine. But the point is, this whole test of the test could be summed up as follows: “If you don’t know the date of a vellum document, C14 will not give it to you. It could be well over a hundred years off.”

That is bad enough, but there are other problems. In the same article it is stated that vellum “…was used for writing within very short periods of time from manufacture”. But how do they know this? For who is to say that in the case of the 1788 document, the vellum was not made in 1650, as one result showed, and that the 1820 ± 40 result was not the one in error? Maybe the vellum was over a hundred years old. I mean, since vellum had not been accurately dated before, then how do they know how long it sat? There is some serious circular logic happening here… first, they assume that vellum was used soon after manufacture, to validate their use of the known date of the sample, which they then compare to several wildly varying results, then pick the one which closely matches the date written on the document, and conclude the test is accurate! It is an assumption used to chose a result, and then that result is used to back up the assumption. The ouroboros of scientific testing…. the snake eating it’s own tail… creating, the snake again.

Well of course the testing in the case of the Voynich may still be very accurate. For the time being, we really have to assume that. Unfortunately for us, though, the official test results have never been released. We do not know if other results came up during the testing, but were discarded, as they were in the 1972 test. And if there were other results, we do not know why they were discarded. In the above test, we can see what criteria they used… they knew the dates, and threw out the results which did not match their expectations. But in the case of the Voynich, for “expectations”, they would have to use the opinion of scholars. That is, whichever Voynich scholar they relied upon, to make that judgment call.

Something Sheepy in the State of Denmark?

What should one think, when two documents, arguably the number one and number two most controversial parchment/vellum artifacts known to history, were discovered to have been made at virtually the same moment in history? The Voynich was dated by the University of Arizona to 1404-1438, the Vinland Map, also by the University of  Arizona, to 1423-1445. It is even not so improbable, given the 15 year overlap, that the sheep which made both were breathing at the same moment in time. What are the odds of this? Well there are a few conclusions we might draw:

1) It is just a surprising coincidence.  It is a pretty big one, though, considering all the leaves of vellum produced in the world, from practically the beginning of history, and these two share suspicion and a birthday.

2) They are both forgeries, and they are both made from the same stash of vellum. Well that’s crazy, of course. But just for jollies I searched for any connection between Wilfred Voynich and the Vinland map. So far I did not come up with any connections between him, and any of the people suspected of being involved with the forgery of the Vinland Map. But I did find out that in 2005 the idea was floated. From http://sci.tech-archive.net/Archive/sci.archaeology/2005-08/msg00168.html:

“There was an interesting programme about the Voynich manuscriptwhich is supposed to be a forgery as it is written in cipher but notdecoded. It was discovered by a Voynich who was a book dealer but it may have been forged to raise money for Russians revolutionaries.

It also said that the spy Reilly and or Voynich used to go to the British Museum to study old inks and as Voynich could get old unused vellum and that might have to do with the Vinland Map”

Unfortunately I did not see the BBC documentary, which this is referring to. If anyone reading this has seen it, I will ask, “Did someone on the show actually raise this possibility, and if so, on what basis did they make such a claim?” Because I had never heard it before, in all my years of poking around in this mess.

It was also interesting, the seemingly off-hand comment, “…Voynich could get old unused vellum”. I would really love to know where that claim comes from… because I have been very interested in any unused vellum kicking around, be it in 1530, 1610, or 1909. Bearing that in mind, let’s take a look at a photograph, taken in 1908, of a room in a bookshop Wilfred had recently purchased:

"Dark Room" of the Libraria Franceschini

This picture is from the article, “The Romance of a Literary Treasure-House: An account of a Strange Bibliomaniac and his Hoard”, by Helen Zimmern (Pall Mall Magazine, July to December, 1908). The article explains that this collection, amassed by a Mr. Franceschini, included over one half a million books, maps, pamplets and incuncubilia. When I read the descriptions of this bibliotrove, and see that picture of the “Dark Room”, I feel that it creates a plausible scenario in which Voynich could have had access to much unused, blank parchment. He must have. I mean, even today one can collect dozens of leaves from the end papers of countless books… and there are also, even today, many blank books in collections. As I pointed out, a few years ago, I would have been able to purchase 20 sheets of unused, 16th century vellum… at only $35 a sheet. So look again at Voynich’s 1908 purchase, this vast, jumbled literary dumping ground, and ask yourself if it would have been so hard to dig up 114 blank sheets from somewhere in it’s depths. Same date, even? It would have taken just one blank ledger in that vast archive of unknown content to create a “Voynich” Ms.

Interior of the Libraria Franceschini

Coming back to the Vinland Map and Voynich, I was caught by this statement by Zimmern,

“Indeed, of many things revealed by a visit to this library none is more strange to the common or garden person than the fact here impressed upon us that Amercia was by no means the terra incognita before the days of Columbus that our school books led us to suppose”.

What could she have possibly seen which would have led her to make such a statement? The only literary evidence of pre-Columbus travels to America are the various Norse Mythologies. Maybe Wilfred handed her a copy of  Freya.  But the thing is, she happens to add the statement at the end of the paragraph discussing early maps. Did she see a pre-1492 map? We know of only one which is claimed to be so, the Vinland map. Which curiously, as I pointed out, has the same C14 date as another document, the Voynich. Which of course is known to have been owned by the buyer of the very library Ms. Zimmern was describing.

Well of course any conclusions based on these iota sized tidbits is wild speculation. But for the fun of it, let’s create a little scenario, combining what we know, with what we can reasonably suspect was possible:

Wilfred Voynich, sometime between 1908 and 1911 finds the 1666 Marci letter, describing a cipher manuscript, rumored to be by Roger Bacon, and once owed by Rudolf II. And soon, the lire and dollar-signs are dancing around the man’s head, as he thinks, “What would such a thing be worth?”. The answer is simple… priceless. If he could only find such a work… if only it were in his hands, the price would be his to name. But that was just a fantasy, the odds of finding such a work would be astronomical… it would never turn up, in ten lifetimes. All he had was this storehouse of dusty books and piles of blank vellum. Well, maybe also a few “artists” on his staff, or a phone call away, with the knowledge of historical inks and paints. The ones he used to create those “replicas” of museum art for wealthy patrons from time to time. Perhaps it would be natural for him to think, “If the Marci-Roger Bacon manuscript could never be found, why not create one?” He had the motive, materials, ability, and knowledge to do so.

Wow. If I didn't know better...

But how to start with such a project? Since it was about Roger Bacon, the choices were easy, and many. The knowledge of alchemy, botany, astrology, astronomy, and optical sciences of the great man would make for a fantastical book… a colorful, dazzling work of art. Adding an indecipherable text would add to the mystery, and also, make certain that the content, unreadable, would not give clues to the great hoax. So you would only now have to hand to your artists, and (two?) calligraphers, the type and range of scientific and magical disiplines one might expect to find in a Bacon work… “…but make them strange, un-recognizable to some degree, while touching on the works of others… even those, far ahead of Bacon’s time”. Bacon was, after all, a man ahead of his time. So old herbals are pored through, and old astrologicals… and alchemicals, too. And of course Wilfred has these ready at hand. Why not throw a little of everything in there? We may as well shoot for an impossible, a Holy Grail of manuscripts, something the world would never dream of. For optics and optical devices, Voynich would be somewhat stuck… for there would not be anything from Bacon’s time to adapt. So for optics, his forgers would have to take from the works of Hooke, and from Kircher, from the 1744 “The Microscope Made Easy”, and John Quekett’s “Practical Treatise on the use of the Microscope”, 1855. Then Carters’ Treatise on the Microscope, and others, would provide some nice engravings of microscopic organisms to copy, (barely) alter, and disperse among the pages, as wheels, and as roots of plants.

Carter's Diatom (black) overlayed with Voynich Wheel (green)

The next step would be to announce his monstrous creation, to bring his Golem to life. Of course he would have to hide the actual provenence, which of course he did… claiming an Austrian castle as it’s source, then an Italian monestary, and so on… because it would not do, once the news hit, to have anyone questioning the actual people who were supposed to actually have sold it to him. That would not do, so best to obscure the source. And all that would be left was to make photocopies, and distribute them, write letters and send them, and sit back, and wait for history to knock at his door.

Too Close for Comfort?

But then comes an unexpected backfire. Romaine Newbold takes up on Wilfred’s hints of Bacon, and the hints of optics, and comes back with all the wrong answers! Newbold sees the cylinders as jars, not microscopes! Those artfully redesigned optics, Newbold only sees as jars! “How did he miss that?!”, Voynich thinks… And instead of the diatom, Newbold sees the Crab Nebula! Impossible for Roger Bacon to have seen with any device he could have possessed… but, then, it gets far worse. Newbold actually thinks he sees intentional, microscopic breaks in the manuscript’s characters… and deduces an impossible code scheme around the the elements he thinks he sees there… mere breaks in the ink, recently applied by Voynich’s dutiful scribes. And out tumbles the most convoluted and bizarre anagrammatic “solution” ever conceived.

And now, all is lost… it got away from poor Wilfred, it was out of his hands. The path to literary obscurity for his creation was cleared, and as a final assurance the plan was finished, he realized he could never reveal the truth. Rather than be known as a great cheat, a greedy forger, he would have to remain the finder of the World’s most Mysterious Manuscript. He only had to remain quiet to save his reputation, and that of his famous author wife, Ethel. And so the Voynich Ms. was cast adrift in literary history, from theory to theory… each touching on all the clues so artfully placed, but deviously disguised, by Wilfred’s skilled forgers. And it bounced from owner to owner, to finally land in a vault at Yale. I began as a monumental miscalculation by the hopeful book dealer, and became an inadvertent, monumental joke on the countless scholars it drew into it’s web, for decades and lifetimes since.  “Well, at least”, Wilfred thought, “I still have the map! That should be worth something…”.

But enough of such wild-eyed, fanciful musings… as fun as they are. We all know that this is simply a 1420, Northern Italian herbal. So calm down, and get over it, please.

Is that you, Martin Luther?

One of my favorite leaves of the Voynich Ms. is f85v, panel 1. There is so much going on- people surrounding what seems to be a pool or fountain, holding various mysterious, but seemingly symbolic objects. One is shaped like a “fleur de lis”, another a sphere with a cap of some sort, and the woman on the bottom seems to be handling a loose ring, or maybe a garland of flowers. There is a sun in the center of the pool, and water or other liquid spewing from four places, each culminating in an arcing spray. In the past I had thought it may represent a solar fountain, a type which would allow the sun to heat an enclosed chamber of air and water. The heat would cause the air to expand, driving the water from the fountain’s tubes. But the presence of the sun in this drawing can be there for so many other reasons, and this may simply depict an ordinary fountain and pool.

Is that Luther up top?

The objects associated with the individuals are even more mysterious and intriguing. The man to the right is holding what I call a “secular orb”. The orb can be a symbol of the world, and often has a cross on top. This one differs in that it is topped by a cone. What it means is anyone’s guess.

f85v Orb

The woman on the bottom seems to be handling a string of garlands of some sort, with her hand either pulling out, or dropping into the fountain, part of one. I found a somewhat similar looking object in an engraving from the 17th century. As I wrote to the VMS-list some time back, “Thomas Vaughn wrote the first published translation of the Rosicrucian Fama in 1651 or so. He was a supporter of the Rosicrucian ideals, and wrote on Fludd, Maier, and Francis Bacon. In his book, “Lumen de Lumine“, there is an elaborate fronticepiece of the “magic mountain”. At the bottom is an oroborus, and in this, there is a woman/child with the garland of flowers. The words above the girl, “Non Nisi Parvulus” apparently imply that one needs to approach the unknown, as in the mysteries of nature, with a child-like an virginal lack of preconception, to see “the light”, as in “the truth”. “

f85v1 "Garland Girl", and Schott Engraving

Of course the rose has had almost infinite meanings and associations over the years, but the f85 illustration similarity to the Vaughn engraving was, I thought, striking. If there was any connection, it could have implied a Rosicrucian influence. Of course the C14 dating of 1404-1438 for the vellum essentially put an end to all RC speculations, if the opinion of such notable experts as Adam Mclean and Rafel Prinke had not already… they both long felt that the Voynich was not a Rosicrucian document.

Then there was the Fleur-de-lis “like” object the man to the left of the fountain is holding. For this symbol, we really have a crowded field of possibilities, and cannot even speculate on which one was meant… if it is meant to be a fleur-de-lis at all! And among the possibles, we again have an RC symbol. So of course, rightly or wrongly, I had reserved a nagging sense that these symbols are in the Protestant/Lutheran/Tudor/Rosicrucian influence somehow, and find myself needing to quell such beautiful theories with that Ugly Fact of C14.

Luther and Mr.f85r1 Top

And in this light, I was drawn one day to examine the ring of the man at the top of the image (seen above, next to Martin Luther). It seemed this character was proud of his ring… that it was important somehow, being so prominently displayed. I blew it up as well as the SID would allow me, and I was surprised top see that there is a dot of red at the center. At least I think it may be red, and if so, it is the only red on the page. It also seems to have several “protrusions” around the center, and these are necessarily extremely small. Only the smallest crow quill, or brush hair, would have been used to make these fine details, I think.

f85v Ring, Enlarged

Unfortunately, even the great detail of the SID falls short of the necessary information. Is it really red, or just the reddish tint as found near many other lines? Are those points on the ring petals, or just mistakes of the strokes, or what? But in any case, I took the position that this was a ring, that it was red in the center, and that it may be a signet ring of some kind. So I put various permutations of ruby/ring/signet and so on, in Google, with “Renaissance” and “Medieval”, and so on… and came up with an interesting phenomenon: Martin Luther was pretty well known for two rings, and both of them had a red center. The first was a signet ring made in the form of his well known rose/cross symbol.

Copy of Luther Signet Ring, with Luther's Symbol

The other was Luther’s wedding ring, which was a crucifix with a ruby in the center:

Modern Copy of Luther's Wedding Ring

Again, back to the C14: It shows a date of vellum creation at about 50 years before Martin Luther’s birth of 1483. And of course he did not become famous many years later, in the mid-16th century. However I do find myself coming back to the feeling that this is a mid-16th century document, at the earliest, and do not feel it all that outrageous that 100 year old vellum was used to make it. And if it was, and adding to that possibility that many have seen a Germanic influence, and also, that this does not seem to be a Catholic work in so many ways… I would like to add to the discussion the possibility that the f85r man could be Luther. If so, we have a chicken/egg thing here: Luther and Protestantism are considered major influences on the Rosicrucian movement. But the RC movement began much later than is probable for the Voynich. But could it be possible it is the other way around, and that the Voynich, or works like the Voynich, containing similar symbolism, are part of the influence on Rosicrucianism? This work itself is believed to have been owned by Rudolf II, and would have been of interest to his scholars and followers, who were very interested in the “Aura of the Ancient Tome”, and lost mystical arts. And core to the Rosicrucian mythology is the discovery of an ancient book, the Book M, containing all the knowledge of the world, and completely in a unique cipher. Sound familiar? So as a counterpoint to my past speculation about the Voynich being influenced BY the Rosicrucians, I pose this, “What if it is the other way around?”.

Bird Glyphs, Aztecs, Aries, Hakluyt et al.

The so called “bird glyphs” from the Voynich Manuscripts f1r are typical of those details which seem to cry out “THIS is what I am!”, while not actually helping one bit in that direction. There is just enough to give the impression of obviousness, and just not enough to remain infuriatingly distant.

I had thought that these may be meant to be the Phoenix, both flying and burning, when I first studied them. I’m not so sure now, thanks to the Aztecs.

Voynich f1r "bird" glyphs, or "weirdos"

But first, some other thoughts on these “weirdos”. They have been compared to the Aries sign, as found in a possibly lost manuscript, the Codex Taurinensis. As you can see if you click on that link, this is a very close comparison… in form, if not in context. Recently, P. Han has found a similar symbols on a 1208 Arabian Astrolabe. They are also close in appearance, although when blown up I do think that they are possibly formed of two “C’s”, back to back. I think there have been other, non-Aztec comparisons found, none of which I found very intriguing. However, from Knox’s page, which muses on these glyphs, I was directed to the Codex Mendoza and the Codex Aubin. The striking thing about these, in my opinion, is that the very similar glyphs are used in the same context and position as in the Voynich… that is, as a paragraph header. Compare to the the Codex Mendoza, shown below, they are not only in the same position, but note that they are also on the first folio.

Codex Mendoza "bird glyphs", as Paragraph Headers

And that context I find most intriguing, because as I pointed out on a recent post to the VMS-list,

The Aries comparison is very close, but the placement is different. First I think we might assume that the use by the Aztecs is a different one… as a paragraph header and not a sign of the zodiac. Would I be correct in that assumption? I see that no one is clear on how it is used when in these codices, in this way. Anyway, if one has to choose between the two uses, as a header or as Aries, I would consider that it’s placement would be the best indicator, and I would go with header.

Also pointed out on the Knox page is the Codex Aubin. As seen in this Codex, the glyphs are again placed as a paragraph header. Below is a closeup:

Codex Aubin "Bird Glyphs"

And then, this morning (9/12/10), I was surprised to find yet another example, in the mysterious and now missing Codex Cardona. It seems this manuscript never left the New World… unless it is in the hands of an unidentified Spanish Hotel magnate, that is, and she/he was able to smuggle it back to Spain. In any case, it was photographed in 1985, so we are lucky to have images from it. From what is seemingly page 33, or 39, or 99, we have our familiar paragraph heading “bird glyphs” again:

Codex Cardona "Bird Glyph"

There are some points I would like to make about these documents, and these glyphs. First of all, the comparison to the Voynich f1r glyph is really startling. Also the context, as I pointed out, is identical: They are in the left margin of text, seemingly either to mark the text, or to illustrate some thought in the text… I don’t think this is known for certain. I would say that, in my personal opinion, it is not at all unreasonable to think that there is a possibility that the Voynich author was aware of this use, of these glyphs, and chose to use them on Voynich f1r.

Secondly, I have stated that although I do accept that the Carbon-14 dating makes my original New Atlantis theory unlikely, I also still have felt that the Voynich is post-Columbian. In my opinion, the f85v animal is an armadillo. I also have continued to sense there are other New World influences in the Voynich- indirect and inaccurate, as might be expected if the document were influenced by, but not specifically copying, many styles and items from a wide range of existing documents and their described disciplines.

And another important point is that they are exceedingly rare. There are very few similar examples of this symbol, and as a paragraph header, only the Aztec Codices.

So at the risk of threatening the temper of my “True Steeled Sword”, I point out another interesting connection. When I was first reading the history of the Codex Mendoza, I went through several stages. First I saw that it was created under the orders of the Spanish, by the Aztec scribes, in order to explain the culture of the Aztecs to the Spanish, and possibly King Philip. And it was obvious that there was no direct connection with my old New Atlantis theory. And a few sentences later, I saw it was captured by French pirates… and thought “Oh no!”, and swear I said, “I just hope it didn’t end up in Britain”. You see, I don’t want to be tempted into finding any connections with my theory, as it is externally and internally suppressed. But my worst fears were realized when I read down, and it turned out that one Richard Hakluyt actually owned the Codex Mendoza. Why would that matter? He was an early explorer, promoting the British settling of the New World, along with Harriot, Raleigh, Francis Bacon, Strachey and so on. In other words, the very document with this very rare bird-glyph-as-paragraph-marker was actually in the hands of one of the prime influences on the literature, mythology and lore of the New World, which in turn inspired Shakespeare’s Tempest, and Francis Bacon’s New Atlantis.

A Strange Coincidence

There are no contemporary references to the Voynich Manuscript that we know of, only a few 17^th century letters which were written long after it was created. The first which appeared is the famous Marci Letter of 1665, which Wilfrid Voynich found attached, or with, the manuscript to begin with. But it is not the only, or earliest, reference.  The first possible mention is from 1637. A complete list of all “Voynich letters”, with translations, can be found on Philip Neal’s pages at Voynich central. But the letter which is the topic of this post is the 1666 letter from Godefirdus Aloysius Kinner to Kircher. It includes mention of the following subjects:

1) The Voynich and it’s mystery, and a hope for it’s translation
2) The two Bacons
3) The founding of the Royal Society
4) The New Atlantis

The Voynich Manuscript

Mr. Neal notes, “‘English Society’ (Anglica Societate). The Royal Society, founded by Charles II of England in 1660. This paragraph is a discussion of an important issue at that time, the need to break with the wisdom of the ancient world and pursue new knowledge by means of experimental science. Kinner, clearly, is on the side of experiment, but in his day its value was not self-evident and needed to be argued for. Barschius, by contrast, seriously believed that major medical discoveries would more likely result from the decipherment of an old manuscript than from first hand observation.”

That is a well-stated point of course. But imagine the profound irony, to me and my theory, that both the Voynich and the New Atlantis are discussed on the same page of a 1666 letter to Kircher, when I had theorized, pre-C14, that they were in fact related.

The New Atlantis

The two books are not linked in this letter. But what are the odds of them even being mentioned together? Out of all the tens of thousands of books and writings Kinner could have discussed? Are there implications in them being together, so early? For one thing, perhaps the nature of the Voynich Ms., and the nature of the New Atlantis seemed related to him, and so, without saying so (but because of this, “on his mind”) he included both. But conversely, the fact that he did include both, and yet did not openly link the two, seems to suggest that he did not see any connection at all. How does this relate to my having  suspected a connection between his two books of interest, and his author, 400 years later? I don’t know. I do consider it a coincidence, and somehow worthy of note. For one thing, it certainly shows just how both tempting and disarming coincidence can be.

Francis Bacon of Verulam

A Little Bit Like Everything, a Whole Lot Like Nothing

…That is how I often think of the Voynich Manuscript. On the one hand it has reminded countless people of many different styles from every age of every corner of the earth… while at the same time, it is almost universally noted to be too little like any one thing to “be” any of them. And I think this “being so similar to so much” is an important clue in itself, our most important clue even, and also, the clue most often missed or ignored. I was recently interviewed for a documentary segment on the Voynich (not the ORF), and I made this point. Unfortunately the interview did not make it into the final production, which I think is indicative of the problem in identifying, or maybe in my explaining, the point I am trying to make. It is difficult to define a nebulous concept such as this, and certainly not to an audience unfamiliar with the Voynich.

Characters: Just a bit different than anything.

I will try this way: Try to imagine just how impossibly difficult it would be for something to accidentally be so close to so many things, with so many individual elements similar to many other, varied and common elements… while each one of those elements, when every one of the little bitty parts and pieces is off “just enough” to not be the thing it most looks like? That may happen a few times in other works, and of course has and does… because it is unavoidable, on occasion. But to get every minute aspect of such a lengthy and complex work such as the Voynich this “wrong”, this “different”, on every level of minute detail? I mean, it would not… could not… happen by accident… I sense the odds would be astronomical for this effect to have happened by chance or error. I feel it must be intentional.

And by “intentional”, I mean that the author wanted the work as a whole, by seeing to this level of mismatch on every detail, to not evoke any real time, or author, or area, or culture, or language, and so on. And then, we would ask, why? Of course I have proposed, and still propose, fantasy… either a fantasy document in it’s own right, or one reflecting an existing mythology… possibly one unknown or forgotten.

Plants: Just a bit off each time.

And yet, I am mostly, almost entirely, alone in this. At the moment there is talk about how similar the character set is to Tibetian. I agree. It is. It is also similar to dozens of other character sets from several centuries, such as Chinese, and Arabic, and, I feel, like some Native American transcription characters… and many codes and cipher characters… while, again, being not enough like any of them to identify them as such. As an example of the effect this has on the investigation, there is a very good Facebook account called “The Voynich Revisited”, which does a wonderful job of both pointing out the myriad of “things it is like”, while really, making my point… it is like many of these things, I agree… and, again, just a bit “off” from every one, on every level. Sometimes the talk moves to herbals, and the real plants which may be presented in them. I agree… the plants do look similar to herbals, and some of the real plants in them, from many decades, and even, centuries. But, again, just “off” enough to not be any one of them. The same with the architecture… not identified as actual structures, but said to have the elements of Northern Italy to some extent, and also, perhaps, some Russian onion-domes, or maybe Middle-Eastern… with some Jewish Temple-like iconography thrown in. Elements, similar… again, “like” some things, but just different enough to not be identifiable. And the animals, and the style of dress, and on and on…

Astronomy? Well, not quite.

Added up, all these myriad of these similarities, so close and yet so far, are staggering in number. And again, I propose, to accidentally miss on thousands of individual elements, over 200 plus pages of text, without giving away one concrete connection to anything real… this, in my opinion, would be almost impossible to have happened by chance, and must have been intentional, and therefore is our biggest clue… a clue never followed. Instead, effort is put into finding a real connection, endlessly, as it has for a hundred years.

Even though history is ripe with fantasy and mythology, from Gilgamesh to Prestor John; from old Atlantis to New Atlantis; in music, poetry, plays, and literature, the idea that the Voynich represents a fantasy of some sort is scoffed at repeatedly. And fantasy and mythology such as El Dorado, or the Fountain of Youth have driven the quest for real discoveries, such as the New World, and new routes to the East. Fiction is a major factor in our world history, and has driven the imagination of millions to real achievements in the sciences and discovery. And yet, the whole realm of fiction is seldom turned to, the idea of fantasy and mythologies are discarded and ignored, when looking at the one document which continues to defy a solid connection to anything real. I find that bafflingly ironic.

Known Astrology? Very close, but no cigar.

I was also told once that fantasy, as an outcome for the Voynich, would be boring. Perhaps many share this view, and it has dissuaded others from entering this area of research. Also, and possibly connected, is that many investigators would feel cheated if the Voynich were based on fantasy… as if to find and answer which turned out to be poetic rather than pragmatic, would somehow rob the seeker of a valuable, interesting, useful, or valid outcome. I disagree entirely. Whether based on a real discipline, or mythology, the Voynich would continue to excite. Think of finding a lost book of Homer… or a play by Euripides… or think of a new real find of a fantasy or religious document we did not even know existed, such as Gilgamesh. Are these boring concepts? The lost plays of Shakepeare? A forgotten, dead religion? A secret cult? Boring? If the Voynich turns out to reflect a fiction, as I still strongly believe it does, I feel it will be one of the most exciting outcomes of all… and, I feel, it is the most probable possibility, and ironically, the most ignored.

T/O Map Label Implications

As I and others have said before, the labels seem to be one of the best ways “into” the Voynich Manuscript. They might be words which are disclosed by adjoining illustrations, most importantly. And if they can be assumed to be encoded/enciphered in the same manner as the rest of the Voynich, then they limit the possible methods used to do so… by the number of letters, the structure… and the fact that there is an “infinite space” before and after them. One would then have to explain how the space applies to the main text… as a character or symbol… when it cannot, ever, in the labels.

But the T/O maps of the Voynich seem to give us additional possibilities. The reason is, we have two with labels to compare. I believe this is unique in the Voynich, where we have a “word” which can reasonably assumed to have the same meaning as the same word elsewhere. The maps I am referring to are the two left ones in the below illustration.

The actual, known, 1472 T/O map to the right is of course in it’s usual “East up” orientation (thanks, Nick). The Rosettes map is, in the Ms., but I rotated it to line up the labels with the F68v3 map, and to make them more readable (can we use that term, “readable”, in the VMs?). For the sake of this discussion, certain assumptions are being made: That these are T/O maps in the Medieval style, and the segments are meant to represent the same places, and that the words within them, therefore, are meant to represent the same place/idea. Let’s look at the upper left word, first, and compare them.

If we look at these two “words”, and assume they are meant to be the same place or idea, certain points would follow. First, comparing the gallows, it would imply that these should not counted elsewhere as two gallows… that the second version is simply the same character drawn with a more closed upper left loop. Secondly, since the right word is seemingly a shortened version of the first, it implies the use of abbreviations. The importance of determining whether or not abbreviations are used at all in the Voynich can not be underrated. And thirdly, the fact that the fourth character of the right word is different from the fourth, fifth or sixth characters of the left, would imply that it somehow signifies the same meaning of those characters, where missing.

In the second comparable VMs word, we find the same and some new implications. First, the first character of the right word is actually a combination of the first two characters of the left word. There are several reasons this makes sense… for one thing, it includes the rare gallows with the crossed tail. This increases the possibility that it is representative of the left word.  Another reason that it follows the right character is a combination would be, again, the small area it is written in. One would expect a nice clean spacing of characters in a larger space, and the possibility of accidentally, or judiciously, linking them where necessary… and this is exactly what we find. A second major observation here is that the word in the smaller place, as with “Africa”, is also the shorter word. The first four characters are the same, and again, just like Africa, again, the last is different… implying, again, and abbreviation for space reasons. Now the fifth character in the left word may be a shortened tail “9″. If so, it might imply that such “o’s”, with short tails, are the VMs “9′s”, when written within a word. Only guessing there (as in the rest of this post of course, only guessing). But another possible is similar to the Africa example… that is, that the “9″ character here is meant to represent the last characters of the left word, and have the same meaning… or, simply, to denote that an abbreviation has taken place.

This is only musing, given the rare but possible opportunity to compare two words which may have the same meaning in the Voynich. I don’t know of any other two words which can be compared in this way, in fact. If so, the implications are important:

1. Abbreviations might be used in the Voynich
2. When used, they may have replacement or marker characters, and these are two of them
3. Two gallows may actually be one, drawn slightly differently
4. Keys in the Voynich, if there are any, do not change over the pages we find these maps
5. Some characters may be combination, but should be treated as separate in counts, etc.
6. Most importantly, the Voynich has meaning…

… for to so closely represent the same idea, or place, on two different maps on two different pages, with so similar words, shows an attempt to convey real meaning. There would be no need to make them as alike as they are, if there was no meaning to the words… and the odds are, if randomly chosen, they would be very much more different from what they actually are, and in ways different from what their situation implies and supports. Of course and unless, this was on purpose, just to confound… but then, it would be the only situation where this was necessary to do, as again, it is our only comparison! What are the odds of that? Not for me to say…

T and O Map, Guntherus Ziner, 1472