Usually when I look at VMS text, I am trying to unravel the meaning (assuming there is one) or puzzle out some of the ambiguous shapes, but a while ago I noticed something about the pen strokes that reminded me of the text on folio 116v…
The Speed of the Quill
Medieval scribes wrote using a quill or stylus. Some wrote faster than others. A faster, lighter stroke dispenses less ink. There are other differences… some scribes pressed harder, and some pressed harder on the downstroke than the cross-stroke (for artistic effects). Some sharpened the quill to a finer point, which creates a different kind of line and overall look. Some sharpened the quill more frequently than others, which improves consistency. Usually goose quills were used, but other feathers were sometimes good for fine lines.
Adhesion holds the ink within the curve of the quill. When you press on the tip to spread the groove, gravity tugs the droplet and ink runs downward. You have to hold the pen at a certain angle, use exactly the right pressure, and pull the tip away from the topside for the ink to dispense evenly.
Here are the basic parts of a nib. It is a protein material that wears down. A scribe needs many quills to complete a long project.
A quill is not like a ballpoint pen. A ballpoint can draw loopty-loops because each part of the ball dispenses ink in the same way. It takes practice to pull a quill in the correct direction and, if you don’t do it right, the ink stutters or blobs. It takes a few years for calligraphers to really master the art.
Cutting a Quill
Shaping the tip of the quill. Often goose feathers were used. [Painting by Gerrit Dou c. 1633, courtesy of the Leiden collection.]
To create a quill, you harvest the feathers, scrape away the soft tissues, and age the feathers to “harden” them (in later years this was accelerated by heating). Artists and modern users have a romantic attachment to the feathery parts, but professional quill-makers and scribes usually removed them.
Use a sharp knife to shape the tip. The width of the tip is related to the width of the stroke. The tip is cut at a slight angle to accommodate the right or left hand. Even the curve of the feather is chosen for right- or left-handedness. A vertical slit is added to channel the ink in small doses from the inner curve of the quill.
If it is a feather quill, it needs to be re-dipped every few words and re-sharpened every few lines. (Don’t sharpen a quill as shown in this painting or you will cut your thumb—carve away, not toward your finger. What I do is press the quill-end alongside a small wooden block and shave toward the block—more control and less risk).
Because a quill needs to be pulled toward the side that holds the ink, a loop is usually drawn in two strokes—from top-to-bottom on the left, then top-to-bottom on the right. This prevents spattering or skipping.
Occasionally a scribe will draw a full loop if the nib is very fine and the loop is very small, but pushing against the direction of the pen is risky—the consequence may be a blob, pen-skip, or broken quill-tip. Similarly, straight strokes are drawn top to bottom to avoid going against the direction of the quill.
How Do Quill Mechanics Relate to the VMS?
If you pull a quill very quickly on the downstroke and start lifting in anticipation of moving to the next letter, the descender becomes very thin and light. Calligraphers are discouraged from doing this because it makes the script look uneven and a “g” might look like an “a”. Nevertheless, it happens, and appears to have happened in parts of the VMS.
On folio 99v, I noticed many of the downstrokes were barely visible. The scribe probably moved fast and reduced the pressure compared to other parts of the glyphs.
Note how many of the descenders are unusually light:
Compare it to this script on 103r where the descenders are darker and more clearly written:
On 116v, at the end of the manuscript, there is some distinctive lightening of descenders, possibly from the pen being moved quickly or possibly from some text that has been expunged below the last visible line:
I am not sure if the two arrows marked with question marks are faded descenders, but the tops of the letters look more like medieval “p” than “v”.
Unfortunately the 116v text does not match the handwriting style of the scribe who wrote the light descenders on f99v. I wish it did—it would be evidence that the 116v scribe might have helped with the manuscript. But the 99v example has rounded c-shapes, not as squeezed as those on 116v, and the descender on EVA-y on 116v is distinctly rounded and arced, so it’s probably a different scribe.
Identifying the Ambiguous Letter
So what is the strange letter on 116v? A “v” or the top of a “p”?
I looked for examples of flat-bottom “v” in medieval manuscripts and found quite a few, but it was definitely not as common as other forms of “v” with pointed or round bottoms.
Below are samples specifically culled from scripts that are similar to the overall script on 116v. These samples don’t match the shape of the VMS char as well as similar examples of the top of the letter “p”, but the differences aren’t sufficient to determine the identity of the VMS char:
So let’s move on to sections where the VMS text has been corrected or changed…
Amendments to the VMS Text
This is one of the more obvious examples where something spilled and someone tried to re-create the damaged text on top of the stain. The text is a bit awkward, the stain may have impeded the quill, but it appears to be added by someone familiar with VMS glyphs:
Less Obvious Examples
Some corrections are more subtle. You have to hunt for them. There are many edits in the VMS. I tried recording them, but it was taking too much time and there isn’t space to enumerate them all here, but I’ll point out a couple of interesting examples.
Apparently someone didn’t like the overly-light descenders on f100r (small-plants section) and tried to fix some of them. Note the light descender marked with a blue arrow. Some of the others have been overinked to add the missing stroke (marked in red).
Whoever over-inked wasn’t very expert. The lines are tentative and shaky. The thickness of the nib doesn’t match. The ink doesn’t match well either:
Medieval inks were not always brown. Some were closer to black when first applied and gradually faded to brown, so you can’t always go by color. Only testing can determine when the extra strokes were added. But the added ink isn’t just a different color, it’s a different kind of stroke, thin and spidery. It lacks the thick-thin characteristics of lines drawn with a quill. It resembles ink from a different kind of pen, maybe a metal stylus or something that can create thinner lines.
Darker ink also occurs at the bottom of f100v, on one of the small-plant folios, but the difference isn’t as great. One has to be careful in evaluating examples like the one below, because sometimes medieval ink was not mixed well and certain components in the ink faded while others remained dark.
I’m pretty sure the text on 100r in the previous example has been over-inked, but it’s harder to tell if the following example is over-inked or badly mixed ink where some components faded more than others:
Changes to Content
Darkening a too-light line is a superficial change that doesn’t alter the intention of a glyph, but there are places where lines have been added to change the shape of a letter. For example, on 100r in the middle, we see a shape that looks like a straight “d” changed into EVA-d with the addition of a loop.
In contrast to the overinked examples shown earlier, the added loop looks like a quill stroke. Even though it is darker ink, it has the thick-thin characteristics and more fluid style of the rest of the text:
So it’s possible that more than one person made changes to the text or that the scribe had difficulty with very fine lines and used a different, perhaps unfamiliar, kind of pen.
These revisions suggest that 1) someone cared about the legibility of the text and tried to fix the parts that were faded, and 2) someone comfortable with a quill cared about the consistency/accuracy of the VMS glyphs and corrected errors.
Here is another example with dark and light inks in which descenders have been fixed and one letter appears to have gained a longer lower-right stroke (100r lower-right):
The text is not the only thing that has been amended. Some of the drawings have, as well.
There are numerous places where a breast has been added to a nymph in a slightly darker ink. Usually it is the one closest to the viewer:
Nymph 1 Nymph 2 Nymph 3 Nymph 4
So who added it? Was it a production-line process where one person drew the outline and someone else added the inner details? Or was it a master-apprentice situation where a young apprentice was asked to do something “safe” that wouldn’t ruin the drawings, like adding a second breast?
The added breasts are usually in the same style as the original breast. In this case, the first is pointed, the second is somewhat rounded, the third is shaped like a thumb, and the fourth is larger and distinctly rounded. So… either it’s the same person who added them, or someone else made an effort to copy the original style.
Sometimes other parts of the body look like they are drawn by a different person. For example, the arms of the second nymph are different from the others.
One of the characteristics of many of the nymph drawings is that there is no shoulder on the side facing the viewer—the arm grows out of the neck. This is particularly noticeable on nymphs in 3/4 view. It’s a distinctive characteristic that can be seen on nymphs 3 and 4 in the example above. In contrast, Nymph 2 has an angular shoulder and smoother, darker arcs to the curve of the arms. Note also that there is no elbow on #2. The arms of the second nymph look like they were drawn by a different person.
Here are more examples of nymphs with non-anatomical shoulders. The arm on the right is almost growing out of the ear:
Places Where Both Text and Images Were Amended
On folio 73r, someone has added both text and breasts in a darker ink, using a finer writing implement than the original text. The text is consistent with other text on the folio in both style and glyph-arrangement, so perhaps the lines were added close to the time of original creation.
Here is a sample from the top of the folio, but there are numerous other additions below it:
A second breast has been added in darker ink in much the same way in the zodiac-figure folios and the pool folios, which suggests some kind of continuity between sections, if the dark ink is contemporary with the rest of the manuscript.
One important thing to note… the glyphs in the darker ink are written in legal Voynichese. Did the person know the system for generating tokens? Or did they copy others that already existed? If they knew the system, these marks may have been added in the 15th century.
There are numerous amendments to the drawings on 71v, one of the zodiac-figure folios. Ten of the 15 figures have been touched up with darker ink (or ink that has faded less over time). Most of the changes are to the hair and breasts:
In this group of nymphs, there is an interesting anatomical difference between the nymph with two original breasts (#2) and the two nymphs with added breasts (#5 and #6)…
On the original drawing (#2), the contour of the breast is defined by a line underneath, and the general direction is facing the viewer straight on. The added breasts on #5 and #6 are drawn differently. The direction is more of a side or 3/4 view and the line that defines the contour is on the side rather than underneath. The “touch-up” person may have been different from the original illustrator.
Less-Explainable Amendments
The changes or additions in the above examples are understandable. Light strokes were darkened, missing information was added. But the following example is harder to explain.
On f86r, there is an instance of “daiin” in which the last minim doesn’t have the usual tail swinging up to the left. Instead, someone with a narrower quill and a less steady hand added a large angular shape that is inconsistent with the rest of the text on the folio. The last minim has been awkwardly changed into an ambiguous shape that is not typical of Voynichese:
The amended shape is not round enough to be EVA-y and lacks the loop that is usual for EVA-m. The “dain” block doesn’t usually end this way, so the amender either added the wrong kind of tail (facing the wrong direction), or didn’t know how to draw one of the other VMS glyphs correctly and turned the tail-less minim into something strange.
In a previous blog, I posted some other examples in which atypical text was added to the beginnings or ends of lines.
Summary
The VMS includes numerous adjustments to the text and drawings; most of them are fixes to the original in a similar style. In some cases, however, textual additions seem out of character with the rest of the folio and it’s unclear why it was changed.
Most of the amendments were probably done around the same time the VMS was created, but some of the textual changes may have been added later. The proportion of changes isn’t high, but there are enough to make you wonder what happened to the VMS during the gaps in its provenance.
Changes or additions are not especially frequent, however, considering the length of the manuscript. It seems likely that a draft version was used to design the script first. It would be remarkable if it eventually turned up somewhere in the forgotten corners of a library or private collection.
Medieval charms are like puzzles—ancient traditions, archaic names, corrupted words, blended languages, and numerous abbreviations. To decompose or interpret them, one has to learn about historic religious practices, both eastern and western, and to study hundreds of charms so that the general patterns become more evident.
I’ve posted several blogs on charms, talismans, and amulets. It was the word oladabas on the second line and the repetition of six, morix, marix on the third line of VMS 116v that started me on this journey. These patterns reminded me of magic words (like Abracadabra) and patterns of sound-repetition that have long been associated with ancient magical rites.
The earlier blogs are here:
Repeated sound sequences and ancient words like Abracadabra (July 2013)
When I looked into this subject in more depth, I discovered that various versions of Aladabra, Abraca, Abracula, Abracadabra, ala drabra, et al, are closely related, and shortenings of the name in a repetitive line or diagram are not just to save space but to “reduce” the power of illness or malign spirits. Sometimes these are intended to be chanted aloud. Other times they are written on small squares or strips and worn on various parts of the body, or buried in the ground.
Abracadabra is possibly of Semitic origin and is mentioned in Serenus Sammonicus’s Liber Medicinalis as an incantation for fever as “chartae quod dicitur abracadabra”.
The charm words were not always written within shields or triangles, often they are within circles or pentagrams. Sometimes they are written in more prosaic style… let’s look again at an example I posted in 2016—a charm for fever:
The primary sequence begins with the word Abrachlam and is broken down in two sections Abrach + lam (you can think of this as alpha and omega, the beginning and end of the word). The beginning is reduced as follows:
Abrach, Abrach, Abrach, Abrach, Abrar, Abra, Abr, ab, A, B
And is interspersed with the shorter sequence from the end:
lam la l
Note how this differs from the shield charms (and from many of the more prosaic charms). This intertwining of the beginning and end is not common. Usually the ending is simply dropped to gradually reduce the word down to one or two characters, but the way the parts are interspersed in this example might be relevant to the VMS, as will be discussed farther down.
But first, a little more background. To fully appreciate charms, it helps to know a few abbreviations…
What is “aaa”?
Courtesy of St. John’s Orthodox Church
If you saw “aaa” in a manuscript or engraved on a talisman, you might scratch your head, but the history of charms reveals the meaning of this cryptic abbreviation.
When I came across the incantation “Agios Agios Agios” in a medieval manuscript, I recognized it because it is commonly written on Greek icons with images of saints, Jesus, and God (like the Arabs, the Greeks frequently exploited the calligraphic characteristics of letter shapes and intertwined them like monograms). On the right is a typical icon labeled O Agios. Agios means “otherly” and is often translated as reverend, holy, or sacred. It is written and abbreviated in numerous ways.
Agios was also Latinized in the Middle Ages. There are several examples in the Lindisfarne Gospels. I include one here:
O Agios Lucas, St. Luke [circa early 700s, century, British Library, MS Cotton Nero D IV]
Another example of Agios, in the context of charms, is in an Old English manuscript from the 11th century. The reader is instructed to sing Agios Agios Agios to the cattle each evening (ælce æfen) as a form of protection and aid (him to helpe):
Agios charm to be sung each evening to protect cattle [British Library, Cotton Vitellius E XVIII, f15v]
Agios is sometimes abbreviated as Ai, and the abbreviation aaa is also a shortened version of Agios, Agios, Agios. But Agios, Agios, Agios (used in priestly invocations) is itself an abbreviation. It comes from an old hymn in Greek:
Ágios ó theòs, ‘ágios ìskhuròs, ‘Ágios àthánatos èléeson èmâs…
This hymn is known as the Trisagion (thrice Agion) and is sung in liturgies and processions. If a person is familiar with the hymn, then they would recognize Agios, Agios, Agios in the context of a charm without having to see the full text of the hymn. It seems likely that it is a direct reference to the hymn because the cattle charm instructs the user to sing the charm words.
Thus, extreme abbreviation to single letters or double letters was not uncommon.
Other Mystery Abbreviations
In previous blogs, I posted examples of Abracula/Abgracula (right), a word gradually reduced to a talismanic shape (sometimes as a shield diagram), and frequently combined with crosses. Since posting this in 2013, I have also seen the word shortened to “Abrac” and “Arac” in textual charms.
In addition to shortened words, medieval charms often include repetitious sounds, in addition to Hebrew and Latin,”power syllables”, names of angels, and other components.
The following shield charm begins with “ab” in the upper left, followed by what appear to be mostly abbreviations in the outer band. The inner band also begins with “ab” if you flip it around, followed by numbers and a mixture of Greek and Latin letters. I was wondering why shield charms were common in Latin manuscripts and I’m not sure of the specific reason, but in Hebrew and Arabic exemplars, triangles are very common, so perhaps this is an adaptation of the triangle:
I noticed “ab” was frequently at the beginning of charm words and thought it might trace back to the biblical Abraham, but there’s another possibility… perhaps “ab-” is popular in charm words because it roughly represents the first two letters of the alphabet (Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, Latin).
Below is another example from the same manuscript. In the top right are the names of the evangelists within quandrants, with a crossed circle in the center. On the third line are the names iasp[er] (a reference to Casper) melthior and bathazar (probably Balthazar), the three wise men, followed by invocations to archangels, followed by crosses and more names, including the following interesting passage:
+ elizabeth peperit Ioh[ann]em + Anna peperit Maria[m] + bra’ maria virgo peperit ihu’ (Jesus) Salvatore’ mu[n]di…
The names of women and their offspring are included in a number of childbearing charms and, if you scan down to the last line, you will see + a + g + l + a + amen, which is a clue that “agla” like “aaa” (Trisagion) is probably an acronym.
And so it is. It comes from the Hebrew אגלא for “Attah Gibbor Le’olam Adonai”. Adonai is one of the names of God, frequently included in charms with Eloyim and Sabaoth. This invocation acknowledges his might and power.
The following charm, added at the end of Arau MS Wett 4, also includes Adonai, Sabaoth, Grege, elyon, and tetragamaton (which also has Hebrew origins). At the end, are Baltasar and Melchior, as in the previous example and, as is common, several crosses (which in some cases indicates a genuflection):
Charm at the end of Ms Wett 4, folio 112r. This manuscript is from the second half of the 13th century, but these added notes might be from sometime in the 14th century, based on the handwriting. The second part may have been added at a different time, but it’s essentially the same style of handwriting (possibly the same writer), using a different writing implement and bottle of ink.
Near the end of the sixth line is the now-familiar agla.
Here’s a pestilence charm with a similar format and a brief partial-substitution cipher that I posted in June 2018:
15th century charm for warding off the pestilence (black plague). [Source e-codices Ms c 101]
Names of angels are also very common in charms and general books of magic. Here is an example with names of angels (and other sacred personages).:
Long lists of the names of angels are common in medieval books of magic. Notice how many have “el” or “ael” endings as is also true of archangels Michael and Gabriel. [Source: Vatican Lat. 1300]
Specific angels were said to be associated with each hour of the day or night, with the archangel Michael presiding over the first hour of the day (the time when many rites were instructed to begin).
Sound Repetitions
I mentioned Agios as a repeated invocation, but there are also many vaguely Hebrew or Latin-sounding phrases that don’t appear to mean anything or which are simply repeats of names. Often the cluster of syllables is identical or self-similar.
For example Hatim, Hatim, Hatim (also written hatyn, and probably representing a name), kadosh, kadosh, kadosh (the Hebrew word for sacred) and eye, eye, eye can be found in medieval conjurations for Thursday (as described in the Heptameron and by Lauron de Lawrence, 1915) . The odd-looking eye, eye, eye found in BSB Clm 809, is an abbreviation for eschereie, eschereie, eschereie.
What might be even more interesting to Voynich researchers is sequences that are self-similar…
In a childbirth charm in MS Sloane 3160, the text following christus regnat is erex + arex + rymex. Looking more closely, if the wordplay is based on “regnat” or “rex” then eREX aREX RymEX might be the basis for the pattern.
Sometimes the short Latin-like words refer to longer statements, just as aaa refers to agios in its longer form as agios + agios + agios or as a hymn. For example, the following statement:
In nomine patris max, in nomine filii max, in nomine spiritus sancti prax.
will sometimes be abbreviated in charms as max + max + prax.
Another sound sequence found in charms is habay + habar + hebar, with habar being the Hebrew word for incantation. Note how each word varies by only one letter.
In VMS 116v, on line three, we see siX + mariX + moriX + viX + so IX is common to all four and this being the VMS, I can’t help wondering if “ix” was chosen because it also doubles as the number 9. There are some oddities of spacing… the ix in each case appears to be written in the same handwriting and the “a” is the same as others on the page, but the backleaning i character (resembling EVA-i) in “vix” is quite perplexing. Was it intentional? Or a slip into thinking in Voynichese? Or is it a later addition in another hand?
Spelling was quite variable in the Middle Ages, so I looked up “morax” as a substitute for “morix” and discovered that morax or more commonly marax is a demon, one of the fallen angels—a spirit that could be summoned by Solomon, appearing as a bull. Marax governs astronomy, herbs, and precious stones. He can be invoked at any time except twilight.
This information comes from De Laurence’s 1916 Lesser Key of Solomon, which is translated from manuscripts in the British Museum. BNF Italian 1524 is another version that includes this diagram with AGLA in the top left, and a magic square in the bottom right together with other talismanic symbols:
An earlier manuscript said to have inspired this is the Livre des Esperitz (Book of Spirits, Trinity O.8.29), a French grimoire with influences dating back at least to the 13th century (Boudet, Médiévales). The French version calls this demon “Machin”. Other variations include Mathim or Bathym. Ancient sources mention Tamiel or Temel for a demon with the same characteristics.
These fallen angels were said by some to be fallen stars. Others saw them as personifications of human failings.
Some of John Dee’s writings are referenced in an 18th-century hand-written version of the Book of Spirits that is now in the Penn State Library (Ars Artium, Ms Codex 1677). The book includes a reference to the papers of Alchemist Richard Napier and a statement on a flyleaf that “I” (the scribe) copied the book from an old manuscript written upon parchment (British Royal Commission).
The Royal Commission also mentions a book on Kabbalah “bought at Naples from the Jesuits” Colledge, &c.” and a book on alchemy that “the Government seized upon the Convent and sold their Library.” Another writer, possibly C. Rainsford, further mentions that Sepher Rasiel came into his hands from the Naples Jesuits (1874), which provides some interesting connections between the Jesuits and occult books.
But to get back to our demon…it appears that the name morax/marax, when associated with fallen angels, originated sometime in the late middle ages or Renaissance, and we cannot be sure that marix or morix in the VMS is a spelling variation, but the similarity is provocative.
Now let’s look at another way to generate charm words…
Magic Squares
When I see self-similar patterns, I wonder if there is some formulaic way in which they are generated, other than simply having a couple of letters in common, as might be the case with palindromic magic squares. I saw one pattern that included the phrase ARAPS IASPER SCRIPT, which immediately reminded me of the famous SATOR/ROTAS square.
SATOR/ROTAS palindromic square [courtesy of M Disdero via Wikipedia, photo taken at Oppede, Luberon, France]
Many people are familiar with this square. It comes from ancient times and is frequently in books of magic, as with the Trinity example above.
Sometimes the square is omitted to show just the letters, as in the following incantation to influence friends in The Clavicle of Solomon, MS Sloane 3847. Note also the names of the three wise men, which were in MS Wett 4 pictured earlier, a variety of biblical names, and the four evangelists:
S. Sator, arepo, tenet, opera, rotas, Ioth, heth, he, vau, y. hac, Ia, Ia, Ia, papes, Ioazar, anarenetõ nomina sancta ad implete votum Amen. Baltazar, Iapher, Melchior, Abraham, Isaac, et Jacob, Sydrac, Misaac et Obednego, Marcus, Matheus, Lucas, Johannes, Ioron, Sizon, Tiris anfraton, adestote omnes in adiutorium ut a quacunque creatura voluere possim graciam impetrare.
Have you ever played with the letters in the SATOR/ROTAS square to create other words? For example, I noticed that PATER NOSTER (Our Father) can be constructed, and Pater Noster is also common in charms.
This made me wonder if charm sequences similar to ARAPS IASPER SCRIPT (ones whose origins are harder to identify) were loosely based on the SATOR idea. For example, something like this (I created this in a couple of minutes, so it’s not elegant, but it’s good enough to get the idea across).
Letters in this palindromic square can be picked out to generate the words ARAPS IASPER SCRIPT. To the medieval mind, perhaps they carry some of the “power” that comes from a palindromic square. Sound-similarity occurs almost by default when the character set is small.
Thus, I became suspicious that magic squares might have been used to generate a subset of charm words that are harder to fathom, and then I found this…
Abracula appears abbreviated as Abrac in Abrac Abeor Abere in Peter of Abano’s Heptameron. And it is apparently also the basis of “Ara”, an abbreviation used in a magic square with the following components:
Note the similarity of Ara and Ora to “aror” on folio 116v of the VMS. The preponderance of “a” and “o” (and the proximity of an “r” shape) is also a characteristic of the VMS main text.
If a string of something that looks like nonsense syllables were derived from other words in the same charm, then self-similarity across several lines would be significant. Even though the sequence SIX MARIX MORIX VIX isn’t sound-similar to the rest of 116v, it is similar to words in charms.
Practical Magic
The following example incorporates sacred names and abbreviations (typically Agla, Amara, Tanta, and others) within a circular frame surrounded by boxed crosses:
Sacred abbreviations and names surrounded by boxed crosses, all within a circle. The circle was not just decorative—often it was intended to be drawn on the ground, with the practitioner stepping within the circle and onlookers (if there are any) either waiting outside the circle or standing within, as well. The format varied with the tradition and the purpose of the charm. [15th century, BSB Clm 849]
If it is included, the name of God is often written first. Sometimes it is written several different ways. Other times the name of God is expressly omitted or only partially written, as certain cultures have prohibitions about writing the name of God.
AGLA is not specifically a name of God, but like max + max + prax represents a shortened phrase that includes the name Adonay, a reference to God that is very often in charms. Other common names in charms are Eloym and Sabaoth.
If you see C + M + B or G + M + B, there is a good chance it stands for Caspar Melchior Balthasar. M + G + E would be Michael, Emanual, Raphael and M + M + L + I is Mathew, Mark, Luke and Iohn (John). Names are sometimes written out in full or partly abbreviated. If there is limited space, the archangels are often chosen over other angel names. Sometimes many angel names are included.
Variations on words for friendship or love were also common in charms to win someone’s affections (or to get a girl to lift up her skirts).
As mentioned above, this shield-shaped charm symbol has numerous abbreviations and, as examples have shown, it was very common for charms and remedies to include Greek and Hebrew letters.
Unfortunately, when words or phrases are distilled down to one or two letters, it becomes harder to interpret them unless you can find a similar charm with the words written out. In this case, it’s possible the “ab” on the top-left is abracula or abracadabra as these words appear often in charms (especially shield charms):
This shield shape is populated with crosses and numerous abbreviations. It’s possible the “ab” stands for abracula, but sometimes an entire common phrase will be distilled down to a few letters for each word (note that there is “and” symbol before the last word on the top side) so it’s also possible this is a religious or magical invocation (a full phrase or sentence). [Wellcome MS Misc Alchem XII]
Magical diagrams in an Arabic manuscript, with symbols common to middle-eastern talismans and incantations [Baldah Al-Jinn]
Western charms have much in common with ancient Mediterranean, Arabic, and Indic charms, many of which have been transmitted through manuscripts created by Jewish and Greek scribes. Invocations to God from the Qur’an are sometimes included in divinatory diagrams.
Pentagrams, circles, shields, triangles, stars of David, and other geometric shapes are commonly found in both eastern and western manuscripts. Also common to eastern manuscripts is a double rectangle, with the second rectangle offset, with eight loops at the point, a symbol for Earth. Western manuscripts also include these shapes, but tend to favor circles, shields, stars, and rectangles. Sometimes the strange shapes that accompany divinatory frames are corruptions of Arabic letters and western-Arabic numerals.
Figures composed of spidery lines ending in circles are common in books of Kabbalah, and often the names of angels are expressed this way, as well. Some of the western alchemy and astrology symbols have these characteristics, as well. Shapes that resemble EVA-t are natural variations of these kinds of patterns.
Sword and Soil
In medieval books of magic, drawing a circle in the dirt with a sword or stick is a frequent instruction, and incantations may be chanted from the edge or inner portion of the circle, depending on the specific kind of charm. The user is frequently directed to face east. If animals are used in the ceremony, they are usually sacrificed (and sometimes buried in a specific spot) or let free with the understanding that bad spirits will depart with the animal. The unfortunate Hoopoe, a beautiful bird that is fast declining, was a favorite sacrificial victim.
Often a young virgin boy was used to read the signs in water, oil, or other somewhat reflective surfaces. It was assumed that someone with enough youth and innocence would tell the truth. Often the boy was asked to reveal who had perpetrated a crime and people were gullible enough to accept the boy’s interpretation and to punish the “guilty”.
This may seem irrational and superstitious, but even respected 16th-century scholars like John Dee believed it was possible to “channel” information from other realms via a scrying mirror and a medium (in this case, Edward Kelley, who was neither young nor virginal).
This example from a 15th-century manuscript (Clm 849) is circular, with a central star, five divisions, and a sword at the apex representing east (east was commonly shown as “up” in medieval maps and many magical diagrams). This is the general form of diagrams that were inscribed on the ground, sometimes with a real sword.
It was rare for books with diagrams like this to survive as they were actively sought out and destroyed by authorities. Sometimes just owning one of these books could get you imprisoned:
Instead of a figure, sometimes the words or letters for alpha and omega are written in the inner circle. In BL Sloane 3648, the central circle includes pentagrams with ADONAI written in each outer triangle and alpha and omega split across them on either side:
As mentioned earlier, charm words are often in groups of three with sound similarity. Sometimes the words are identical, as in Amen, Amen, Amen, or Fiat, Fiat, Fiat.
Sometimes they vary only slightly. Frequently the second and third words are only one or two letters different from the one that came before, as in Adra Adrata Adratta, or Adra Adrata Adracta, or one I see quite frequently, Hel, Hely Heloy (sometimes written Hely, Heloy, Heloe, Heloen or Helion, Heloi, Hel), or the variant shown here as Ely Eloy Elyon:
Holy names such as Sabaoth, Adonay, and Emanuel, and repetitious chants such as Hel, Hely, Heloy or Ely, Eloy, Elyon, are commonly found in books of divination, and in charms and remedies written in margins and flyleaves of manuscripts. [Source: BSB Clm 849, c. earlier in the 15th century]
I want to emphasize this because self-similar patterns are quite frequent in the main text of the Voynich Manuscript and I don’t think auto-copying is the only possible explanation. Before I post examples, I want to cover one more thing in folio 116v…
Names in Charms
In classical charms, a reference or invocation to Pagan heroes or gods was common. After Christianity became prevalent, the format remained essentially the same, but Hebrew and Christian names for God, angels, and the virgin Mary were often substituted, or shared space with older names whose origins were no longer known.
The second line of 116v has a word that might be “cere” which might be a Pagan reference to Ceres the goddess of crops and fertility, but there’s not enough information to know.
The next line includes the word maria with crosses on either side (which I mentioned in 2013 might be the sign for genuflection), and there is one that looks like it was inserted as an afterthought between the a and the r. This is quite possibly an invocation to the virgin Mary:
The word before “maria” is harder to discern. It looks like ahia, but the “i” is oddly written and the last stroke of the h is oddly abrupt and slightly truncated. It’s almost like an h badly melded with a k. It’s not quite a “b” (there is no bottom cross-stroke).
But let’s investigate the plausibility of ahia. This could be a reference to the prophet Ahia in the Biblical Book of Kings, who is best known for his prophesy that Jeroboam would be king. If the text on 116v is a medical charm, then Ahijah/Ahia/Ahiya would be an appropriate name, as Ahia the Shilonite was called upon in the Bible to be an intermediary between mortals and God in much the same way as Mary is asked to intercede on behalf of mortals in distress.
How Does This Relate to the VMS?
Patterns of repetition, in which subsequent tokens are only slightly different from preceding ones, are very prevalent in the VMS, but most of them are sequences of two (these can be found throughout the manuscript).
There are also dual and triple repeats with no apparent changes:
Are there sequences of three where the variation is limited to one character each time? A further example from folio 79r comes close, except that the third repetition has two changes, thus qolkeey qolkeedy qokedy:
This example, from the following folio might appear to be a sequence of five (with only one change in each), except that the differences in EVA-t and EVA-k create two changes rather than one:
Here’s a similar sequence with dar and dax at beginning and end and four very similar tokens in between:
There’s no rule in charms that limits changes to only one letter, but when studying an unknown text like the VMS, if you give yourself too many degrees of freedom, you may be biasing your results. It’s usually better to examine simple changes first and, depending on what they reveal, go from there.
What we frequently find in the VMS is sequences where two glyphs change from one to the next. What is especially interesting about these sequences is that the characters that create two changes rather than one are often EVA-t and EVA-k.
The word oladaba8 on 116v is similar to some of the variants on abracadabra. Here is a full phrase found in Grimoires:
ala drabra ladr[a] dabra rabra afra braraagla et alpha omega
Now if we take the first part (before the readable part that says “agla et alpha omega”) and reverse it (something that was frequently done with magical words), we get
ararb arfa arbar arbad ardal arbard ala
If we substitute VMS characters with similar shapes, we get something close to Voynichese:
It’s not legal Voynichese (it’s too repetitive, there are other ways it could be substituted, and it breaks a couple of rules), but it shows some provocative similarities between Voynichese and charm sequences that are difficult to find between Voynichese and natural languages.
A French book of medicine from the early 19th century mentions both abracadabra and its reverse arbadacarba. In turn, if you break up arbadacarba into ar sa da 8ar sa (or something along those lines), the similarities to VMS components are more evident.
Remember the reduction charms I mentioned at the beginning? Where a charm word is broken down into smaller and smaller bits? Here is another interesting sequence in the VMS:
No, it’s not exactly the same in terms of which letters are dropped, but the way it diminishes is more similar to charm reductions than it is to the way sentences are usually constructed. Reduction-style charm sequences don’t follow hard-and-fast rules, just general guidelines (note that these patterns are more prevalent in some sections of the VMS than others).
Summary
There are not enough VMS glyphs with talismanic shapes to prove a connection to books of kabbalah or western magic. There’s only one (EVA-t) that is not easily found in the Greco-Roman scribal repertoire. My research tells me that most VMS glyph-shapes are the same shapes as Latin letters, numbers, and abbreviations (with a few that resemble Greek).
Also… to suggest that the VMS is full of enciphered charm words would be to ignore line-complexity, and the great variety of sequences that comprise the text. It’s possible that VMS patterns are generated in another way and similarity to charms is coincidental.
But there are portions that resemble charms in terms of pattern, repetition, and successive lengths of tokens, so perhaps some parts of the manuscript were inspired by incantations or charms. The only way to find out is to study them to see where and how often they occur.
It was just pointed out to me by a Voynich researcher that Diane O’Donovan is writing about me on her blog. I took a look and was actually quite surprised that the information I posted in my columns blog was so badly misconstrued.
But before we get to that, let’s put this rumor to rest. Maybe someone was joking (if so, no hard feelings), but this was posted as an aside on O’Donovan’s blog…
(Some have suggested tongue-in-cheek that JKP is a pseudonym adopted by Rene Zandbergen who holds very similar views and is one of the very few who really has been constantly involved for ‘many years’ – but it’s just jeu d’esprit. I’m sure JKP is quite real).
D.N. O’Donovan, 9 April 2019
Yes, I am. And to anyone who may think the rumor is true, I’m not using a pseudonym—I blog with my real name. I’m assuming René Zandbergen is European. I am North American. There’s a rather long swim between us and we don’t know each other personally.
Also, as far as I know, Zandbergen has been involved with the VMS quite a bit longer than I have. I first learned of the manuscript through Edith Sherwood’s site sometime in late 2006 or early 2007. A Google search for Da Vinci brought me to her blog and then, in 2007, I noticed she had a lot of plant IDs, as well.
I’m very interested in plants, I love puzzles, I’m fascinated by history.
That’s how I got hooked on the VMS. I wanted to solve it and it’s a perfect fit with my interests. I never planned to blog about it (my friends talked me into starting a blog, they kept insisting I had something to offer) and I’m still not sure a blog was a good idea (it takes time away from research) but in the process of blogging and joining the Voynich forum, I have met some beautiful minds, so it’s probably worth the sacrifice of time.
Now, to other matters…
You know what. I was going to quote some of the “twists” on O’Donovan’s site and respond to them point-by-point, but I have changed my mind. There are too many. It would take too long. Plus, she chose to nullify the fact that Jacobi de Tepenecz was educated in Jesuit schools, administrated a Jesuit college, died in the hands of Jesuits, and left his estate to the Jesuits by declaring that he, “does not seem to have been an ordained member of any Jesuit community”.
If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, then I don’t think it needs to be ordained as a duck to be included in general statements about the Jesuit community. My blog was not about Jacobi, it was about the column text.
De Tepenecz Signature
I’m also not sure why she posted a recreation of Jacobi de Tepenecz’s signature in connection with her comments about my study of the column text. It’s different handwriting. It should be in a separate section, not conflated with my column-text blog.
I didn’t discuss the signature because there might be a time gap between the writing of the column text and the addition of the signature at the bottom of folio 1r. We don’t know yet. I don’t have enough information on the signature to blog about it, and I think it’s premature to imply an association between them.
In my opinion there’s not enough research yet to draw any conclusions about Jacobi’s signature. In the scant examples that people have kindly posted on the Web (and which were probably difficult to find), the legal signature doesn’t match the other signatures and the other signatures almost look like two different hands, as though they were greatly separated in time, or perhaps because his name was added by someone else’s hand?
If you are interested in VMS provenance related to Jacobi de Tepenecz, Anton has been posting some very good research on the Wroblicionim annotations on some of Jacobi’s books on the Voynich.ninja forum. This enlightening detective work is slowly but surely helping to round out the picture.
Suffice it to say that in my previous blog, I presented needle-in-a-haystack work-in-progress to help fill out some of the missing corners of Voynich history, and presented it as simply as possible, and was not trying to change or misrepresent the manuscript’s provenance, as O’Donovan has implied.
This might seem a little far afield, but it adds a different twist to reading “anchiton” on folio 116v of the VMS. Think about the fact that the “s” is silent at the ends of words in some of the Romance dialects (which means it wasn’t always explicitly written in medieval text). Note also that “qui” was sometimes written “chi” (as in Greek) or “ki” (as in some of the old French dialects).
Here’s a clip of the famous phrase for reference:
On folio 116v, consider for a moment that the first letter might be pronounced like French “e” (which is nasal), which might be written as “a” by foreigners (substitutions of “a” for “e” were very common in southern Germany and parts of southwest Germany/Alsace). Thus, medieval variations might include
anchiton o la dabas or enkiton o la dabas or enquiton o la dabas.
Now, following this idea…this phrase is found in the 12th/13th century Crusade Charters :
“nous enquitons tous les clains et tous lesdebas,,…”
We can pare this down to, “nous enquitons les debas,…” or simply, “enquitons les debas”.
The “s” letters at the end of enquitons and les are not pronounced. You could write it enquiton le debas* and it would be understood. In fact, in medieval text, the “s” on “les” was sometimes omitted, with singular and plural written the same. Translated, it means, “ask about the debates”.
*The word “debas” is a medieval spelling of debats (debates), so the “t” was sometimes dropped, as well.
In the region where French and Spanish dialects blended, we could interpret “enquitons o la debas” as “inquiries or the debates”. Or, alternately, since the word “and” was sometimes written “e” instead of “et”, it might become “enquiries and the debates” (this is definitely stretching it since the “o” doesn’t look like “e” and these two letters are not swapped as often as “a” and “e”).
There is also the possibility of “en quiton” and “enqui ton” and, in Tsakonian (a western Greek dialect), εγκι (enki), which is the neuter form of “this”.
So, exploring a nasalized “e” written as “a” opens up quite a few possibilities if “a” turns out to be a dead end.
I often wonder if the text on VMS f116v was a later addition to the manuscript, and whether the writer had any knowledge of Voynichese. The Voynichese characters in the lower left are often mentioned but I’ve never seen an assessment of the folio overall. Are there clues that have been overlooked?
Researchers mostly agree that “aror sheey” in the lower left is Voynichese, even if they don’t agree on whether the first glyph is “a” or “o”. There are quite a few ambiguous “a” or “o” glyphs in the VMS, so some transcripts include both possibilities.
However, just because the Voynichese lines up with the other text on the line, I didn’t want to assume there was a connection between the Voynich characters and the 116v text. The ink that follows “aror sheey” is darker, and the letters are Latin, with different thick-and-thin proportions. It isn’t necessarily written by the same person. The drawings and Voynich glyphs might have preceded the other text by days or years.
But is this the only Voynichese on the folio?
In a past blog, I’ve mentioned that the “i” shape in “vix” looks like Voynichese. It’s darker, is distinctively backleaning, and doesn’t resemble any of the other “i” letters on the folio:
I am not sure if the word after oladabas is multos, imiltos, or something else, so I did not include the debatable “i” in this word. I’m also uncertain about letters 2 and 3 in abia/ahia/alka, so I didn’t include this either. All the other “i” letters are fairly consistently upright, with distinctive serifs, as can be seen from the samples. They do not resemble the “i” shape in “vix”:
Okay, so maybe there is another Voynichese character besides “aror sheey”, but why just one in the middle of a line? When there is only one, it’s hard to speculate on the reason. Was the writer a VMS scribe who slipped into an old habit? Or is it purely coincidence?
Here comes the interesting part, something I haven’t seen mentioned… might there be another Voynichese glyph? One that’s completely overlooked?
Look at these “a” letters. Even though the handwriting is variable, they do have some important commonalities:
The most distinctive traits of these letters are the upright pointed stems, and the distinctively upturned serifs. I’ve tried for years to find handwriting that matches this “a” shape and it’s quite difficult.
Now look at the second “a” in this clip, from one of the most scrutinized words on the folio:
With the angled stem and lack of a serif, this character resembles the Voynichese “a” more closely than the other “a” glyphs on this folio. But is it Voynichese? The shape is right, but the stem stretches slightly farther below the baseline than most Voynich “a” glyphs.
If it is a VMS “a” then it might be important. For example, perhaps
whoever wrote the 116v text knew Voynichese and used it occasionally (maybe for pronunciation purposes? or to represent a letter that doesn’t exist in Latin?), or
whoever wrote the 116v text was at least familiar with Voynichese glyphs, even if he or she didn’t know the meaning of them, and wasn’t necessarily using the last page as a place to write something completely unrelated to the rest of the manuscript, or
whoever wrote the 116v text helped pen the Voynichese text and would sometimes slip into the habit of using the often-repeated glyph forms.
After 10 years of sampling medieval text that resembles the letterforms on f116v, it seems probable that it was written in a late-14th or 15th-century script, so the writer could have been contemporary with the creators of the VMS. If the “a” in oladabas is Voynichese, then it increases the likelihood that the writer was aware of the VMS shapes in a more than casual way and maybe even helped design or pen other parts of the VMS.
In his most recent CipherMysteries blog, Nick Pelling zeroed in on a shape on the top line of f116v in the Voynich Manuscript. The letter in question (there are plenty of questions) has been interpreted in more ways than I realized. Pelling has suggested that it might be, “…a rare way of writing a Gothic ‘s’ shape”. I have to admit, “s” never occurred to me when I examined the letter. Not even once.
Here is a snippet that includes the mystery letter (focus on the first character). Underneath, I include a color-enhanced version to make it clear which shape(s) we are talking about and what I see when I look at it.
Pelling says he proposed in 2009 that it might be read as “simon sint (something)”. I found this puzzling. No matter how I look at it, or split up the pen strokes, I don’t see a medieval “s” at the beginning (I’ll post examples of Gothic “s” further on):
To clarify my thoughts on this…
First, I do not see the first letter in the first word and the first letter in the second word as necessarily being the same. To me, the second one might have a faint descender and a horizontal line just to the right of the descender (under the smudgy part). It’s more squished than the first one (in the horizontal direction). It might be the same letter and it might not. The serifs at the beginnings of words often look similar on different letters.
I couldn’t see any descenders in the multispectral scans, but whether a descender shows depends partly on resolution and partly on which spectra are chosen. The first letter doesn’t appear to have a descender, however. The one on “put?fer” might. The letter on the right word looks vaguely like a “p” but I’m not sure, so most of my comments will be about the first word and the mystery letter on the left.
Sorting out the Letters in the First Word
I usually refer to the first word as “umen” or “umon”, but ONLY for communication, not because I’m committed to any particular interpretation. I have a list of possibilities and I don’t assume it’s a word—it could be a string of characters (e.g., vmçn), or an abbreviation.
The “e/o” letter is indistinct. It could be “o”, “c”, “ç”, or “e” (or something else). When I enlarge it, looks like there might be a couple of pen skips, so it’s possible it is an incomplete “o” (right). Letters 2 and 4 look like “m” and “n”, but I’m not sure about “m” because the humps are different from all the other “m” letters on the folio. Could it be “in”?
Scribal Habits
Before going into detail about the mystery letter, I’d like to point out that whoever wrote this (assuming a specific individual authored most of it) habitually used leading serifs, some of them quite long. It’s possible the writer learned both bookhand (the more formal handwriting) and cursive hand (for rapid writing). There are many hybrid hands with elements of both (see previous blog about the letter “g” which has a bookhand tail and low end-serif).
Here are examples of letters with leading serifs. The serif on the letter “i” is longer than average for scripts of this style:
Now here comes the surprise…
I couldn’t figure out why Pelling kept referring to the first letter as “^”. I assumed he was trying to be neutral about the letter’s identity by choosing a symbol instead of a letter, which is actually a good idea. It was several hours before it hit me that maybe he was interpreting only the serif as a letter. My reaction was, “Whoaaaaaaa!!”
It’s been a week of surprises palaeography-wise. I did not fully appreciate, until the last few days, how differently each researcher sees these characters.
Here are my feelings about it…
The serif at the beginning of the shape on the right is not a letter. If it were, the only typical letter it might be in Gothic script would be an undotted “i” with a very long serif.
An extra-long serif is not unusual at the beginning of a word, but it still doesn’t look very much like “i”, in my opinion, it looks nothing like “s” either. Also, if the “^” shape were a letter, then what is the blob attached by a stroke on the bottom? The right stroke is not written like the other “i” shapes. NONE of the other “i” letters on the folio has a crooked stem or connects to the previous letter along the bottom. I think this is one letter, not two—one letter with a long serif.
So what letter is it?
You may have noticed that the longest serif of all is on our mystery letter, but is it unusually long? That depends on the identity of the letter. A long leading serif is unusual on the letter “i” but completely normal on “u” and “v” shapes.
Before I post the v/u examples, I’d like to clarify the medieval letter “s” to explain why I don’t think the beginning of the word is “s” (not even a rare one)…
Examples of Medieval “s”
Based on direct observation and sampling thousands of medieval manuscripts, I have identified seven primary forms of “s” in scripts of the same basic style as 116v:
straight “s”
long “s” (essentially a straight “s” plus a descender)
final-“s” sigma (inherited from Greek)
final-“s” B shape (similar to modern ß but usually representing one “s”)
final-“s” snake shape (like our modern “s”—not common in most countries, although Spanish manuscripts often have this form of “s”)
figure-8 “s” (a true figure-8, not one that is deliberately skewed like a cursive “d” or accidentally similar to “8”—this was not common in cursive hands, but is sometimes found in book hands)
esszett (commonly expressed on computers as ß, this character had slightly different meanings in different languages but was frequent in central European manuscripts)
The straight-s (which modern eyes can easily mistake for “f”) was more popular in the early medieval period. The stem does not go below the baseline. The long-s has the same hook shape as straight-s plus a descender.
In the early medieval manuscripts, the straight-s was sometimes the only form of “s” used (which means it could be in any position in the word). In other manuscripts, a different “s” (final-s) was used at the ends of words. By the late medieval period, most scribes used a different “s” at the ends of words and some used multiple forms of “s”, as the example below-right:
The straight-s was gradually replaced by long-s. Straight-s is not very common in scripts that are similar to the 116v text, most of them use long-s.
Sometimes scribes added loops or flourishes, but the general form was the same. This chart illustrates that the VMS long-s is quite ordinary:
I’m not aware of any “s” shapes that resemble the first letter or even the first two penstrokes of “umen” but the above forms match well with the first letter of “six”, the last letter of “gas/gaf” and the last letters of “oladabas/oladabad”, “imiltos/multos/miltos” and portad/portas”, so the 116v script is reasonably conventional.
Summary
I don’t have a definitive ID for the mystery letter. It looks like the top of an open-p with a long leading serif, but I can’t see a descender (at least not on the first one) or any rubouts under the letter.
It comes closer to a flat-bottomed “v” than the remaining letters of the alphabet but I haven’t found a close match (the flat-bottomed variant is not as common as those with pointed bottoms). The vee on the right is a little too flat—it has lost the “v” shape.
Here is a chart of v/u letters common throughout the medieval period. There are a some flat-bottomed versions circa 1355, 1395, 1400, 1402, and 1410, so it’s possible this style was more prevalent after the mid-14th century, but I haven’t had time to confirm if this is true:
Coming back to the second letter… if this shape is “in” instead of “m”, it might be read as “vinen”, which has meanings in several languages (come, they come, the wine, the vines).
If the last word is “putrifer” then “vinen putrifer” (the grapes ferment/the wine ferments) would be hard to ignore as a possible interpretation. In certain germanic dialects, the “n” at the end of “vinen” is like adding the article “the”.
But what if it’s an “o”? Then it might be vinon or uinon which is harder to pin down than vinen. Vinon is a place in France, but a place name doesn’t seem like the best fit with the other words on the line.
Is anything gained by studying unknown letters?
Even if we can’t make out the letter, the serif on the mystery shape has a calligraphic “brush stroke” feel to it, as does the tail and dipped oval of the letter “g” on the last line. And yet, it’s not professional calligraphy. Maybe these clues hint at other skills…
Was it someone who could draw or who used a brush for some other craft? Medieval artists and illuminators were sometimes illiterate or semi-literate. Perhaps the writer contributed the nose on Aries, painted some of the plants, or inked the secondary breasts on the nymphs. The style of writing is 15th century and might even be earlier in the century if the “a” in 17r “mallier” is a double-story “a”.
I’ve never assumed the writer had any involvement in the creation of the VMS—notes on back pages were often added decades later—but the possibility is there… and that makes it more interesting.
The VMS marginalia on folio 116v has a number of unclear letters and others that are reasonably clear. Fortunately, a few of them are repeated so we can see variations of the same letter, such as “h”, “i”, “m” and others. For the last decade I have been seeking matches to the marginalia in medieval manuscripts and incunabula, hoping to find the scribe (obviously not a professional scribe, but maybe there’s something out there). I don’t have a match yet, but I have some interesting paleographic data.
It surprised me to discover that one of the letters that I considered clear and readable has been challenged. It has been suggested that the letter following “nim” in “so nim — mich” is “ez” rather than “g”.
I take exception to this. I also do not consider the “plummeting rock” shape after the word “mich” to be the letter “o”, as discussed in my previous blogs.
Here is the phrase in question:
Note that the tall letter with a hook is a medieval “long s”. It’s only an “f” if there’s a crossbar. I read this as “so nim gas/gaf mich” followed by a small drawing.
I can’t tell if the third word is “gas” or “gaf” (both were used in the Middle Ages). There’s an abrasion on the parchment, so it’s hard to tell if it’s “s” or “f” but the letter in question is not the last one, it’s the first one. Another Voynich researcher stated on Nick Pelling’s CipherMysteries blog that the word that looks like “gas” or “gaf” is actually “ez as”. I don’t agree.
Here is a color-enhanced version of how I see it:
It’s a typical “g”, common for the time. The scribe does not write “e” like this and “z” is not typically written like the part on the right side of this letter in medieval scripts, not even as an “ez” ligature. I believe the first letter in the word is one letter and it is “g”. Especially note the serif (the tick on the right).
In medieval scripts that overall resemble the VMS marginalia, the letter “z” usually looks like the shapes in the chart below:
Are there other possibilities?
For the record, the “g” shape is not a medieval “9” abbreviation either. The medieval “9” abbreviation at the beginnings and ends of words was popular for centuries. The “9” abbreviation looks and is positioned pretty much as you see it in the VMS (so I included the VMS “9” glyph along with the other samples in the chart below with the date c.1425 for reference).
Here is how the “9” glyph looks in the VMS. Note that it is positioned the same way as in manuscripts that use Latin scribal conventions, mostly at the ends, but also commonly at the beginnings of words. I’ve written about this many times, but here is a visual refresher:
Sometimes the “9” char was drawn simply, sometimes ornate, but it always signified the same thing in medieval manuscripts… an abbreviation (usually con-/com- or -us/-um).
Here are examples of how the con-/com- abbreviation looks at the beginnings of words (it was essentially the same shape at the ends of words). Note that a serif is expressly not included to help differentiate it from the letter “g”:
So, the marginalia “g” does not resemble a “z” or an “ez” ligature and it does not resemble a “9” abbreviation. It does, however, fit comfortably with common forms of medieval “g”, as in these examples:
Summary
There are many shapes in the marginalia that I can’t make out. Some letters have abrasions, some are indistinctly written, some are partly filled in or rubbed out. But I don’t think there’s much ambiguity about the “g”. There’s nothing unusual about the shape or its position in the word.
If someone has a different interpretation for this letter, they can post their paleographic evidence. Personally, I think it’s one of the less controversial letters on the page.
There’s a controversial word on the last page of the Voynich manuscript that is often read as “anchiton” or “michiton”. I’ve written about it before and so have many others, and yet the question hasn’t been settled despite decades of study. I’m hoping some paleographic insights might help.
The troublesome word is on folio 116v (near the beginning of the second line). The individual letters that form “chiton” or “chi ton” are not controversial—they are pretty clear and fairly conventional. Most people agree on them. The only unusual thing I noticed is the extra-long leading serif on the letter “i”. This is a less common way to write “i”:
The extra curve on the “t” is not unusual if the writer learned to write the more traditional round-stemmed “t”. The rounded “t” (written like a “c”) was popular for many centuries, from the early medieval age into the 15th century. Here are some samples of rounded “t” and straight-stemmed “t” in scripts with some overall similarity to the marginalia writing style:
In the 20 scripts with the greatest overall similarity to the marginalia, both rounded and straight t are represented, but most of them tend to be like the VMS t, in-between the two extremes:
So, putting aside “chiton” for the moment, let’s take a close look at the first letter, or two letters, since it’s not clear whether it’s one or two:
I can understand why anchiton/michiton is contentious. The first couple of letters can be read as ni, an, or mi, depending on the handwriting. Even “mehiton” (vaguely Semitic if it is a hard-h as in mechiton) might be reasonable if the other letters “e” were similar to the character preceding “h”, but they are not. It looks like “ch”.
The problem is further complicated by the less-than-professional-level script—the slants are all over the place, the loops are connected in different ways, and the letterforms are moderately inconsistent.
Nevertheless, I have some observations…
Note that the ending leg of “an” or “m” is not drawn like “i”. This writer has a tendency to draw “i” with a long leading serif, a straight stem, and no ending serif. The last minim on “an” is not drawn this way, so I am inclined to rule out “mi” or “ni” as a reading for this word. That leaves “m” or “an” (or perhaps a very unusual ligature “am”).
What about “an”? Here’s the full passage again, so you can look at all the instances of “a” and “n”:
Note the following characteristics of the handwriting…
The letter “a” is mostly tall, with a point at the top of a straight stem, but not always.
Ascending loops are usually sharp and at a certain angle, but not always.
The figure-8 letter (which is usually interpreted “d” or “s”) usually has a larger bottom loop, but not always.
The “n” is usually small and rounded, but not always.
So how do we know whether it’s “an” and both letters diverge slightly (the curve is squished on the “a” and the loops are sharper on “n”), or a loop-m that diverges even more?
Examples of Loop-M
Here are examples of “loop-m”, a particular style of medieval “m” that looks like a ligature-“an” to modern eyes. These are all chosen from unambiguous sources where it can be verified that the shape represents “m”. Loop-m was used more conservatively than regular–m. Some scribes only used it for names or for emphasis:
Did you notice that almost all the samples differ from the VMS in one important detail? Loop-m in medieval manuscripts always has a tail. Always… well, almost always. There are very few exceptions, and even the exceptions tend to have a short tail or a down-pointing end-stroke rather than a serif, in comparison to how the scribe wrote regular “m”.
Summary
I stated years ago that I was leaning toward “an” rather than “mi” and it has taken many years to find enough time to explain why. And yet, even though I lean toward “anchiton”, I’m not certain of either reading…
If this is “michiton” then the “i” is written differently from all the other “i” characters on the folio, and the “m” is an unconventional loop-m with no hint of a tail.
If this is “anchiton” then the “a” is a bit squished, and the “n” is more angular than other “n” characters on the folio.
In fact, I’m not even sure this is one word. It could be “an chiton” or “an chi ton”, which looks suspiciously like an awkward Greek transliteration. It could be coincidence, but if you search the Greek words chυτά/Χυτά or chυτό/Χυτό, and filter for the metallic ones, you will see some very ornate Voynich-like Greek and Russian oil lamps and incense burners:
Medieval versions were probably less ornate than those pictured above (although some of the medieval Jewish spice jars were very ornate), but the tradition of metal censers for funerals, healing rites, and sometimes exorcisms, goes back a long way and the word chytoú for “cast” goes back to biblical times.
If the text on 116v is a healing charm or medicinal remedy (not saying it is, but it’s a reasonable possibility), then a cast/molded burner (chytó, chytón χυτό) for incense (or even as source of flame for other purposes) would not be out of place.
It’s a challenge to find paleographic matches to the VMS. I’ve been hunting for almost eleven years, sampled more than 50,000 characters from scripts that were similar to the marginalia or to the main text, and developed tools to more objectively compare scripts based on slant, heaviness, spacing (between letters and lines), and the individual shapes of each letter.
Evaluating the VMS main text is particularly difficult because some of the glyphs may not be letters, they may be symbols, numbers, or abbreviations, so I will describe the marginalia first, and then explain my strategy for locating scripts similar to Voynichese in a separate blog.
As a sideline, I also looked for matches to the column text on folio 1r, but it is not my primary interest, so I have presented it more simply as a chart, which you can see here.
Selecting the Marginalia
For sampling individual letters in the marginalia, I used these sections:
The more consistent letter-forms on folio 116v (some shapes look like they might be in another hand, although it’s hard to tell, so I gave precedence to those that matched several times on the page rather than those that were questionable), and
The strip of text at the top of folio 17r (which I believe is the same handwriting as most of the text on folio 116v):
Note that I have doubts that the first letter of “valden” is a “v”. For one thing, no one wrote v like this in the Middle Ages (in more than 1,000 samples of text in a similar style, only one v comes close to the shape in “valsen”—this is an unusually low hit rate), but more importantly, if you look closely at the scans, you might notice traces of tails and letters under the last line (to see it you have to ignore the bleed-through from the other side).
Also, the part of the first letter that is visible is a close match to the top of other “p” shapes on this page, which makes me even more suspicious about this letter being “v”. Judge for yourself, here are some examples of common “v” shapes from the Middle Ages (keep in mind that “v” and “u” were used interchangeably in the Middle Ages):
The “v” in “vix” is not common either, usually “v” was written with a curve, but this form is not rare, it is simply uncommon, so I have provisionally used this for “v”, but gave it lower priority than other letters that are written several times (and more clearly).
First Impressions
When I first saw the marginalia, it looked to me like hybrid text, Gothic with hints of both cursive and book hands (I’ll post details later). There are also hints of Italic/humanist hand (e.g., note the small, rounded, spaced-out m).
But… scribes and scholars moved around, so it’s hard to generalize, and there were blended scripts similar to the VMS marginalia in several multicultural areas, including 1) Lombardy, 2) the area encircling the Veneto, 3) some parts of Bavaria/Tyrol, and parts of 4) Alsace/Schwabia.
There’s no sign that the marginalia was influenced by Anglicana, but not all English scribes wrote Anglicana, some adopted the styles of St. Gall. It doesn’t seem as elegant as many of the Parisian scripts, but not all were elegant, and scholars brought many different writing styles to Paris, so… I tried to put my initial impressions out of mind as I searched for similar texts, because I didn’t want to narrow my search based on preconceptions. Thus, I searched digitized manuscripts from as many regions as possible.
Matching the Marginalia
My only requirement for collecting a sample was overall similarity to the basic forms in the marginalia. These scripts tend to score 50 or higher. A really good score is 73 or higher.
Language didn’t matter and, for the most part, dates were ignored (I was hoping dates would fall naturally into place). In general, scripts scored as follows:
I sampled the following characters:
letters of the alphabet,
common abbreviations, and
words like leben/leber/lebe, maria, and vix, when I could find them, or similar words if I couldn’t.
A full sample was typically about 40 characters but not all source texts are long, some are marginalia or short dedications and thus were sampled for as many characters as were available. If the text was heavily abbreviated, I sampled most of the common abbreviations.
Scribes often used more than one shape for certain letters, depending on their position in the word, so I included terminal forms and forms with tails, but “character ratings” were only given to letters that specifically matched marginalia. The rest were evaluated separately.
Here are some general observations from approximately 1,000 reasonably close samples…
Gothic cursive, book, and hybrid hands were common throughout Europe from the late 14th century until the early 16th century, so common that paleographers often have difficulty identifying place of origin.
I was hoping for scores of 95 or better (out of a possible 120 for individual character shapes), but found it extremely difficult to find hands with totals higher than 75. I only have a few. There were a number of interesting finds in the 60 to 75-point range, however. Even if they didn’t match overall, there is some useful information that can be gleaned from individual characters that scored high.
I was hoping high scores might help me geolocate the marginalia-writer’s origins, but many of the manuscripts that scored high are of uncertain origin.
Certain letter-forms are very common, while others are specific to the scribe. For example, thousands of scribes wrote p, r, s, and o like the marginalia, while other letters are unusual or more commonly found in 14th-century scripts or in book hands. I will describe these characteristics in separate blogs.
The marginalia is not abbreviated in obvious or traditional ways, but one gets the feeling that some of the words might be missing letters because the words don’t quite make sense. There are, however, languages that have implied vowels, like some of the Bohemian languages, so perhaps this mindset was familiar to the writer and influenced the way words were written.
Scoring Individual Letters
Each letter is scored differently based on how widely the letter varied in medieval scripts. The letter “o”, for example, is not going to vary as significantly as an ornate letter like “g” or “h-with-a-tail”.
A perfect match scores 6. Out of tens of thousands of individual-letter clips, only one 6 has been given so far. Very close matches generally score 5 because even close matches don’t quite look like the same handwriting. The overall shape might be the same, but there are usually subtle differences in pressure, stroke order, or the way the parts connect.
How objective and consistent are these scores?
The first (and more important) answer is that I have a list of criteria for rating each letter—these could be taught to another person as long as that person has experience in reading old scripts.
The second answer is anecdotal…
One day I noticed two sets of samples lined up next to each other with identical scores. I thought I had discovered two different manuscripts written by the same scribe. As it turned out, I had inadvertently sampled the same manuscript (different folios) almost four years apart. The results were exactly the same.
Why does it matter?
The marginalia may have been added long after the VMS was created, so why would I devote so many years to studying it?
It’s possible it was added later, but research into the letterforms has convinced me that the marginalia may have been written close to the time of the VMS, perhaps even at the same time. If so, then the marginalia writer was potentially a designer, advisor, or even illustrator.
Even if the marginalia was added later, anything that can be learned about the Voynich Manuscript brings us a little closer to understanding it, and if the source of the script style can be located (or connected with other documents in the same handwriting), it might help unravel the missing provenance.
I’ve mentioned that the person who wrote the VMS marginalia may have learned to write in the late 14th century or early 15th century. If so, he or she could have lived at the same time as those who illustrated and wrote the VMS, and might even have been involved in the creation of the manuscript in some way.
I’ve already posted some of the statistical properties of the marginalia “g” on the voynich.ninja forum. Here is a reprise of the comparison chart:
Samples of the letters “g” and “a” suggest the marginalia writer was familiar with older handwriting (e.g., 14th century), or with more formal book hands, and it appears that the writer may have learned to write in the late 14th or early 15th century. This suspicion is not based on just one set of statistics, however.
The Sample Set
To sample the marginalia, I used the text on 116v and 17r because I’m fairly confident it is the same handwriting. I did not use “ven mus mel” because there are too few words to be certain if it’s the same. Many scribes had similar handwriting. In fact, they were encouraged to copy each other so several scribes could work on the same manuscript without awkward transitions.
Below is the sample set I use for full comparisons. Note that the “z” is actually an abbreviation symbol, but most scribes wrote it like the letter “z” and sometimes also the number “3”, so I provisionally stored it in the “z” slot.
It’s not clear whether the last letter of “gaf” on the last line is “f” or “s” but since most scribes wrote them the same (except for the crossbar), it probably doesn’t make a big difference. When assigning values to similarity, I gave higher priority to letters that are repeated and clearly written. I consider the “u” and “v” shapes to be lower priority since “u” is not clear and the “v” appears to be in a different style.
Note that “n” has both a descending “tail” and a non-tail form. This is very common. Many scribes wrote n, m, and h both with and without a tail:
Now here’s an interesting puzzle…
Is the first “a” on f17r a double-chamber “a”, the style that was popular in the 14th century, but less so in the 15th century?
It’s hard to tell, but it looks like it might be, if the top is slightly fuzzed. It was very common for the two-chamber “a” to be taller than other characters nearby:
It’s impractical to post exhaustive statistics or lists of manuscripts that have different styles of the letter “a” in a blog, but to give the flavor of it, here are examples from the 14th century with only the double-chambered “a” (from scripts with some similarity to the marginalia):
In paleography, there are many hybrid scripts (scripts that blend different styles). Paleographers frequently argue about names and classifications (some have devoted whole books to this), but diversity isn’t a bad thing—it can help identify an individual’s writing.
The Significance of the Double-Story “a”
As the single-story “a” became more popular in the 15th century, some scribes mixed both singles and doubles, sometimes even in the same sentence. Here you can see both kinds of “a” in marginalia that was added c. 14th century to an early medieval calendar:
Sometimes the mixing was random, other times, the double-story “a” was used as an uppercase “a” or at the beginnings of words.
The double-story “a” was retained for a longer time in more formal book hands, but casual hands gradually abandoned it for the single-story “a”. By the late 14th century and early 15th century, many manuscripts included only the single-story “a”:
Some Statistical Properties of the Marginalia “a”
As mentioned previously, I set up a mathematical system to compare letters more objectively. A perfect match on higher-priority letters would be 120 (with slant, weight, connectivity, spacing, etc., assessed separately). After 10 years, 5 months, and 5 days of searching for a close match, I still find it quite difficult to locate scripts higher than 75, so a bit of luck will probably be necessary to do better.
It surprised me that a medieval “a” could be so varied. Out of a sample of more than 1,000 manuscripts specifically chosen for their similarity to the VMS marginalia, only 20% scored 4 or higher (out of 6) for letter-forms.
Note that the stem is fairly vertical, and the loop doesn’t quite close on the bottom. There is a small point at the top of the stem and the serif turns up at a fairly sharp angle.
Finding all these characteristics together is a challenge, but here are some of the better matches. Note that the overall score (listed under the letter) isn’t always high. In other words, even if the “a” was fairly close to the VMS script, sometimes other letters were not:
If the letter on 17r is a double-story “a”, then it has some physical and statistical commonalities with the single-story “a”. The stem is fairly upright and the bottom loop is not quite closed. Note that the bottom loop is larger than the top one (some scribes did it the other way around).
Here are some examples from handwriting that is fairly similar to the VMS (note that only one “a” is significantly similar to the VMS “a” in shape, proportions, and slant, and it lacks the sharp serif):
When the double-story “a” is substituted, the statistics for overall similarity come out very much like the previous search, as did the date range of most of the samples. In other words, scribes with handwriting similar to the VMS writer used either or both forms of “a” around the same time period as they wrote letter-forms similar to the VMS.
Summary
The greater popularity of the double-story “a” in the 14th century might suggest a date earlier rather than later in the 15th century, although there are a few areas where the double-story “a” was still common until the end of the 15th century. Some parts of eastern Europe, and many of the smaller more remote towns, lagged behind large urban areas in terms of the evolution of script. It does seem very likely, however, based on the paleographic evidence, that the marginalia was added after 1330 and before 1490. It’s not as precise as radio-carbon dating, but it does help when research from various disciplines tends to confirm rather than deny the existing data.
I have much more information on this topic, but will cover it in separate blogs, and I will leave it up to the reader to decide whether the letter on folio 17r is a double-story “a”.
![[pic of medieval letter u/v]](https://voynichportal.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/SamplesUV.png)
![[pic of V similar to VMS marginalia]](https://voynichportal.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/V-Pcompare.png)
![[samples of Gothic text similar to the VMS marginalia]](https://voynichportal.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/SampleLevels.png)
![[pic of similar and dissimilar letterforms]](https://voynichportal.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/CompareIndividualLetters.png)
![[Pic VMS abc]](https://voynichportal.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/VMSabc.png)
