Though I have a good-sized review of James Amelang’s fascinating book “The Flight of Icarus” in the pipeline, I couldn’t resist posting about one tiny Provençal / Occitan item that popped up there…

One of the many mysteries sustaining the Voynich Manuscript mythology is something which you’d have thought would be easy to sort out: a set of month names apparently added by a later owner to what VMs researchers call the “zodiac pages”. Here’s a set of annotated images I made of them a few years ago (which I ought to move over to this site soon), together with an explanation of why I think these are written in some form of Occitan.

When in 1997 Jorge Stolfi had much the same thought, he asked some Occitan researchers if they had any 15th-16th century texts with month names in: even though there are almost no such extant texts (because official documents were all written in French or Latin, while Occitan itself was in sharp decline), the closest match produced by this was from 15th century Toulon. Hence, for years I’ve wondered… what document was that, then?

Well… it looks like it’s listed in James Amelang’s book (p.281) – the bourgeous farmer Jaume Deydier from Ollioules (Var) near Toulon, who wrote his livre de raison (family chronicle) between 1477 and 1521. Helpfully, Amelang lists some page references (40-42, 230, 250-251) in Charles de Ribbe’s (1879) Les familles et la société en France avant la Révolution. Deydier’s first entry begins: “En nom de Nostre Senhor Dieu Jésus-Christ, et de la siena gloriosa Mayre, et de la sancta Cori ce-restial de Paradis, invocant loqual in tota bona et perfiecha obra si deu invocar, car del processis tout ben, nobilitat et profiech, Estament de mi, Jaume Deydier, natiff de Tholon, aras abitant en aquest present luoc d’Olliol.

Digging deeper, de Ribbe’s (1898) La société provençale à la fin du moyen âge: d’après des documents inédits‎ has more on Deydier. For example, pp.453-454 has an extract from Deydier’s 1521 will, beginning: “Per memoria als successors de mi Jaume Deydier, expressamen à Jacques, mon obeyssant fils.

Rather more recently than de Ribbe, there’s a 54-page book/article by Paul (or Gustave?) Roux titled Le Livre de raison de Jaume Deydier: un document d’une grande importance pour la Provence (1983), which appears to be an offprint from ‎Bulletin de la société des amis du vieux Toulon et de sa région, n°105‎.

All the same, you should be aware that there is a sizeable (if somewhat isolated?) French-language literature on the whole livre de raison genre, of which Deydier’s chronicle is merely one example. For example, if you go through this 2002 paper by Jean Tricard, you’ll find a decent-length literature list (Note 1). Tricard also comments (Note 5) that although de Ribbe launched the study of this genre, this was “pas toujours avec la plus grande rigueur scientifique d’ailleurs“, which I’m sure you can translate for yourself. 🙂

So – finally – back to the month names. Throughout all the fragmentary quotations from Deydier on the web, the only Provençal / Occitan month name I’ve found mentioned is “Septembre” (which is good, but which we knew anyway): however, without any idea of Deydier’s orthography etc, it’s a bit hard to tie this down any further.

Incidentally, Amelang cautions that many early modern popular / artisan historical autobiographical texts (the subject of his book) suffer both from a lack of a critical edition and from ‘selective’ (if not blatantly misleading) early translations: and so it is hard to be sure what we would find were we to look at Deydier’s chronicle for ourselves. Hence you might reasonably ask: is there a facsimile edition (or scans) out there of Deydier’s livre? Almost certainly not. Do I even have any idea of which library or collection holds Deydier’s original ms yet? No.

Even so, knowing what we don’t know is probably a (tiny) step in broadly the right direction.

One of Google’s more interesting experimental engines is Google Trends: this aggregates data on keyword searches, to let you compare the relative popularity of different keywords over time: for example, “Paris Hilton” and “Star Wars” are (Google-wise) just about as popular as each other. From the graph, you can see that interest in Star Wars spiked up in May 2005, which Google guesses (correctly) was from the Star Wars film opening: while the Paris Hilton volume spiked somewhat when she left jail in June 2007. This reveals other non-obvious search aspects, such as the apparent cargo cult worship of Ms Hilton in Indonesia and Mexico. 🙂

But I digress.

For the graph for “Voynich”, Google Trends’ algorithms gamely suggest to the SciAm 2008 online re-release of Gordon Rugg’s 2004 article (marked “[A]”) as a possible cause of Voynich interest (but this is plainly wrong). The twin peaks actually correspond (a) to a surge in Voynich interest in France caused by Jean-Claude Gawsewitch’s (2005) “Le Code Voynich”, and (b) to the (2009) Voynich gag in webcomic XKCD.

google-trends-voynich

If we look solely at the June 2009 numbers, the scale of the XKCD peak is even clearer: Google search traffic for “Voynich” apparently spiked by more than 50x over baseline traffic levels. Whoosh.

google-trends-voynich-June-2009

This massive XKCD spike is what lies behind the battle raging in the Wikipedia Voynich Manuscript Talk page. On the one hand, you have Wikipedia editors who think the Voynich page is basically OK (yes, there used to be a section on VMs in popular culture, but it got culled over a year ago) – and on the other, you have an army of vociferous XKCD fans who think that there should be at least some mention of XKCD squeezed in there, surely?

I think it’s important to point out that neither side is entirely blameless in this dispute. Wikipedia editors deliberately use its neutral voice and juxtaposing header templates as a way of fusing (achingly) high and (shudderingly) low cultural references together under a banner of supposed universality: though this syncretism helps to differentiate it (as a project) from traditional encyclopaedias, nobody involved is quite sure whether ultimately to privilege high or low culture – both are important at different times and for different reasons.

Similarly, the XKCD fanbase (which seems centred on Seattle, according to Google Trends?) has done itself no favours by the large number of inane troll-like edits attempted on the Voynich page. And none of them has so far really explained (in the Discussion page) why it is they collectively feel the urge to stitch XKCD’s web of cultural referentiality into Wikipedia’s fabric. From the outside, it certainly looks like a kind of drive-past L337 grafitti being daubed on Wikipedia’s walls: if there is a genuine point to the whole activity, I’ve yet to find it.

Ultimately, I suspect that the basic problem is that there is no consistently useful dividing line between high and low culture: when you have Wikipedia pages on Immanuel Kant and Brian Cant (and every silly cant inbetween), who’s to say where to draw it?

Finally, a brief Wikipedia aside. A fair while ago, someone (I’m pretty sure it was “Syzygy”, Elmar Vogt’s Wikipedia editor nom-de-plume) very kindly added a mention of my ‘Averlino’ theory to the Wikipedia Voynich page. I’m pleased that it is mentioned there, because – unlike a lot of theories – I did try hard to produce a working hypothesis consistent with the facts, rather than blatantly defying them (which seems to be the norm some days, sadly). Even if you happen to disagree with it, it does at least have the merit of pointing towards a sensible template: I’m quite sure that, if not Averlino, the real author will turn out to be remarkably similar.

Yet Elmar’s description of my theory wasn’t hugely accurate: and so I thought I ought to take the opportunity to correct and update the final two sentences. Just in case anyone is tempted to revert the changes, here are links to the research I’ve published since “The Curse of the Voynich” to back it up:-

If Pelling is right, then the manuscript is enciphered with an extremely convoluted cascade of methods, mixed together to make the resulting cipher text appear to have the properties of an unknown medieval language (such as consonant-vowel pairing, folio references, etc).

I discussed this archaic language covertext in more detail in this recent blog post. And also:-

He claims most of the non-zodiac marginalia were originally added by the document’s author(s), but have ended up unreadable because of incorrectly-guessed alterations superimposed by multiple later owners.

Recent posts on the mystery of the VMs’ unreadable marginalia (for why should they be unreadable, given that marginalia are normally added to explain or remind?) are here and here: but most of the discussion is still relatively unchanged since The Curse.

While browsing through the Whipple Museum’s interesting webpages on Regiomontanus just now, I was struck by a behind-the-scenes connection that might possibly lead to the source of some of the Voynich Manuscript’s images…

In 1465, Antonio Averlino (better known as ‘Filarete’) left Milan with a letter of recommendation from his friend Filelfo in his pocket, with the intention of travelling to Istanbul to work as an architect there. I have argued (from his defaced 1445 dedication on his doors on St Peter’s Basilica, see Curse p.120) that he travelled from there to Rome – it is hardly unlikely, particularly given that Vasari believed Averlino died in Rome 1469. Note also that that Averlino may well have accompanied Domenic Dominici (the bishop of Brescia) who took the beautifully-illustarted copy (now known as Vat. Gr. 1291) of Ptolemy’s Handy Tables from Brescia to Rome in September 1465 – this is the codex which Rene Zandbergen has strongly argued was some kind of visual source for the Voynich Manuscript’s zodiac ‘nymphs’.

Now… today’s particularly intriguing observation is that the highly influential astronomer / astrologer Regiomontanus (1436-1476) lived in Rome until 1467: between 1461 and 1465, he worked for Cardinal Bessarion at his palace (which was effectively a de facto Academy / humanities research centre), where he built astrolabes, sundials, etc for his patron.

regiomontanus-small

What is relevant here is that Bessarion was born in Trebizond and was a sch0olfriend of Filelfo – and so it seems extremely likely to me that Bessarion would have been one of the key people Averlino would have planned to meet in Rome. It’s also important to note that Rome circa 1465 was not the sprawling metropolis it now is: a meeting would doubtless have been arranged.

So, if you accept that Averlino was in Rome 1465, and that he would have wanted to meet Bessarion, I think it is almost inevitable that he would have met Regiomontanus at some point. I have previously noted that Regiomontanus’ ephemerides (both in print and in manuscript, such as MS Prag 742) contained information connecting the stars with agriculture: and it is well-known that his tables also detailed appropriate positions of the moon for blood-letting. However, what is perhaps even more interesting for us is what he omitted from his tables (for that truly would be a secret), and which he apparently failed to complete before his relatively early death.

The data that was was missing was a special commentary (somewhat like a Director’s Cut?) on using astrology for medicine, for human births, and for foretelling the future. It seems seem extremely likely to me that this would have been based on the sign (and very possibly the degree) of the moon, and based on earlier (probably Arabic) works, probably via one of Pietro d’Abano’s manuscripts.

Could it be that the Voynich Manuscript’s zodiac pages, with their 30-item one-per-nymph datasets, encode the same data that Regiomontanus promised (but never delivered)? And might it have been that Regiomontanus got that per-degree data from Antonio Averlino in Rome around late 1465 – or might Averlino have instead got it then from Regiomontanus?

Of course, the spooky thing here is that this is basically what Steve Ekwall said was encoded in the zodiac nymphs. But you knew that already, right?

PS: did anyone ever find an online copy of Vatican MS 1906?

For years, it has been suggested that the structure of the Voynich Manuscript’s “zodiac” section (where each 30-degree sign has 30 nymphs / 30 stars linked to it) might be encoding some kind of per-degree astrology information. Famously, Steve Ekwall claimed that an “Excitant Spirit” had told him the types of star here denoted the outcome of conception (i.e. a male birth or female birth). This would have been either from the precise degree that the moon was passing through at the time of conception, or from the precise time when the question was asked of the astrologer.

libra-small
Voynich Manuscript page f72v1 – Libra (contrast-enhanced)

Interestingly, there is also a substantial modern literature on per-degree astrology, usually known as “Sabian Symbols”. The best-known set of these was drawn up by Marc Edmund Jones in San Diego in 1925 (you can see it on pp.10-26 of this Italian PDF): this was later refined and popularized by Dane Rudhyar (and others).

Yet Jones was building (to a certain degree, one might say) on the work of two nineteenth century astrologers / psychics: Charubel [John Thomas] (1828-1908) and the colourful Theosophist Sephariel [Dr Walter Gorn Old] (1864-1929). There’s a 1998 biography of the latter by Kim Farnell called “Astral Tramp” (Blavatsky’s nickname for Walter Old). [Review] Charubel & Sephariel’s 1898 “The Degrees of The Zodiac Symbolized” contains two 360-degree lists that are, it has to be said, wildly different.

On the surface, this would appear to be two completely parallel, relatively modern, and entirely unconnected re-inventions of the sort of (probably originally Arabic) per-degree astrology described by Pietro d’Abano – and so something Voynich researchers should perhaps strive to walk around rather than to engage with.

Certainly, Charubel’s list was specifically described as having been channeled:  yet Sephariel claimed that he had actually translated the symbols from a very old book called “La Volasfera”, by Antonio Borelli (or Bonelli) – and so there is, right at the core of the whole modern Sabian Symbol tradition, a very specific claim to a lost Renaissance parentage. Unfortunately, nobody has (as far as I can tell) since tracked down this lost author or this lost book, so Sephariel’s claim might… just… possibly… not be entirely truthful. Really, it’s hard to say, particularly as Sephariel was so, well, unreliable. Oh well!

If you want to read more about Sabian Symbols, there is a surprisingly large amount of literature: the Astrological Center of America maintains a pair of webpages (here and here) listing numerous books on Sabian Symbols and on other per-degree systems (respectively).

Finally, here’s an example of modern astrologers’ describing and using Sabian symbols, which might help make it clear how they are broadly intended to be used.

Here’s a nice palaeographic puzzle for you! While looking at some images from a linked pair of Florentine astronomical / astrological manuscripts written circa 1400 (as Voynich researchers inevitably do), I noticed that one had an unknown shorthand (?). So far I’ve only had access to a handful of the pages, so the full document would probably contain several more examples – but the three below should be enough to get you going (click to see a higher-resolution image).

florentine-cipher-mystery

Personally, I’m reminded of the Quattrocento astrological shorthand that Robert Brumbaugh described finding on the back of a manuscript of a Plato text (he was, after all, a Plato scholar, though I don’t know which ms that was), which in turn reminded him of the Voynich Manuscript’s lettering.

The text around it is in Latin, relating to individual signs of the zodiac: and a quick examination reveals that many patterns appear in all three of the fragments. But what does it all mean? Any suggestions?

Here’s a novel Voynich theory I somehow missed along the way. ‘Oiram’, a Senior Member on David Icke’s Official Forums, suggested last October that the ‘balneo’ nymphs in tubs might actually be grape treaders, that the zodiac nymphs are illustrating a grape planting calendar, and that they all had a nice shower after they were finished to clean themselves up.

As with everything viticultural, there’s a 1000-franc phrase for grape-treading – “pigeage à pied” – which I thought you’d like to know. Gotta get that resveratrol hit, eh?

In Oiram’s defence, I have to say that page f83v (belowdoes indeed seem to depict nymphs treading grapes (can you see the grapes rolling along the pipework at the top left?), along with two stupendously large grapes in the foreground to press the point home:-

giant-voynich-grapes

Truth be told, I somehow doubt Quire 13 will turn out to be a secret book of grape planting. But it would be rather nice if it was, right? 🙂

I’m getting a bit cheesed off with the Internet: every time I do a search for anything Cipher Mysteries-ish, it seems that half Google’s hits are for ghastly sites listing “Top 10 Unsolved Mysteries” or “10 Most Bizarre Uncracked Codes“. Still, perhaps I should be more grateful to the GooglePlex that I’m not getting “Top 10 Paris Hilton Modesty Tips” and its tawdry ilk.

Realistically, there is only one uncracked code/cipher listing on the web from which all the rest get cut-and-pasted: Elonka’s list of famous unsolved codes and ciphers. But Elonka Dunin has long since moved on (coincidentally, she went from cryptography into computer game production at about the same time that I made the reverse journey), which is perhaps why all of these lists look a bit dated. Perhaps I should do my own list soon (maybe, if I had the time).

Happily, Elonka did manage to nail most of the usual suspects: the Beale Papers, the Voynich Manuscript, Dorabella, Zodiac Killer, d’Agapeyeff, Phaistos Disk, and so on… each typically a piece of ciphertext which we would like to decipher in order to crack a historical mystery. However, one of the items on her list stands out as something of an exception.

For John F. Byrne’s 1918 “Chaocipher”, we have a description of his device (the prototype fitted in a cigar box, and allegedly contained two wheels with scrambled letters), and a fair few examples of both Chaocipher ciphertext and the matching plaintext. So, the mystery isn’t so much a whodunnit as a howdunnit. Though a small number of people are in on the secret mechanism (Lou Kruh, for one), Byrne himself is long dead: and the details of how his box of tricks worked have never been released into the public domain.

Was Byrne’s Chaocipher truly as unbreakable as he believed, or was it no more than the grand delusion of an inspired cryptographic outsider? This, really, is the mystery here – the everything-or-nothing “hero-or-zero” dramatic tension that makes it a good story. Yet hardly anybody knows about it: whereas “Voynich” gets 242,000 hits, “Chaocipher” only merits 546 hits (i.e. 0.0022% as much).

Well, now you know as well: and if you want to know a little more about its cryptography, I’ve added a Chaocipher page here. But the real site to go to is Moshe Rubin’s “The Chaocipher Clearing House“, which is so new that even Google hasn’t yet found it (Moshe emailed me to tell me about it, thanks!) Exemplary, fascinating, splendid – highly recommended. 🙂

OK, enough of the raw factuality, time for the obligatory historical riff. 🙂

I’m struck by the parallels between John Byrne’s device and Leon Battista Alberti’s cipher wheel. Both men seem to have caught the leading edge of a wave and tried to harness its power for cryptography, and made high-falutin’ claims as to their respective cipher systems’ unbreakability: whereas Alberti’s wave was mathematical abstraction, Byrne’s wave was (very probably) algorithmic computing.

Circa 1920, this was very much in the air: when J. Lyons & Co. hired the mathematician J.R.M. Simmons in 1923, the company was thinking about machines, systems, and operational management: mathematical calculators were absolutely de rigeur for them. The first Enigma machines were constructed in the early 1920s (and used in a commercial environment), and there were doubtless many other broadly similar machines being invented at the same time.

Do I think that there was anything unbreakable in Byrne’s box? No, not really: the real magic in there was most likely a programmatic mindset that was cutting-edge in 1918, but might well look somewhat simplistic nearly a century later. But I could be wrong! 😉

Edith Sherwood, everyone’s favourite Leonardo-wrote-the-Voynich-so-he-did theorist, has posted up an extensive (and fascinating) new article focusing mainly on the depictions of the sun, moon and stars in the Voynich Manuscript: the starting point of her journey is the striking similarity between suns and moons in the VMs’ “astronomical” Quire 9 and a sun/moon pair on a particular Afro-Portuguese ivory horn (#101) carved between 1495 and 1521. Essentially, the question she tries to tackle is: what on earth connects these two very disparate objects?

afro-portuguese-horn-101Afro-Portuguese Horn #101 (from Edith Sherwood’s site)

Unsurprisingly, she starts by linking the sun with the Visconti raza symbol (as per p.61 of my “The Curse of the Voynich”): but, even better, continues by connecting the sun/moon pair to two copies of Dante’s Commedia, as posted up by long-time Tarot researcher Robert V. O’Neill in Chapter 14 of his online article “Dante’s Commedia and the Tarot”.  O’Neill suggests connections between the Commedia manuscript illustrations (Sherwood describes these as 14th century “woodcuts”, probably a typo) and the designs found on early Tarot cards, in particular his Figure 37 (“late 14th century”) and Figure 39 (“mid 14th century”), though unfortunately he doesn’t give MS references for them. To all of which I would also add the probable connection between the circular arrays of VMs zodiac nymphs and Dante’s description of concentric rows of angels in Heaven (as per pp.36-37 of “The Curse”).

At first glance, Sherwood’s proposed iconographic connection between the Visconti-Sforza Tarot sun/moon, the carved ivory sun/moon, and the VMs sun/moon (essentially, though the carved ivory and the VMs were unlikely to be directly connected, they both had the Visconti-Sforza Tarot as a shared ancestor) seems perfectly reasonable. In fact, it almost amounts to an excellent example of the kind of “Voynich Research 2.0” 14th-century-centred art history I blogged about recently.

commedia-links

The problem with this is that it presupposes  a circa 1500 (basically, Leonardo-friendly) date for the VMs, without noting that there is an alternative  (and, given the 15th century quire numbers, I would say more likely) diffusion sequence that doesn’t rely on the Tarot at all. Remember, the similarities noted were between the VMs and the Commedia illustrations, not the Visconti-Sforza Tarot per se:-

commedia-links-v2

In her article, Edith Sherwood also makes a number of other fascinating observations and comparisons (to do with Apollo, with the water nymphs, and with the parallel hatching) which I’d really like to blog about in more detail, but quite frankly those will have to wait for another day.

Finally, Leonardo was anything but a child when he reached Milan in 1481 (when Sherwood suggests he probably first saw the Tarot), so her parallel claim that Leonardo can only have made the VMs as a (brilliant) child doesn’t really seem to stack up with her proposed Tarot connection anyway.

If you look at the VMs with truly open art historical eyes (as Sherwood set out to do), I think you will almost inevitably reach a certain position: it’s mid-Quattrocento Northern Italian, with its cryptographic roots in Milan, its intellectual roots in Florence, its stylistic roots in Venice, and its philosophical roots in Dante. Oh, and it was written by a secrets-obsessed right-hander with a far greater command of cryptography than Leonardo da Vinci ever had (Chapter 6 of “The Curse” has a detailed critique of Leonardo’s limited cryptography).

PS: I found Sherwood’s article through Google Adwords “Voynich written by a lefty?“: but if you want me to look at your Voynich site, please just email a link to me, it’s much cheaper (and quicker). 🙂

Crossbow article

(This is René Zandbergen’s translation of Jens Sensfelder’s (2003) short article on the crossbowman in the Voynich Manuscript.)

* * * * * * * *

The crossbow archer in the Voynich Manuscript: a tentative dating

(Author: Jens Sensfelder, 21st December 2003)
(Converted to HTML by Nick Pelling, 30th December 2003)
(Translated by René Zandbergen, 2 January 2004)
(Translation checked by Elmar Vogt and Nick Pelling)
(Note: diagrams to follow!)

The following presents a tentative dating of the above-mentioned illustration, which shows a man holding a cocked crossbow in his hands. The analysis is (for the most part) restricted to the crossbow itself.

Subject:

An illustration of an archer holding a crossbow, in the so-called “Voynich Manuscript” (Beinecke MS 408), fol 73v (Annex 1).
A walking archer is holding in his hands a cocked crossbow, charged with a bolt and ready to be shot, at about waist height. An analysis of the garments of the man would certainly add valuable information for dating the illustration. For this I refer to the relevant experts in that field.

Description:

  • The illustration of the crossbow is a line drawing. Only the bow and the stock have been filled in with colour (though only a monochrome reproduction was available for study).

  • The stock is a straight shaft, tapering down towards the archer. It is not possible to determine whether its cross-section is rectangular, round or oval.

  • The archer’s right arm partly covers the end of the stock and it is therefore not possible to determine its total length exactly. The important [distance from bow to latch : distance from latch to end] ratio can be determined fairly accurately as 1 : 1.3 (though if longer, the ratio might be larger).

  • The release mechanism is a long straight trigger bar with a (90°) right angle.

  • The bow has been drawn in two lines and shows the typical recurve shape. It becomes narrower towards the extremes. At the ends its thickness is only that of the nib used to draw the figure.

  • The bowstring has not been attached to the ends of the bow, but to a point in the concave part of the bow. The bowstring has no visible loops or knots.

  • The stirrup of the crossbow has an oval shape.

  • The bolt is drawn as a thick line and has a triangular tip as well as an increased diameter towards the rear.

Analysis:

On the basis of the stock length and the trigger bar, one can exclude an Asian (4.; p. 15), African (4.; p. 214ff) or Indian (4.; p. 216) origin of the crossbow. The crossbow will therefore only be compared against the European tradition.

a) Archer

The archer is most probably a hunter, because he is neither carrying any other weapons nor wearing any protective armour.
His head gear appears to me to be a long rolled-up cowl (which was quite popular in the 14th Century (3.; p. 20)), because of its turban shape and the rolled-up part hanging down behind it.
The archer is not holding the crossbow properly: one hand has been drawn on the trigger bar and the other above the stock. The inept way in which the hands have been drawn lets us conclude that the artist had problems with this detail. He has just drawn the hands in such a way as to show that the archer is holding the weapon in his hands.

b) Bow

The bow in the illustration is most probably a composite bow. There are several reasons for this:

  • The bowstring is not attached to the end of the bow. Known composite bows have a second string notch outside the bow which helps in attaching the bowstring to the bow (cf. 4.; p. 131ff.).

  • Wooden bows of this shape are not known to me. Steel bows of this shape are known only from the 16th Century onwards; these, however, can be excluded from the analysis due to their very different characteristics. In this respect it is worth mentioning specifically that the ends of steel bows are forged as “Thumbs”, and this very characteristic shape would not escape even a layman’s attention.

The use of horn in bows was copied from the Saracens during the crusades, and from then on widely used (especially in Central Europe) for crossbows. The shape of the Turkish bow was introduced at about the same time, which would explain the recurve bow shape of the early crossbows (cf. 5.). Only after the mid-14th Century were horn bows made more solid and compact, and changed into the ‘simple’ circle-arc shape. Quite probably there would have been a transition phase during which both types of bows would have coexisted (Annex 2, cf. Figures 21 and 24: Lutrell Psalter 1340).

c) Stock, release mechanism

The latching mechanism is hidden by the bolt, which is not represented correctly. From the presence of a trigger bar, one may conclude that the latch is a ‘nut latch’. The latch is located relatively far back (i.e. towards the rear of the stock). One may assume that this is the case only for very early types of crossbows. The Roman crossbow, for example, placed the latch at the very end of the stock. The gothic crossbow placed it at two fifths from the front of the stock, and in the Renaissance it was at one third from the front. The right angle in the trigger bar is quite characteristic and belongs strictly to the 14th Century. Following Harmuth (4.; p. 109), this form developed from the obtuse angle that can be observed in many illustrations (cf. 6, also annex 6). Later trigger bars are not straight but always slightly curved. The crossbow in the illustration lacks a bridle, and no alternative attachment of the bow to the stock is evident.

Comparable illustrations/originals:

I am not aware of any crossbow illustrations in connection with the zodiac figure Sagittarius. I also don’t know any illustrations of crossbowmen in calendars. Below, some comparable crossbows and illustrations of crossbows will be compared to the one being studied. Already in 1235 Villard de Honnecourt showed a crossbow trap in his treatise on the ‘Bauhuettenwesen’ [masonic guilds during the construction of cathedrals] (see also Annex 3). This illustration is similar to ours in many respects, even though Honnecourt has drawn it far more accurately. Eschenbach’s epic poem Willehalm (1320) shows crossbows very similar to ours (see also Annex 4). The soldiers are using horn bows with a recurve shape and straight stocks. Similarly, the attachment of bows to the stocks are not drawn. Furthermore, the important [distance from bow to latch : distance from latch to end]ratio is similar to our crossbow. An original Gothic era crossbow is kept in the Stadtmuseum of Cologne (Inv.Nr. W 1109, 5., see also Annex 2). This crossbow, which Harmuth dates to the 14th Century, also has a right-angled trigger bar. (It is worth noting that in the attached illustration the stirrup is missing, and the bow should be attached to the stock rotated by 180°. Cocking the bow would cause it to take on the familiar recurve shape.) However, this piece does already have a curved stock, typical for a Central European weapon, which ours evidently does not. A crossbow of this type is show in Wenzel’s bible of around 1390 (see also Annex 5), where, unfortunately, the trigger bar is not visible.

Dating:

Based on the above analysis I would date the crossbow as drawn in the illustration to the first half of the 14th Century. A more precise dating is not possible in my opinion, since at any time, also regionally, several types of crossbows would be used (and drawn).
As already indicated in the beginning, the crossbow belongs to the European tradition, but a more precise geographical identification is unfortunately not possible for reasons which will be explained below.

Undoubtedly, the illustrator has drawn the shape of the bow very accurately. Its back-and-forth curves are recognised easily also by the layman and drawing it doesn’t require any great dexterity whatsoever. Looking at the bow (and taking into account the analysis presented above), the influence of the Saracen bow is easily recognisable.

The straight stock is typical for the early 14th Century. Taking into account that the illustrator has observed the shape of the bow and represented it accurately, he would have surely done the same with the stock.
The differentiation between the Central and Western European crossbow types occurred in the course of the 14th Century. At that time, both types already show the characteristic shape of the stock. Hence, the straight stock clearly belongs to the era before this development and one cannot therefore decide whether the crossbow belongs to the Central or Western European tradition.

The right-angled trigger bar is already common at this time; earlier crossbows’ trigger bars all have an obtuse angle. The right angle appears to have been noticed specifically by the illustrator, as he depicts it quite accurately. The (previously-mentioned) fact that the trigger bars of later crossbows are all curved, as in the Hunting books of Gaston Phebus, speaks against a later origin of this crossbow.

References:

1. Boeheim, Wendelin Handbuch der Waffenkunde, Leipzig 1890
2. Credland, Arthur G The Crossbow in Britain, in: The Royal Armouries
Yearbook, 6/2001
3. Embleton, Gerry Ritter und Söldner im Mittelalter, Herne 2002
4. Harmuth, Egon Die Armbrust, Graz 1986
5. Harmuth, Egon Eine Einfußarmbrust der Hochgotik, ZfHWKK 1978
6. Harmuth, Egon Die Armbrustdarstellungen des Haimo von Auxerre, ZfHWKK
1970

Source of Annexes:

All Annexes from 4.

Glossary:

Bridle The ropes/cords binding the stock and the bow together
Cock To pull the bowstring back into the latched position, so that it can be released (thus shooting away the bolt or arrow)
Composite bow Bow made of several materials (typically one would use horn, wood and string). This also explains the term “horn bow”
Latch Mechanism for holding the bowstring in cocked position and for releasing the bowstring when the trigger bar is squeezed
Nut latch Cylindrical latch, usually made of ivory or antler
Recurve Shape of the bow which has a double curvature (when cocked)
Stirrup Ring at the front of the crossbow, into which the archer would insert his foot while cocking the bow
Stock The shaft of the crossbow

Apart from Cipher Mysteries, the Voynich blogosphere has been far too quiet of late. Even Elias Schwerdtfeger’s “Das Voynich Blog” is, despite some intriguing posts in the past, fairly subdued.

And so it is a breath of fresh air to see a new blog from an old friend: long-time Voynich mailing list member Elmar Vogt has recently started up his Voynich Thoughts blog. Elmar has already posted a whole heap of nice snippets, such as the German Wikipedia entry’s comparison of the plant on f56r with drosera intermedia (which I mentioned here and here), a nice comparison of the Sagittarius archer with a drawing in a 15th century woodcut, as well as a circa-1450 head-dress comparison with a zodiac nymph.

Part of me really wants him to put these fragments into context – for the Sagittarius page, for example, how it was suggested long ago that the zodiac motifs might well have largely been copied from a (probably 14th century?) German woodcut calendar; a discussion of the Sagittarius archer’s (probably 14th century and fairly rustic) crossbow; plus a wider comparison of the crossbowman’s headwear with (say) the 15th century “turban” / chaperon as depicted by Robert Campin and Van Eyck.

Yet another part of me simply wants Elmar to fill his blog with that thing he does so very well – which is to use his keen logical eye and pleasantly acid German wit to be entertainingly tart about Voynichological nonsense. Wherever contemporary haruspicators pop up to read their imagined stories into the VMs’ well-scanned entrails, I’ll always be delighted to read Elmar’s commentary.

Trivia time: it’s no great secret that software developer Elmar has long contributed text edits to Wikipedia (such as its VMs page) under the monicker “Syzygy“: but what is perhaps less known is that, as a fan of the Atari ST, he chose this as a homage to the company Atari – Nolan Bushnell and Ted Dabney used “Syzygy Engineering” for their original company name.

Hmmm… I’m not sure he’d be much impressed by the two computer games I wrote for the ST: 3D Pool and Loopz. Oh well!  🙂