Want to know about Antonio Guayneri? As always, Step One is to open Thorndike’s “History of Magic & Experimental Science” Book IV, and go straight to the index. OK: “Guaineri, Antonio, Chap. XLVII”. Let’s go, boiz.

Thorndike largely contents himself with extracting the list of Guaineri’s (many) individual books from the 1481 editio princeps printed at Pavia, as per the copy he examined “in the E. C. Streeter collection at the New York Academy of Medicine”. As far as manuscript copies of the de balneis go, he lists only Turin 1200 (H-II-16; Pasini Lat. 533), 15th century (I think this is dated 1451, ref “V K 10”?).

We also know that Guayneri’s de balneis appears in Pavia MS Aldini 488 (f70v-f74r) [not available online], and BNF Nouv. Acq. Lat 211 [1469, accessible online, but only in black and white]. There’s a 1481 copy online here (which seems to have postdated the 1481 incunabulum). A manuscript copy appears in the 1553 Venetian Giunta print compilation of balneological books (probably the most accessible source), where the text seems very close to MS Aldini 488 (which is in turn very close to BNF Nouv Acq Lat 211).

Guayneri began working on his de balneis around 1435 (when he accompanied his patron to a thermal bath), and then completed it in 1439, according to this article (in Italian). Hence from my Voynichese perspective, I find this interesting because his de balneis is both broadly in the right date range, and short enough to match the general size of the Voynich’s Q13B.

Annoyingly, while Thorndike lists the chapter headings for Michele Savonarola’s book on thermal baths in one of his appendices, he doesn’t do the same for Guayneri’s de balneis (probably because of its brevity). So I’m going to have to summarise its contents the hard way (dash and darn it).

Regardless, the first thing I do is to try to find the earliest copy of any given text I can. So… can I track down the MS Torino 1200 mentioned by Thorndike?

MS Torino 1200 [1451]

According to a 1922 inventory of Italian manuscripts, the contents of MS Torino 1200 (H-II-16, Cod Cart Lat, sec XV, cc 141) are/were as follows (all in Latin):

  1. Marco Marsilio da S. Sofia. Receptae super I-IV. Avicennae de febribus.
  2. Calvis Paulus de Mudila. (Calvi Paolo da Modena). Liber de urinis.
  3. Guainerio, Antonio. De Balneis Aquensibus in Ducatu Montisferrati.
  4. Guainerio, Antonio. Tractatus de mulierum aegritudinibus.
  5. Bernerio Gerardo. Consultationes medicae.
  6. Petrus de Ebeno (Pietro d’Abano). Tractatus de venenis, eorumque medela.
  7. Gentili, Gentile. Tractatus de proportione medicinarum.
  8. Guainerio, Antonio. Tractatus de fluxibus.

However, I can’t tell whether this manuscript was a victim of the infamous fire of 1904: though many mss were destroyed, many others were rescued or restored. (The Biblioteca was also bombed in 1942.) I found a picture of a similar Torino manuscript that had suffered fire damage in this (Italian) article:

The silver lining from the 1904 Turin fire was the rapid increase in the specialist knowledge of how to restore badly damaged manuscripts. For example, the above fragment was restored to this state:

As an aside, there are some truly epic pictures showing the Italian restorers’ numerous tricks at the end of this other (Italian) article, which I highly recommend.

As an aside, the only Antonio Guayneri manuscripts I found in Italian library catalogues were:

  • Milano, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Manoscritti, A 108 inf. (1474), which had just about everything else Guayneri wrote (but not his De balneis); and
  • Modena, Biblioteca Estense – Universitaria, Estense, Lat. 607 = alfa.9.13, which only had his De calculosa passione.

I can only really assume (unless you know better?) that MS Torino 1200 was destroyed, probably in the 1942 bombing. So I’m instead going to work with BNF Nouv Acq Lat 211, which seems to be a 1469 copy of a 1454 copy.

BNF Nouv Acq Lat 211 [1469]

You might think that the smart transcription shortcut would be to grab a copy of the 1553 Giunta balneological compilation “De Balneis omnia quae extant” (fol. 43 ff.) and see how close that gets you. However, if you do, you’ll quickly find that the text has plenty of itty bitty Latin abbreviations while the OCR is far from perfect. And then you’ll find that there are plenty of places where the print version seems to have taken plenty of liberties with the text (presumably to make it more palatable to a print audience more than a century later). And the abbreviations are used in an entirely different way.

So rather than map this 16th century print rendering onto the 1469 manuscript copy, what I actually ended up doing was using the 1553 Giunta book to roughly guide me as I transcribed the 1469 manuscript (if that makes sense).

So, here’s a quick initial transcription (i.e. I haven’t corrected this at all) to give you a feeling of what we’re looking at here, in all its funky abbreviated glory. More to follow in other posts, particularly on the middle chapters:

ANTONII GUAYNERII PAPIENSIS DE BALNEIS AQUIS CIVITATIS
ANTIQUE QUE IN MARCHIONATU MONTISFERRATI SITA SU[N]T
TRACTATUS INCIPIT
Quia no[n]nulli viri doctissimi, quor[um]da[m] balneo[rum] i[n] Italia existe[n]tiu[m] virtutes desc[ri]pseru[n]t p[ro]p[ter] mirabiles ip[s]o[rum] effectus, h[ab]ita su[n]t adeo famosa, vt a re[m]otissimis p[ar]tib[us], caterua langue[n]tium dicti[ua] [con]fluat. Su[n]t ite[m] alia de q[ui]b[us] tum p[ro]p[ter] guerras, tum p[ro]p[ter] euenientes ta[m] febro[?]  pestes, apud modernos nulla sc[ri]ptura rep[er]it[ur]. Et n[isi] sup[er] excelle[n]tis virtutes essent, de eis a[m]plius me[n]tio nulla fieret.
[*] Haec quoq[ue] que dixi tam virtuosa balnea, i[n] marchio[n]atu Mo[n]tisferrati i[n] mobilissimo olim aeque sane co[m]itatu, in simulatio vni[us] ciuitatis, que ab ip[s]is aq[ui]s cal[d]is nome[n] retinuit sita sunt.
[*] Ea enim Aqui ciuitas illi[us] antiquissimi co[m]ptat[us] caput e[st].
[*] Et q[uia] illie aqui calide i[n] numerabilib[us] eg[ritudini]bus s[u]b ueniebant, aque sane antiq[ui]tus vocaba[n]t[ur]. Et ad huc aq[ui] sane co[m]itat[us] dict[us] e[st]. Fuit hec qua[m] dixi ta[m] antiqua ciuitas, a, siluio p[ri]mo latino[rum] rege, [con]dita, vt ei[us] i[n] analib[orum] legi. Et quo et tu[n]c syluia dicta e[st].
[*] Post adue[n]tum vero [Christi], hi semp[er] fidelissimi fuere [christi]ani: sic vt [?]esis i[n] eis nu[n]q[uam] rep[er]ta sit. Cui[us] c[aus]a beat[us] papa siluester ep[iscop]alem sedem sibi [con]donauit. A quo deinceps syluestris dicta e[st].
[*] Ve[rum] totie[n]s hec misella ciuitas euersa e[st]: vt tam silie, q[uam] siluest[r]e, no[min]ibus abolitis, antiquu[m] solu[m] aq[ui]s retinuit nome[n]
[*] Que octi[n]gentos tam a[n]nos sub dictione sup[er]illustris [...]

[...]

Capitulu[m] [secundu]m. De balneo[rum] ext[ri]nseco[rum] notificatio[n]e, at que et qualis sit tam ext[ri]nseco[rum] qu[em] i[n]t[ri]nseco[rum] minera, quib[us] quoq[ue] i[n] generali eg[ri]tudinib[us] [con][uener?]unt.

[...]

Capitulu[m] [tertiu]m. Que si[n]t balneo[rum] p[re]sc[ri]pto[rum] p[ro]p[ri]etates
ac quibus p[ar]ticularibus eg[ri]tudinibus [con]ueniunt.

[...]

Capitulum [quartu]m. Qua[lit]er ta[m] balneis, q[uam] ceno, q[uam] stufa vti debe[amus],
& de modo bibendi aqua[m] fontis.

[...]

Capitulum [quintu]m. De mo[do] succurre[n]di, accidentib[us], q[uo] ex his balneis accidu[n]t, qn p[er]fectiora su[n]t. Et q[ua]ntu[m] sit tibi te[m]pus i[m]mora[n]du[m].

[...]

[*] Explicit tractatus pro balneis de aqu[ui]s. Editus p[er] claru[s] artui[?] et medicine doctore[m] magistru[m] Antoniu[m] de guaynariis papiensius
Finitus, die xxi maii, 1454, hora xvii. Laus deo.

Even if we can’t (yet) read the Voynich Manuscript’s inscrutable ‘Voynichese’ text, and even if many (if not most) of its bifolios appear to be misordered and misbound, there are still a handful of places where we can (I think) reconstruct its original bifolio nesting. (Despite my own intensive efforts to do this for the whole manuscript circa 2006, it seems that no codicologist has attempted to do this in any useful way in the 15 years since.)

In my opinion, these few places offer us far more structural information to help guide our search for a precursor (source) document than if we were looking at a single isolated bifolio. And if we can find a precursor document, then we (hopefully) have a what is effectively a Rosetta Stone for Voynichese: so the stakes are quite high.

In other posts, I’ve described (what Glen Claston termed) “Q13B”, which appears to be a two-bifolio illustrated balneological ‘book’ (i.e. what we would now call a ‘chapter’) misordered and misbound within the Voynich Manuscript’s Q13 (quire 13). This post attempts to deconstruct Q13B into its inner sections, to support the work of comparing Q13B with candidate treatises in future posts.

f84r

This first page of our two-bifolio set appears to depict three linked baths: the top bath level has six (probably stone) arches, the middle bath level appears elongated, while the lower bath is more broadly circular.

The top bath has some kind of piping at the left that seems to be funnelling water into it. The middle bath has three distinctive “pipe tops” or “circular pots”, which may possibly be connected to some medicinal practice. The lower bath’s second nymph from the left appears to be holding a ring or a circular object, which may again possibly be connected to some medicinal practice. The lower bath’s rightmost nymph appears to have orange-red hair.

To my eyes, the green, solid blue and solid red paint appear to be later additions, but the patchier blue, cheek rouge, and orange-red hair appear to be original colouring.

f84v-f78r

The many visual symmetries of this pair of pages strongly suggests (as I proposed back in 2006) that the two pages originally sat facing each other in the original (intended) nesting/binding order.

The pair of pages appear to be depicting a thermal bath complex made up of four natural baths, connected via some kind of (possibly terracotta?) piping. Each page appears to be made up of two sizeable paragraphs, with additional ‘label’ text attached to each of the four individual baths. Both pairs of baths appear to drain out to the bottom of their respective pages.

There is a curious unidentified detail close to the right hand edge of the lower bath on f84v (partially concealed by the ugly green paint). There is also a curious rock-like detail at the bottom-left edge of the lower bath on f78r.

f78v-f81r

This is the pair of pages that famously flagged (to John Grove many years ago?) that something tricky was going on with the bifolio order in Q13. The drawing crosses the central fold, strongly indicating that this was originally the central bifolio of a quire or gathering. It appears to depict a thermal bath complex, with a higher bath apparently with a plinth-like base (top right), a constructed bath (with seven arches), and where both baths feed into a lower bath also with a plinth (bottom right).

f81v-f75r

This pair of pages appears to depict two separate thermal baths. There is a pot at the bottom right of the left page’s bath. The right-hand page has two baths, the topmost with a vertical design and an exaggerated wolkenband at the top, possibly suggesting that it may be fed by rainwater rather than by a spring. This is connected to a smaller lower bath.

There is a large pot at the bottom of the top bath (with a nymph sitting in it); and a nymph halfway down the top bath appears to be holding a strange stake-like object.

f75v

The final page of the two-bifolio set depicts a pair of baths, the top one with an exaggerated wolkenband feeding into a horizontally elongated bath. The lower of the pair of baths appears more naturalistic.

There is a pot partially hidden behind the leftmost nymph in the top bath. A nymph in the middle of the lower bath appears to be holding a sponge, possibly cleaning another nymph’s back. The nymph at the top right of the lower bath also seems to have a very distinctive hair arrangement (not sure if this can be dated).

Q13B’s bath complexes?

Having gone through Q13B’s pages in this way, I’m struck by the high likelihood that each connected set of baths is visually representing a specific thermal bath complex. In which case, the ordered sequence of bath complexes would seem to be:

  • a set of three baths, arches at the topmost level
  • a set of four baths
  • a set of three baths, one possibly with arched windows
  • a set of one bath
  • a set of two baths
  • a set of two baths

Furthermore, the pot-like visual motif that appears in several of the baths also seems likely to me to be flagging some kind of medicinal usage / behaviour associated with that individual bath. Many thermal baths of the era had specific medicinal practices associated with them, so this would not be a huge surprise.

As with just about all historical research, simply wanting to find things out isn’t enough: you really have to have a plan to guide you. And while I can see an awful lot of people who want to crack the Voynich Manuscript, I can’t currently see many who are trying to do so guided by anything that could be described as a plan.

Me and plans? We go a long way back. I’ve spent a long time trying to understand the Voynich’s drawings; a long time trying to understand its heavily structured writing; a long time trying to understand its codicology and development; a long time trying to find historical precedents (in terms of both visual and structural parallels); and a long time trying to reconstruct its path “from vellum to Prague“. But I think it’s fair to say that these different trees have all yielded small, stony fruit.

So it’s time for a new angle, a new direction of attack: this post describes my new plan that I’ve spent a few months figuring out. Make of it what you will (but wish me luck).

Quire 13 = Quire 13A + Quire 13B

When I first started looking for balneological parallels to the Voynich Manuscript’s Q13 (Quire 13) back in the early 2000s, I found nothing remotely resembling it. Q13’s mix of balneo plus strange tubing plus strange body-function pieces seemed a world away from the (generally plaintext, generally unremarkable) documents of the first half of the 15th century (which are often little more than Latin “Rules of the Baths”).

However, since 2006 my codicological understanding of what happened to Q13 (i.e. to leave it how we see it now) has come a long way. It’s not enough to grasp (as per my discussion in Curse 2006) that Q13’s bifolios ended up misnested (and this certainly happened early on, even before Q13’s 15th century quire number was added). Rather, to make sense of Q13, you have to see that it was originally formed from two separate gatherings – my late friend Glen Claston called these Q13A and Q13B – that were then shuffled together into a single oversized gathering, and then (mis-)bound into an oversized quire.

For Glen (actually Tim Rayhel), Q13A was the three “medical – biological – Galenic” bifolios, while Q13B comprised the two “Balneological” bifolios. You may disagree about the precise nesting Q13A had in its original ‘alpha’ state, but I think Q13B’s nesting order looks pretty rock solid, with f78v-f81r in the centre and f84-f75 (i.e. reversed relative to its position in Q13’s final ‘omega’ state) wrapped around it.

Ultimately, the huge takeaways from this for anyone searching for a balneological match are (a) the balneological section (in Q13B) is only half as big as you might otherwise think (i.e. Q13), (b) the source document for Q13B probably ‘travels’ with (i.e. “was typically copied alongside”) medical documents, and (c) it’s probably a ‘pure’ balneo text that we’re looking for.

Also: because we’re apparently missing a (folio-numbered) bifolio from Q13, it could well be that what we’re looking at with Q13B is only two thirds of a balneological ‘book’. However – and I think this is important – because we have an illustration that seems to run across a gathering’s centrefold, we can be reasonably sure that if so, we’re looking at the eight contiguous middle pages of a twelve-page document.

So we now have a lot more (and better) information about what we should be looking for in a balneological match (which we would hope to use as part of a known-plaintext attack on Q13B).

It should therefore be no surprise that my new plan is to search for a pre-1460 balneological source document where the central section matches the general structure of Q13B. I predict that this will be unillustrated, will not have been widely copied, and will typically be found bound alongside medical manuscripts.

I’m also expecting to have my search biased towards Northern Italian balneo sources (much as in 2006, I still suspect the Voynichese “4o” ligature was a Northern Italian palaeographic ‘tell’, one that was appropriated by numerous Northern Italian cipher keys 1440-1460), though I’ll initially cast my research net wider.

Constructing a Bibliography

Having said that, a key part of any historical research plan is working out an active bibliography (i.e. finding all the related scholarly works that have already done a significant part of the heavy digging), and then (somehow) getting access to them.

An excellent help in this regard proved to be the (open access) article “Le thermalisme médiéval et le gouvernement des corps : d’une recreatio corporis à une regula balnei ?” by Marilyn Nicoud, in Le thermalisme, by John Scheid, Marilyn Nicoud, Didier Boisseuil, et al. (pp.79-104).

Nicoud highlights numerous different sources on thermal baths, including a letter by Poggio Bracciolini to Niccolo Niccoli: and many different attitudes towards them, ranging from sexual indignation to Pope Pius II’s long sojourns to thermal baths in the 1460s, to mentions of thermal baths in the Datini correspondence (from the famous Merchant of Prato). [Interestingly, “The Duke and the Stars” by Monica Azzolini speaks approvingly of Nicoud as a kind of historiographical fellow-traveller.]

In terms of the actual treatise author Nicoud mentions, one might helpfully pick out a reasonable starting list:

  • Gentile da Foligno (died 1348) – [though Gentile seems somewhat early for us]
  • Francesco Casini da Siena, who around 1399-1401 wrote a huge treatise on Tuscan baths dedicated to Gian Galeazzo Visconti
  • Jerome of Viterbi, who wrote a treatise on thermal baths of his region dedicated to Pope Innocent VI
  • Benedetto Reguardati (one of Francesco Sforza’s most highly regarded doctors) wrote down the rules of the Bormio thermal baths, plus various other small books
  • Ugolino da Montecatini wrote a treatise on thermal baths at the start of the 15th century (in Tuscan, unusually)
  • Antonio Guainerio (died 1458) wrote a treatise on the thermal baths of Acqui Terme. (I remember reading about him in Thorndike, he also wrote a “tractatus de venenis” i.e. on poisons)
  • Michele Savonarola

See also Marilyn Nicoud, “Les Medecins Italiens et le bain thermal a la fin du moyen age” (Medievales 43, automne 2002, pp.13-40) on JSTOR, which mentions Florence Biblioteca nazionale XV. 189 and BnF nouv. acq. Lat. 211.

Of course, it goes without saying that many of the books cited by Nicoud are out of my meagre book budget price range. But it’s a starting point, and the British Library has recently reopened so… lots to do here.

In the meantime, here are some early rough notes, which I plan to expand into separate blog posts over the next few months.

Benedetto Reguardati / Benedictus de Nursia

De sanitate conservanda, to Astorgius episcopus Anconitanus. Salzburg St. Peter M 1 265, 15c, ff. 3-93 (Kr III 42)

De conservatione sanitatis. Paris BN lat. 14028, 15c (Kr III 233) [same as “De sanitate conservanda”]

Ugolino da Montecatini

De balneorum Italiae proprietatibus ac virtutibus (1417) – AKA Tractatus de balneis

Paris BN n.a. lat 211, 15c, ff. 54-70 (Kr III 277)

Tractatus de Balneis. Traduzione a cura di M. G. Nardi. 1950

Antonio Guainerio

The Bodleian helpfully lists a number of manuscripts from this Pavian doctor, many of which were later printed as incunabula and early books:

  • “De aegritudinibus propriis mulierum”
  • “De arthetica”
  • “De febribus”
  • “De peste”
  • “De uenenis”

Michele Savonarola

His Wikipedia article lists a number of his works, including “De balneis”.

See also: Crisciani, Chiara and Gabriella Zuccolin. Michele Savonarola, Medicina e cultura di corte, Micrologus’ Library. Florence: SISMEL Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2011. This includes a chapter by Marilyn Nicoud (of course) on his De Balneis.

See also: Arnaldo Segarizzi, Della vita e delle opere di Michele Savonarola medico padovano del secolo XV (Padua: Fratelli Gallina, 1900)… errrm… if you can find a copy of it. (Google’s copy appears to have disappeared, oddly.)

Like a constipated true crime podcaster, I’m currently perched on the edge of my seat waiting for something solid to emerge. Now that SAPOL’s forensic finest (surely) have the Somerton Man’s DNA in their sweaty hands, what will it be able to tell us?

One interesting thing about DNA searching is that even if you get basically zero hits, the DNA itself can often still tell you a great deal about a person, such as:

  • what part of the world they (probably) come from
  • their haplogroup (& will that be the same as the haplogroup Derek Abbott’s group retrieved from the hair root?)
  • their genetic predisposition to rare illnesses (e.g. uncombable hair syndrome, etc).

If the part of the world the Somerton Man’s DNA comes from is basically a small region in Ireland, it would seem to be a fairly strong indication that Kean[e] is likely to be his surname. (But with Catholic families being DNA genealogists’ best friends, you’d also expect 20+ decent hits to light up the GEDmatch globe like a Christmas tree.)

Yet if his DNA is solidly Eastern European (and with hardly any matches), you’d expect a quite different person – perhaps something like the mysterious Balutz from the baccarat school I found so hard to track down.

Though it would be nice if the DNA showed he was Charles Mikkelsen (who I think was probably also the “Carl Thompsen” remembered by Keith Mangonoson), I’m not holding out a lot of hope for that.

It also seems likely to me that any link to the Abbotts / Egans would have been trumpeted to the world’s media by now: but given the lack of trumpetry my ears are picking up, this is most probably not to be here.

All in all, it’s perhaps surprising that the list of possible Somerton Man candidates we’ve all managed to accumulate is so short: a list dominated, it has to be said, by implausible Soviet spies, defectors and perhaps even spring-heeled Ballet Russe dancers. (Spare me, O Lord, from having to read any more espionage-related posts.)

So I wonder what the next card to be played in this interminable squeeze will be?

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been trying to work out if there was a way I could set up a funding page for a genealogist-driven collaborative effort to identify Henry Debosnys from his DNA.

Obviously, the funding would need to cover the two physical stages:

  • Extracting his DNA – the nice people at the Adirondack History Museum have both his skull and the hangman’s noose that killed him (the skin on his neck was abraded for four inches, according to a contemporary newspaper report), so this looks to be achievable; and
  • Scanning the extracted DNA and uploading it into some historical database for familial matches (the same as virtually every other programme on TV at the moment).

It turns out that extracting his DNA is the (relatively) easy part. The second part is actually much trickier, because it seems that pretty much all the consumer services out there (e.g. AncestryDNA, even Nebula Genomics) have highly optimised their low-cost DNA acquisition pipelines for either cheek-swab / saliva samples or blood samples.

Moreover, the helpful support people at AncestryDNA also told me that it would explicitly go against the company’s policy to take DNA samples from someone who had died. So there would seem to be a series of mountains for historical researchers to climb there.

Note that there are a (very small number of) commercial whole genome scanning services out there that don’t rely on cheek swabs or blood: but my understanding is that these tend to be quite expensive. So as of right now, it would seem that we’re kind of stuck between the two: crowdfunding a cheek swab test would be do-able (probably south of 1000USD, all in), but I’m guessing that this would rise to about 2500USD with a bespoke special WGS from extracted DNA.

Having recently spent time going through French archives via filae.com, I had thought that trying to track Debosnys’ genetic footprints would be a great project to crowdfund and take on, but I’ve been left somewhat bemused. So if anyone reading can suggest a better route forward for scanning extracted DNA and then GEDmatching it, please leave a comment below, I’m all ears!

Finally, I should mention an alternative route. Australian DNA genealogy company totheletter DNA have been offering a (really rather incredible) service where you send them old letters / stamps and they then extract DNA from the saliva used to stick the dried adhesive down. However, it turns out that they’ve been having some problems with the quality of the DNA extracted in this way, so they temporarily halted the service last year, but hope to bring it back online later this year (2021).

A fascinating email from long-time Cipher Mysteries commenter Paul Relkin has alerted me to a pair of ciphers by mathematician Paul Olum (1918-2001), who knew Feynman at Princeton, and then worked with him at Los Alamos. Sure, you can read Olum’s Wikipedia page, but perhaps the best person to describe him is Richard Feynman himself (in “Surely You’re Joking, Mr Feynman”):

They were all giving me problems and I was feeling great, when Paul Olum walked by in the hall. Paul had worked with me for a while at Princeton before coming out to Los Alamos, and he was always cleverer than I was. For instance, one day I was absent­mindedly playing with one of those measuring tapes that snap back into your hand when you push a button. The tape would always slap over and hit my hand, and it hurt a little bit. “Geez!” I exclaimed. “What a dope I am. I keep playing with this thing, and it hurts me every time.”

He said, “You don’t hold it right,” and took the damn thing, pulled out the tape, pushed the button, and it came right back. No hurt.

“Wow! How do you do that?” I exclaimed.

“Figure it out!”

For the next two weeks I’m walking all around Princeton, snapping this tape back until my hand is absolutely raw. Finally I can’t take it any longer. “Paul! I give up! How the hell do you hold it so it doesn’t hurt?”

“Who says it doesn’t hurt? It hurts me too!”

I felt so stupid. He had gotten me to go around and hurt my hand for two weeks!

So Paul is walking past the lunch place and these guys are all excited. “Hey, Paul!” they call out. “Feynman’s terrific! We give him a problem that can be stated in ten seconds, and in a minute he gets the answer to 10 percent. Why don’t you give him one?”

Without hardly stopping, he says, “The tangent of 10 to the 100th.” I was sunk: you have to divide by pi to 100 decimal places! It was hopeless.

One time I boasted, “I can do by other methods any integral anybody else needs contour integration to do.”

So Paul puts up this tremendous damn integral he had obtained by starting out with a complex function that he knew the answer to, taking out the real part of it and leaving only the complex part. He had unwrapped it so it was only possible by contour integration! He was always deflating me like that. He was a very smart fellow.

Olum I

But back to the recently unearthed pair of Paul Olum’s ciphertexts. The first one surfaced in 2018 at a Caltech exhibition to celebrate what would have been Feynman’s 100th birthday, and then bubbled through into a Reddit post in 2019. This (marked as “Olum I”) included Feynman’s notes on it (character frequency counts etc):

Feynman’s conclusion was that it was probably a “simple substitution [cipher] with some rearranging. The rearranging is not very complete“, and suggested some possible substitutions: “N -> T, G -> K, X -> N, F -> C, D ->G, (U -> W)?“. Though, as seems to have been the case fairly often, he didn’t quite get the better of Olum here.

If you want to have a tilt at Olum’s first windmill, the Reddit poster (“V sbyybjrq gur ehyrf”) transcribed its 744 characters as follows:

VEWLJ NBBEL QFWSX HBUSW AIBYQ AEQSI GHOVN BSNBV LNWXA BIQIU BGBIC YQFXC EVBWX WBSNG WVEVL HWDHB ILMHB LNSGB HSNXS XBHLQ CBOCS OBVWM XFNCW PAGGN EUWGA IBVWI FYWFG GQFEW MPQIX XWSEW VIHAB EBWJX OHAFQ LBBNI BHAIV JNSHC WXPCY UGGOB DWAXB HBWIN XWSNJ GWVAF OXBLM WAEBP BBWXC RBWBV LHIJA JINOW XDBIB QCGYW FXHCQ AIBCW NGCSC SHBNA VIEWD HIBLH EBVVY YSLRQ PQVCQ IWXQE DQBIW XWEAP BHVWS BSBWX VAVHB WFPUH BYWVN BYIOQ WAIFY QDXDB ICLBW YCNEA IBWIN BBWAA CIQIC VWIXQ VCBLH XIBVL AHMFO BXSIX OQBUE PCOVA WMOFV NCWAP GGNEE UWAIW XAWAE EWOLE WESHW FXHEG HCIVB HSWJO ILAWF NDDFQ WDHIL VHBBW AIQBI OUXWS BNIGW VXVQD BVAWI FGWXN VWEPU HYWDB HIMLH BLPNM WVHYP BYWBH AMFXX OSCVN BHCWV NYBIO QWAVI YBQXD LBNDV WCCGN AABXQ VWDBH EILHJ BLNVW VBHAF XOBCB MYWIN SBVOQ WLOHC GGWFB BNSYM DQUBX WSNGB WVWAI VGXHB OJWDB HIBVL HMWBI HIWJG NBFBH DQBIW IBOBJ OHUHV YLQMY WSNSI DFWDD VWEWV HYDLW VWGPW SSHAB ILBWY WJLHD XXSH

Olum II

Olum II (the second ciphertext Olum passed to Feynman) looks to be a pure transposition cipher, though anyone looking at its length (227, a prime number) and hoping for a simple modulo-227 transposition is going to be somewhat disappointed (I tried this to give my suffixity metric a bit of a workout). Note that the 25th character seems to be lower-case ‘f’, though whether or not that is relevant or useful is another matter entirely. Note also that, mathematically, there’s no point doing multiple consecutive modulo transpositions (e.g. modulo 6 followed by modulo 7), because an N-mod-A transposition followed by an N-mod-B transposition is the same as an N-mod-((A x B)mod N)) transposition:

The same Reddit poster (“V sbyybjrq gur ehyrf”) transcribed Olum II’s 227 characters as follows:

EEIOL CNTPA TIILM NIHGU TIGLf OOOHR BYSCD EYGSE EIEEL MERSB ITCBA ANEIT GDSDD OURDM SIOMH ESELE DNSRR NHNIN ATONW AEDSY ROWHE DRTRA SVAWH EODES ETVIF NIEHE TOIGI ELNII TONAR THTHL EULII TAISL SUNFC EAINI ELSLT LBPSN TMTIH SDSIH TREIE NDUET HHIOM EIIAS TVHPF YGSOR NEEII ET

To be honest, I would expect Paul Olum to have rolled out some kind of funky modulo maths trickery here, so my strong suspicion is that this is likely to be a test more of mathematical cunning than of cryptological brains.

Thoughts on this, Nick?

As Paul Relkin reminded me, I once crypto-profiled the author of the Feynman challenge ciphers as being most likelyinterested in snickering into his beard about having pulled the wool over Richard Feynman’s sainted eyes“. And I think you’d have to admit that Paul Olum does seem to match that description well (errrm… apart from the fact he was clean-shaven). Yet proof is wondrously hard to achieve, so for now this remains no more than an interesting possibility.

As for Olum II: nowadays, I wonder whether the right place to start on this kind of complicated challenge transposition would be by searching for it in Project Gutenberg. By which I mean:

  • Get the A-Z frequency counts for the 227-letter challenge cipher
  • Go through all the Project Gutenberg files, converting them to A-Z (and no spaces)
  • For every 227-letter stretch in each file, compare the A-Z frequency counts against the cipher’s frequency counts
  • Display all the exact (and very close) matches you find (though right now I have no feel for how many that would be)

That is, I’m wondering whether you might be able to use Project Gutenberg to brute force an answer to a challenge transposition cipher without actually knowing how the transposition works.

This shouldn’t actually take long to calculate, and would parallelise very well. Anybody want to give this a go?

A couple of days ago, I listened to a ten-minute online Somerton Man piece on Radio National Breakfast with Fran Kelly, basically because Fran had Gerry Feltus phoning in to give his tuppence worth. (Am I allowed to say that Gerry didn’t seem as Royal Sovereign H pencil-sharp as normal?)

As you’d expect, there wasn’t anything there of any great surprise or interest about the Somerton Man that you wouldn’t have picked up from even a cursory reading of Cipher Mysteries over the last few years. But the other person being interviewed – Fiona Ellis-Jones, who you may possibly remember as having been the host of the ABC’s five-part “The Somerton Man Mystery” podcast – did say one thing that I at least found interesting.

What she said (at 5:07) about the Somerton Man was this: that there were “three main theories: the love child theory; the fact that it could have been a black market racketeer; or perhaps a Russian spy“. Though this is basically rehashing her podcast tag line (“Was he a scorned lover? A black market racketeer? Or a spy?”), what struck me was that the whole black marketeer crim thing I’ve been pushing at for the last few years was suddenly in the top three.

Now, even though Fiona added that her own personal favourite theory was Derek Abbott’s whole love-child / spurned lover thang, it’s not exactly news that this has always seemed far too tidily romantic to me: all it’s lacking is a neat little bow on top, which is almost never how historical research actually works out. But the good news is that a DNA profile for the Somerton Man should make this the very first theory to be comprehensively disproved, all being well. :-p

As for the whole spy theory: apologies to John Ruffels etc, but if there’s an ounce of actual historical substance to that whole hopeful hoopla beyond “The Somerton Man is mysterious; spies are mysterious; therefore the dead guy must have been a spy“, I’ve yet to see it. Though it remains possible that the DNA match map will light up all across Russia, please excuse me if I seem less than utterly enchanted. Even vague familial DNA matches should be enough to rule out most of the exotic nonsense that some like to pass off as rock solid ‘fact’ (*choke* *cough* *cough*).

Moreover, if both those much-loved dominoes clatter to the floor, the question becomes: what other possibilities are we genuinely left with? Charles Mikkelsen (a favourite of Byron Deveson) remains ~vaguely~ possible, though it has to be said that Mikkelsen’s well-documented death at sea in 1940 does tend to spoil the party vibe there somewhat. Similarly, the 1953 death announcement for Horace Charles Reynolds that I (eventually) dug up doesn’t bode well for Somerton Man fans of a muttony disposition.

Might it be that the black marketeer theory might end up one of the very few realistic dominoes left standing before very long? Just thought I’d point that out… 😐

One Last Thing…

Something I noticed a few weeks ago was that even though I’ve posted 1490 blog posts on Cipher Mysteries since 2007-ish (originally as “Voynich News”), the times people have posted an actual link to anything I’ve posted are dwindlingly few. In fact, thanks to the magic of Google Search Console, I can tell you that Google knows of only 560 external links out there, many of which are repeated several times over. (“There may be many others but they haven’t been discarvard.“) Of those:

  • 113 are from labatorium.eus, all of which point to a page here on the Feynman challenge cipher (why?);
  • 89 are from voynich.ninja (mainly to Voynich-related pages);
  • 54 from blogspot.com blogs (most of which seem to be from numberworld.blogspot.com)
  • 35 from wordpress.com blogs (e.g. Koen’s herculeaf, Diane’s voynichrevisionist, and a handful of Rich’s proto57)
  • 20 each from voynichportal.com (thanks JKP) and voynichrevisionist.com (thanks Diane again)
  • 19 from reddit.com
  • 17 from scienceblogs.de (thanks Klaus)
  • 12 from zodiackillerciphers.com (thanks Dave O)

…while everything else is in single digits. How, then, has anybody ever found out about the black marketeer theory? Beats me.

Oh, and in case you’re interested, Cipher Mysteries’ pages include 7740 solid outbound links: which seems to imply I link roughly 20x more often outwards than everybody else combined links inwards. Perhaps it’s just me, but that statistic seems a bit sucky.

Just so you know how the Internet actually works.

A copy of Benedek Lang’s nice-looking book “The Rohonc Codex: Tracing a Historical Riddle” landed on my doormat this week, courtesy of The Penn State University Press (its publisher). Its back cover blurb promises that it “surveys the fascinating theories associated with the Codex“, and that it finishes up by “pointing to a possible solution to the enigma“.

Though I was already a fan of Benedek (his (2008) “Unlocked Books” sits on the bookshelf just behind me), it was clear within a few pages of this new book that his (formerly densely academic) writing style has opened out in the intervening decade and a half. So anyone with an interest in the mysterious Rohonc Codex’s strange writing and pointy-chinned Biblical chappies will quickly find themselves drawn in to his accessible and readable account.

Benedek also partially presents the book as a sort of ‘survivor’s account’ of the wave of obsession with the Rohonc Codex that washed over him for a few years (which he was also fortunate enough to get grants to pursue). Perhaps this is an inevitable consequence of diving deep into this kind of subject matter, a kind of cipher-y Locard’s Exchange Principle where a little bit of the object’s madness brushes off onto you, however hard you try to stay aloof from it.

Regardless, the book builds up and up in a long slow crescendo towards discussing Gabor Tokai and Levente Kiraly’s (claimed) solution of the Rohonc Codex, all the way to page 130 (where Lang mentions my 2018 blog post that remained somewhat skeptical about T&K’s 2018 Cryptologia article), where… the whole thing basically stops dead.

It should be no surprise that I found this unbelievably frustrating. In football terms, he played a perfect passing sequence to get in front of an open goal, but then chose to stand on the ball. I felt like a Brazilian commentator screaming at Lang to just knock it in, KNOCK IT IN: but instead he just stood there… and then the final whistle blew.

Whereas previously I described Tokai and Kiraly’s 2018 article as a game of two halves (i.e. their codicology and block analysis was exemplary, but everything they tried to build on top of that felt a bit like a house of cards), Lang’s book feels more like just a first half. He comes across as almost in awe of Tokai and Kiraly’s work (e.g. he mentions on p.125 that Tokai has all but memorized the Rohonc Codex’s 450 pages, memorized it, I tells ya); and yet seems oddly unable to explain in print exactly what it is about their work he is so convinced by.

For me, one really epic diagram (fig. 23, p.126) taken from Kiraly’s (2011/2012) paper in Theologiai Szemle 54 exemplifies both the best and the most frustrating aspects of Lang’s book. This is because it highlights the textual wrapper that Kiraly used to infer the presence of a number system; yet also demonstrates the shortcomings of that same inferred number system but in a tiny font that is just about at the print’s limit of readability.

Essentially, that was the point that I desperately hoped Benedek would unpack the Rohonc’s claimed number system (in many ways this is a key technical aspect of Tokai and Kiraly’s work, because numbers are often an exploitable weakness of cipher systems), to make it all more tangible and understandable to his own readers (including me).

However, I can’t shift the nagging suspicion that Lang shares many of the same reservations that I had back in 2018 (e.g. his discussion of problems with the text on p.129 is very much in the same vein), but that he didn’t want to rock the boat by being negative about such outstanding guys as Tokai and Kiraly. All the same, bracketing contentious issues doesn’t actually make them go away, and if anything doing so in a book does one’s readers a disservice.

As far as it goes, then, this is a great little book on the Rohonc Codex which I’m happy to recommend for every cipher bookshelf: but quite why Lang didn’t tap the ball over the goal line still remains a mystery to me.

As mentioned in a fair bit of Australia’s press, the exhumation of the Somerton Man has begun in West Terrace in the last 24 hours, with all the normal shots of PPE, tents, and mini-diggers accompanying the reports.

Once the FSSA have processed the body (in whatever parlous state it’s in) and extracted the man’s full DNA profile, the forensic investigation will doubtless continue spinning along for several weeks (e.g. carrying out physical analyses to determine the cause of his death), while the genealogists kick into the kind of high-octane action you’d expect. (I confidently predict “Tamam Shud: The Movie” will cast Vin Diesel as one of the genealogy team, you heard it here first.)

Then, with his identity established (hopefully), the properly fun part will begin: working out what was going on in November 1948, and fitting this with the pieces of the puzzle we know already into a full historical reconstruction.

Of course, the ultimate Cipher Mysteries prize in this whole endeavour would be a decryption of the mysterious note found imprinted on the back of the W&T Rubaiyat that was (believed to be) linked to the dead man. My suspicion, however, is that even knowing everything there is to know about the Somerton Man may still not make this possible.

Still, it’s clear that interesting times are now upon us, particularly for those people who have been promoting nutty Somerton Man theories for so many years. Perhaps we will even see some of them ‘upgrade’ their theories into denialist body-swap theories, i.e. “it’s the right DNA but the wrong body”. Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition…

While looking for lists of people “condamne a mort” in the tumult of 1871 France, I stumbled upon a list of 34 convicts who had escaped from France’s Pacific prisons in Nouvelle-Caledonie prior to 1876. (Which was what I had actually hoped to find, but hadn’t believed my archival luck was strong enough to do so.)

Anyway, the table I found in the Journal officiel de la Republique francaise, 17 Janvier 1876, p.19 (thanks to retronews.fr) was a pretty good starting point. However, according to this 2010 article by Pierre-Henri Zaidman, it was incomplete. For example, in January 1872, the minister for overseas affairs wrote that “jusqu’à présent trois évasions seulement ont été accomplies avec succès“, and Zaidman has no names for those three. (Though I’m guessing these were Villin, Patras, and Marsay.)

Even though I started by using (paywalled) filae.com to find individual bagnard’s records, I also subsequently found a (free) online database (courtesy of the Archive Nationales d’outre-mer) that allows you to search the same records (e.g. by searching the ‘Notes’ field for “evade”). This was very helpful, and allowed me to extend the search backwards by a few years.

Finally, I also found “L’ Archipel des forçats: Histoire du bagne de Nouvelle-Calédonie (1863-1931)” by Louis-José Barbançon, which is an excellent resource.

The List of Escaped Convicts

Barbançon says (p.202) that 25 convicts were thought to have escaped during 1866-1870, and 184 during 1871-1880, though I believe these figures includes les disparus.

All the same, I should point out that the length of the list below is perhaps slightly deceptive. For example, it seems certain that the entire group with Dr Paul Rastoul on 12 Mar 1875 drowned when their boat hit the reefs off l’île d’Ouen. So, while they did technically escape, it can hardly be said that they got away. 🙁

Barbançon discusses this at some length: had these convicts escaped or merely, ummm, disappeared? The reaction of the prison authorities seems to have been little more than a collective Gallic shrug: either way, such people were no longer their responsibility.

  • 07 Jan 1866
  • Louis Charles Benoni Villin (no prison record, but he seems to have subsequently married Marie Damariste Phalenie Bouguignon on 06 Mar 1883 in Freniches)
  • 12 May 1867
  • Etienne Lonjarret (b. 19 Jul 1833)
  • Auguste Alexandre Gence (b. 29 Sep 1837) (but appears to have died in Paris in 1887?)
  • Francois Manipoud (b. 1829), fratricide
  • Francois Marion (Marion’s body was the only one of the four that was found)
  • 17 Jul 1867
  • Joseph Patras (b. 19 Jul 1843), murder
  • 27 Aug 1869
  • Pierre Marsay (b. 22 Aug 1829)
  • 6 May 1873
  • Isidore Petit (b. 12 Oct 1840)
  • 9 Nov 1873
  • Jules Deslandes, 29 years old, “tourneur-repousseur” (and Communard)
  • 3 Jan 1874
  • Edmond Moriceau (b. 25 Mar 1837), the notes say he was supposed to have “parti pour Sydney”, but also that he died 4 May 1879?
  • 7 Jan 1874
  • Paul Robin 1837-1912
  • 27 Jan 1874
  • Two (unnamed?) convicts escaped (according to Zaidman)
  • 20 Mar 1874
  • Paschal Jean Francois Grousset 1844-1909 [politician, journalist, translator and science fiction writer] wrote “Les condamnés politiques en Nouvelle-Calédonie” (1876) with Francois Jourde
  • Olivier Pain 1845-1884 [journalist]
  • Victor Henri Rochefort de Lucay 1831-1913 [Marquis de Rochefort-Luçay, see “Henri Rochefort : déportation et évasion d’un polémiste” (2004) Joël Dauphiné]
  • Francois Jourde 1843-1893 (wrote “Souvenirs D’Un Membre de La Commune“)
  • Achille Ballière 1840-1905 (architect, wrote “La Déportation de 1871: Souvenirs d’un Évadé de Nouméa“)
  • Charles Bastien
  • Charles Grantille (perhaps Grandthille?)
  • 23 May 1874
  • Francois Coutouby, 37 years old, “agent d’affaires et marchand de vin”
  • 20 Jan 1875
  • Ernest Harenger, 37 years old, “cordonnier, ancien militaire” (believed drowned during an attempted escape)
  • 12 Mar 1875
  • Eugène Barthélemy (b. 17 Sep 1847)
  • Martin Louis Berger (b. 12 Oct 1841)
  • François Palma (b. 02 Jun 1840)
  • Michel Eugene Galut (b. 09 Mar 1841)
  • Vincent Guigue (FR ANOM COL H 84)
  • Alexandre Eugene Gilbert (FR ANOM COL H 82)
  • Charles Auguste Emile Demoulin (b. 30 Aug 1851)
  • Pierre-Marie Alexandre Masson (b. 31 Jan 1847)
  • Mathieu Chabrouty (b. 13 May 1853)
  • Marcel Julien Roussel (b. 01 Apr 1850)
  • Louis Auguste Leblant (b. 30 Jan 1838)
  • Henri Gaston Edat (b. 21 Feb 1854)
  • Louis Garnier [no mention of an escapee by this name in the prison files, though convict Louis Hubert Garnier died in hospital in 1875?]
  • Jean Savy (b. 15 Sep 1838)
  • Dr Paul Emile Bethelemy Philemon Rastoul (b. 01 Oct 1835)
  • Auguste Ledru (b. 22 Jun 1829)
  • Jean Antoine Auguste Saurel (b. 06 Dec 1842)
  • HippoIyte Jules Sauvé (b. 07 Sep 1839)
  • Prosper Gaspard Ephege Adam (b. 16 Jan 1848)
  • Edouard Duchesne (b. 06 Dec 1842)
  • 20 Jun 1875 — (group landed at Wide Bay near Maryborough, all given an amnesty in 1879)
  • Emile Charles Paty (b. 16 Nov 1842)
  • François Décombes (b. 11 Mar 1833)
  • Laurent Brissard (b. 09 Jul 1845)
  • Pierre Graillot (b. 08 Jan 1851)
  • Alexandre Joseph Rousseau (b. 02 Jul 1841)
  • 4 Jul 1875
  • Louis Jean Baptiste Merchez (b. 04 Mar 1842) [Note that he appears to have had a son Paul Henri Merchez in 1886 with his wife Zaire Irma Hennion (b.1846)]
  • Eugene Sellier (Aged 37 in 1874)
  • 10 Jul 1875
  • Gilles Etienne Excoffier (b. 13 Nov 1843), journalier, house-breaker [Appears to have died in 1917]
  • 27 Oct 1875
  • Claude Faury (b. Jan 1843)
  • 9 Nov 1875
  • Adolphe Eugene Fabret (aged 41 in 1874)
  • Jevin (?)
  • Denis Louis Roch Siblanc (aged 29 in 1873))
  • Martin (?)
  • Barrely (?)

More for your Manet…

Finally, just because I like to spoil you, here’s Manet’s painting of Henri Rochefort and his five fellow Communard escapees rowing from Nouvelle-Caledonie to Australia.