Another day, another Voynich theory to add to the list of theories. Today’s one (courtesy of Rolando Hernandez Rivero) proposes that the VMs is written in old Spanish, though with some Latin and English words thrown into the mix. Rolando also asserts that [what he calls] Hand 1 is “scatterbrained” and has many errors, while [what he calls] Hand 2 is a bit more focused. Plants and stars indicate some (unspecified) decoding feature based on the number of leaves or the number of points. The cipher “jumps” many times.

OK, I’ll admit it: though I can read a little Spanish, I’m struggling here. The webpage comprises two sentences, a short 4-line one and a huge 30-line one: it’s basically a sequence of thoughts, a bit like a 5-page PowerPoint presentation converted to plain text. Google Translate and FreeTranslation.com made no more sense of it than I did.

Can anyone translate or summarise this any better?

UPDATE: as the post has mysteriously dropped off the Internet in the last few days, here (courtesy of Google’s cache) is what it originally said:

Este manuscrito esta cifrado con el idioma de HISPANIA, (antiguo idioma que había en España, antes del castellano, de Don Miguel de Cervantes y Saavedra que tomo de los sonidos Árabes mientras dominaban en la mitad de la península Ibérica por 800 a y hasta ahora se suman mas de 4500 palabras).

También tiene latín y algunas palabras inglesas, mas no les podré adelantar mucho ni como esta cifrado porque tiene muchos modelos, hasta ahora lo que contiene, no es de mucho interés no revela mucho en comparación con la mano numero 1 a la de la mano numero 2, y si fueron dos los que contribuyeron a este manuscrito tan controversial y de tanto tiempo sin poderlo descifrar, el manuscrito tiene cosas interesantes de parte de la mano numero 2, que no releva cosas de mayor envergadura, hasta ahora lo que he descifrado no tiene mucha relevancia, solo recetas que aparenta ser de brujos y curanderos, de aquellos tiempos, recetas de plantas que existían bajo el cuidado de nomos y otras entidades o elementales, que por el temor a la inquisición la cifraron y clasificaron, para protegerla, mas estaban en manos de quienes la usaban solamente, la mano numero 1 es incongruente, regada y alocada con muchos fallos y la 2 mas centrada en su conocimiento, ambas muy difícil de descifrar, aparenta tener mas de 4 puños de letras y también es un código muy individual, saltan muchas veces de código, (imposibilita avanzar), la carta astral significa simbología de días y noches, no son meses, cubriendo 13 horas, el sol esta pintado como centro y luna a la vez, esto esta en el código privado, aun sin descifrar, (nueve), las estrellas y los dibujos son números también y guía para los códigos que encierran, hasta sus hojas y puntas de estrellas dicen la cantidad que necesitan saber, al igual que las ninfas, flores y puntas de tallos, esas palabras son trocadas como en el sistema de comunicación, nunca podrán hacer una palabra de ellas, hay varias letras que no se utilizan porque estaban catalogadas como de mala suerte o divisorias, por poner un ejemplo la b, (aparenta que existiera otro código troking y que allí si se usaran estas letras camufladas), las que señalaran el 11, numero intocable, mas si se usaba el 13 normalmente, también atrás he pintado las sombras que existen y hay un dibujo de apariencia de nomo o como se vestía Robin el de la manzana y la flecha, y ataras hay como un bosque y adelante aparecen como si fueran animales y bichos de apariencia raros, esto es por ahora para ayudar a los que están queriendo descifrar, el manuscrito voynich.

UPDATE #2: Enrique Joven (whose forthcoming Voynich novel “The Castle of the Stars” I eagerly await) reassures me that this does indeed make little or no sense at all. So now you know!

UPDATE #3: Dana Scott kindly offers up the following translation (somewhat modified to make it more closely approximate intelligibility) – however, he would gladly welcome suggestions as to what the importance/meaning of “11” and “13” are in the final section.

 

 

This manuscript is inscribed in the language of SPAIN, (an ancient tongue that existed in Spain, before Castillian, the language of Sir Michael of Cervantes and Saavedra that drew its phonetics from Arabic at a time when it covered the entire middle peninsula of the Iberian peninsula, around 800 AD, and which today has risen to more than 4500 words. It also contains Latin and some English words, what more I do not have much insight to discern. Nor do I know how this manuscript is inscribed, because it has many forms. Until now what it contains, is not of much interest. Nor does it reveal much when comparing the hand of the first scribe to that of the second scribe. And if there were two scribes who contributed to this controversial manuscript, which for such a long time has remained untranslated, the manuscript contains curious entries on the part of the second scribe, that do not reveal items of major importance. Until now that which I have deciphered does not contain much that seems of interest, only recipes that appear to be for the witches and physicians of those times, recipes of plants that existed under the care of gnomes and other entities or elements, that for the fear of the inquisition it was enciphered and classified, to protect it. What’s more, these secrets were only concealed in the hands of those who used them.

The first scribe is incongruent, rigid and imprecise with many mistakes. The second scribe is more centered in his understanding. Both hands are very difficult to decipher, apparently have more than 4 points of letters and also are very individual (unique) codifiers, which often seem to jump out many timesfrom the codex, (which makes it impossible for us to gain further insight into the manuscript).

The astral text signifies the symbology of days and nights (they are not months) covering 13 hours. The sun is painted at the center of the folio, as is the moon at times. This is in the private codex, though without decipherment, (nine). The stars and the drawings are numbers also, and a guide for the codices that enclose it. Even its leaves and the points of stars indicate the quantity that they need to know. Equally, the nymphs, the flowers, and other points of detail, are words etched in the system of communication. I could never make out a single word of them.

There are various letters that are not used because they are catalogues, such as of bad luck or spells, to put in for example the b. It appears that there exits another codex extant and that there is where it did use these camouflaged letters.

Those that were shown the 11 untouchable numbers would have more if 13 were used normally (unclear sentence; may reference different set of numbers, folios, or codexes?).

Also, in the background (where?), I find painted shadows that exist, and there is a drawing that appears to be a gnome, or how Robin dressed him of the apple and the arrow (William Tell?). In the background there is what appears to be a bosque and in the front it appears as if there were animals and vermin rare in appearance. This is what I have for now to help those who are wanting to decipher, the Voynich manuscript.

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

The Voynich Manuscript belongs to an elite club of mysterious and as-yet-unread historical artefacts. But might this club be about to lose a member?

An article in the July-August 2008 edition of the archaeology journal Minerva (as reported by the Times) declares that the Phaistos Disc may well be a hoax. Having already debunked a number of questionable artefacts in the past, Jerome Eisenberg is well-placed to spot fakes: he now suggests that the Italian archaeologist Luigi Pernier did not discover it in 1908 in the Minoan palace of Phaistos on Crete, so much as plant it there, to try to keep up with the stream of Cretan discoveries being made at the time by Sir Arthur Evans and Federico Halbherr.

As evidence for a hoax, Eisenberg points to the (implausibly) perfect uniformity of the “pancake” with its (implausibly) cleanly cut edge, together with the (implausible) movable-type-style stamping.

As evidence against, other people point to similarities between the Phaistos Disc and the marks on the Arkalochori Axe, as well as the subtle similarities between Phaistosese and Linear A.

It’s a Gordian knot, one which only a sharpened knife can untie satisfactorily: best of all would be a non-destructive thermoluminescence test, to determine when the object was fired – and if it was fired circa 1908, that would be the end of that.

What do I think? Having been to Crete for my own close look at the Phaistos Disc in the museum (and yes, I bought a reproduction home, it’s a bit touristy but what the hey), I have to say I’m far from convinced it’s a hoax. What particularly intrigued me was the place where the reproduction and the original differed – around the rim. You see, if you look really closely at the rim, you can see traces of marks that appear to have been worn away – yet (as far as I know) these marks have not been transcribed or reproduced anywhere.

At the time, this seemed to me to be the topmost portion of an entire iceberg of detail. In the same way that you can often learn more from the marginalia than the text, here I suspect that you can learn more about the Phaistos Disc from its rim than from its stamped letters. What seem to be unique features may well turn out to be improvised solutions to problems specific to the particular function that the disc performed. But that’s another story!

For more discussion (including some comments from Jerome Eisenberg himself), there’s a useful page here. You might also be interested to see this wonderful page full of (mostly) mad Phaistos Disc / Phaistos Disk theories, which rather puts my list of Voynich theories to shame. Oh well!

Or rather, when does “too much” suddenly become “much too much“?

My old friend Gary Liddon (Hi Gaz!) used to find great amusement in finding (and sometimes purposely going out of his way to create) examples of “much too much”, which he took to mean “so far ‘too much’ that it becomes comic (or tragic)“.

As far as the Voynich Manuscript goes, Marke Fincher’s conclusion (that the VMs’ plaintext has been significantly disrupted) strongly indicates that Voynichese hasn’t just been enciphered, it has been encrypted as well: to me, this all seems symptomatic of an overly-cerebral paranoia that has gone far too far, to the point of both comedy and tragedy.

Yes, the VMs is indeed much too much.

It shouldn’t really be news, but journalism lecturer Max McCoy (author of the “Indiana Jones and the Philosopher’s Stone” novel) dropped a link to my review into his blog, calling (and then apologizing for having called) Voynich News “geeky”. Gee, how should I retaliate? Perhaps I’ll have to call him “cheeky” for quoting 75% of my review in his posting, but then apologize for doing so. :-p

Regardless, it’s nice to get a response: blogging can be somewhat dispiriting, mainly from the resounding lack of feedback (this blog gets about 1 comment for every 10 posts, which is perhaps a little bit low). Publishers are more interested in the Times Literary Supplement and/or Richard & Judy, and rarely send bloggers review copies; journalists hate bloggers (basically, for undercutting them); academics seem wary of bloggers to the point of enforced mutism; while bloggers are mainly courted by other bloggers working on their PageRank.

Or maybe people are a bit scared of me, because I take in so many different types of stuff and try to make sense of them all as a whole, in an era when people enjoy the cubicle comfort of specialized knowledge.

Or perhaps I produce closed readings which people are not interested enough in to feel the urge to pass any comment on?

Or might I be the only person that finds this stuff interesting?

Another day, another curiously contentful blog to set me thinking: this time it’s Alterati, “The Inside Scoop on The Outside Culture”, and specifically a two-part article there from October 2007 entitled “The Yellow Sign: Manuscripts, Codices, and Grimoires“.

In Part 1, the discussion swoops from our old friend the Codex Seraphinianus (yet again), to Borges’ Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius, to Newbold’s claimed microscopic writing in the VMs, and then on to a powerful idea: that “a void, the right void, will spontaneously generate a stop-gap if there’s enough market pressure“, i.e. given sufficient market demand to scratch an itch, people will start selling backscratchers.

Or perhaps ideas manifest themselves – the more real an idea is the quicker it pops into existence in library-space […]. I still think of grimoires as notes from a journey rather than road maps but I’m now also starting to think of these books as emergent properties of a weird market pressure which demands sources for belief systems“: i.e. given sufficient ‘market demand’ for a religion, books claiming to be the sources of those religions will spontaneously appear.

Here, I suspect the Alterati blogger is thinking about the legend surrounding the Codex Gigas (because that’s what he goes on to discuss), but that seems a little dubious: just about all of the Codex Gigas is mundane, if not actually dull (there’s a set of hi-res scans here, the famous devil picture is on p.290, but big deal, I say). However, it’s actually far closer to the truth with The Grand Grimoire, which is supposed to date to 1522 but which seems to scratch a peculiarly 19th century itch.

In Part 2, the focus shifts to Roman Polanski’s The Ninth Gate, a film I really enjoyed but thought no more than a piece of celluloid mythmaking, a seductive summoning-up of the taste of the Devil’s sulphurous kiss to titillate and amuse. However, I had no idea at all that it was based upon a book – The Club Dumas by Arturo Perez-Reverte. Fascinating stuff! (And yes, I’ve already ordered myself a copy). There’s also a set of the engravings from the film online.

After various idle speculations on the Lovecraftian mythos, our Alterati blogger friend wonders whether the mysterious roving figure of Corso (the book dealer / detective in The Ninth Gate / Club Dumas) is actually based on Wilfrid Voynich. Hmmm… Wilfrid Voynich, as played by Johnny Depp? It’s fairly sublime (I get more of a David Suchet vibe): but perhaps I’m wrong…


I think you’ll have to decide for yourself. 🙂

I try to pick up on everything VMs-related out there, and I liked comics as a kid (Marvel not DC, if you’re askin’): so it came as a nice surprise to find the Voynich Manuscript popping up on the edges of the comics world.

According to this page on his own website, satirical graphics novel author Steve Aylett placed the VMs “in the Juice Museum” (a location in “The Velocity Gospel”, #2 in his Accomplice series), as well as “in Eddie Gamete’s library in Slaughtermatic“. Sadly, thanks to H.G.Wells, David Bowie, Peter Frampton, Topper Headon, and Aleister Crowley, Steve’s unlikely to ever make it into the list of Five Most Famous People From Bromley: but I’m sure he’ll do OK for himself all the same. 😮

Another comics blogger has the VMs on the brain, mentioning it in a nice little article on the rediscovery of a full-length print of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (it mentions the funky Superman’s Metropolis story, too), as well as in an article on its own.

But then again, I suppose the Codex Seraphinianus is very much like a graphic novel in its own odd way, and that’s arguably not so very far from the VMs: if you can’t read the text, all you have left is the pictures, right? John C commented that the Codex Seraphinianus “most closely resembles European fantasy works like those one sees from Roland Topor and various bande desinée artists“: but to be honest, I’m pretty sure that Serafini was simply trying to appropriate (and undermine) the visual tropes of instruction manuals, rather than align himself with any art movement or style.

Finally (and apropos of nothing, I just thought you might like it), here – courtesy of yesbutnobutyes.com – is a classic Captain America frame, that got terribly, terribly lost in the translation to, erm, English. Enjoy!

While reading up on the John Titor phenomenon (which Benjamin Kerstein based his Josef6 novel upon), I came across some other great modern hoaxes / self-deceptive phenomena I hadn’t previously been aware of. I decided to briefly explore these, in case I could find parallels I could find with the Voynich Manuscript (thanks to Gordon Rugg, the notion of a “Voynich hoax” has become well entrenched in VMs commentary).

First up is The Case of Kirk Allen from the (somewhat worryingly named) Brainsturbator blog, who in turn took it from Jacques Vallee’s book “Revelations”. This tells the story of a research scientist who compiled a gargantuan mass (200 chapters, 82 scale maps, 61 architectural sketches, 12 genealogical tables, 306 drawings etc) of highly detailed documents that somehow told of his epic life in space – and the psychologist in Baltimore who took on his case.

It’s all fascinatingly delusional stuff, particularly in the way that the psychologist had to sort himself out after having sorted out his patient. The Brainsturbator blogger intersperses the text with small images from the Codex Seraphinianus, whose own unhinged brand of otherworldiness fits the whole tale quite well.

Some have claimed that the Voynich Manuscript is this kind of an object (though meaningless), a kind of cursed intellectual science fiction where the form takes over the content, and where the writing takes over the writer (though several hundred years before Science Fiction became an actual genre, of course). But I’m not convinced: Kirk Allen’s need was for a narrative object to make sense of his life. Though he wrote some sections in his own private shorthand, this was a very secondary aspect of the whole fantasy: he needed to write it in order to link all his delusions together by bringing them all to the surface, not to hide them from himself.

In fact, his whole work was a kind of ‘proto-therapy’, and so ultimately all that the psychiatrist Dr Lindner did was to help steer Kirk Allen towards the logical completion of his workj, at which point its fragility would be revealed and it would all fall away. Though this is what happened, it did take a looooong time.

The second example is UMMO (also from our Brainsturbator friend), a weird European UFO cult that was started as a kind of surreal practical joke by Spaniard Jose Luis Jordan Pena, pretending that Earth had visitors from the Planet UMMO. Thanks to a bit of physics trickery (mainly triboluminescence), many people were taken in by the carefully staged demonstrations of communication with these aliens.

And nobody would have been any wiser, had not one particular crazy sect called “Edelweiss” begun to brand their children with the UMMO emblem: at which point Pena decided that enough was enough, and so ‘fessed up to the whole thing.

The UMMO emblem (from an Italian site)

 

Now this, like the John Titor phenomenon, was a well-executed hoax, and – given that it required many more people to collaborate over a period of decades to achieve its rather cheeky result – was perhaps even more special.

Was the Voynich Manuscript a hoax? From reading about these actual hoaxes, I’m particularly struck by their storytelling aspect: at each stage, you can say whatever you like, as long you give yourself enough “wriggle room” to embellish and extend in the future. In fact, you can view them as a kind of improvisational storytelling, where the hoaxer picks up the threads of the hoaxee’s disbelief and actively weaves them back into the fabric.

In business school terms, this is a kind of non-formally planned strategy that is interactive, almost to the point of resembling a game: hence the parallels (I’m thinking mainly of UMMO and Dan Burisch here) that emerge with role-playing games. Whereas if you try to impose a hoaxing explanation on top of the Voynich, you pretty much have to accept that its type of game was role-played purely by the maker, without anyone else ever looking at it.

Thirdly, there is the whole Urantia Book phenomenon, which seems to be a kind of strange fake-science channeling thing. This too wove details and objections from the world into a kind of strange religious-like fabric of immense size. Could the VMs contain channelled semi-religious writings, a kind of Renaissance halfway-house between Hildegard of Bingen and the Urantia Book? Again, it doesn’t seem to me to satisfy the need for a narrative explanation, which seems to me to be best (and most powerfully) described as a fabrication, where a collection of unconnected threads are iteratively woven into a single “explanatory fabric”.

And so we come back to the notion of a delusional internal architecture behind the VMs, more like Kirk Allen’s magnum opus: but one where the writer is apparently trying to make something difficult for himself/herself rather than something helpful. But how could that form the basis of a better explanation of the Voynich than “a cipher we cannot yet break”?

I suppose people like Rugg have made hoaxing an intellectual fashion item, a postmodern superficiality that can be cleverly namedropped at parties – oh, didn’t you hear that it’s meaningless? Yet to make this leap of faithlessness, you have to abandon any pretence at trying to read the history of the object, and discard any idea of reconstructing the psychology (or indeed the psychopathy) patiently assembling a complex thing for its own rational reasons. But Rugg’s hoax account seems like a shallow, unidimensional tack to take: sorry, but humans are complex entities, and nothing human is ever that simple.

I’ve been debating giving a talk on the Voynich Manuscript at Treadwell’s, but I keep coming back to the same problem – what angle should I take?

For me, while its content is occulted (“hidden”), it’s not really an occult object per se. (Well, apart from the magic circles, and they were pretty mainstream natural magic circa 1450). And it’s neither religious, nor sacrilegious, nor nonsensical, nor a conspiracy, nor a hoax.

In short, if some well-meaning rationalist has stripped away the terror, the fantasies, the heresies, the necromancy, the madness and the delusion, would anyone want to hear about that which remains – an object that is just ordinary (albeit extraordinarily well disguised)?

And similarly: in the whole process of re-writing my book, the hardest chapter to tackle has been (and continues to be) the very first chapter: yet in the first edition, this was the easiest (probably because it was mainly a high-speed roll-call of the VMs’ post-1600 history).

These days, I’m reluctant to waste any of my readers’ time on any of the could-be might-be nonsense that most VMs writers (such as Kennedy and Churchill, D’Imperio to a large degree, and the Wikipedia entry almost entirely) tend to fill their entire works with. Rather, my interest lies in the dogged hunt for the-thing-that-the-VMs-is, whatever it turns out to be – and that’s the quest I want to take my readers on, too.

And so in the revised first edition, Chapter 1 will have almost no pussyfooting provenance, but will instead launch straight into the very specific art history evidence that places the VMs at a certain place and time – Northern Italy circa 1450.

And so in many ways, I’d like to run my talk just about the art history of the VMs (like a try-out of Chapter One) – but in other ways, perhaps I should talk about the VMs’ curious cultural channelers (such as Dan Burisch, Terence McKenna, Colin Wilson, David Icke, and so on) whose streams/dreams sometimes tend to hog this blog.

I can’t do both at the same time – but which should I do? What do you think?

When the Voynich Manuscript misdecipherer William Romaine Newbold died, his friend & colleague Roland Grubb Kent decided to bring all his late friend’s notes together into a book: this was published in 1928 by the University of Philadelphia Press under the title “The Cipher of Roger Bacon”. If you’d like your own copy, Kessinger sell a modern print-on-demand reproduction of it, with quite reasonable quality pictures (apart from the awful picture of Newbold right at the start).

And it was from Newbold’s and Kent’s book that the story of the modern missing pages sprang.

You see, there’s an innocuous-looking table in page 45’s footnote 2 that describes the physical make-up of the manuscript: in particular, it lists the first (what we would now call the “Herbal”) section (“Part I. Botanical, ff. 1-11, 13-66″) as having 65 folios (“leaves”), with 125 drawings and 5 text-only pages.

However, the manuscript as now owned by the Beinecke only has 59 leaves: Rene Zandbergen’s page on this lists folios 12, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, and 64 as missing. Might folios 59 to 64 (at the centre of a quire) have gone missing in the 20th century, sometime between Newbold examining them and being given to the Beinecke by Hans Kraus? If so, might Newbold have had any reproductions of them?

While researching my book, en route to New Haven I stayed with some old friends near Philadelphia: and so used the opportunity to drop by the University of Pennsylvania’s archives, which I happened to know held several boxes of Newbold’s records. At last, I thought, I would be able to see if these missing pages might be there.

The good news was that the set of photostats Wilfrid Voynich had given Newbold were still there: yet the reproduction of the Herbal section contained precisely the same pages as we see nowadays – the same pages that are missing now were missing then.

So what actually happened? Simply, I’m reasonably sure that the table on page 45 was miscopied from an intermediate handwritten count, and that Newbold or Kent (whichever of the two) just got it wrong. The missing folios were long gone, decades (probably centuries) before Wilfrid Voynich bought it in 1912.

I suspect that the folio numbers were added between 1580 and 1600, around the time that the manuscript was rebound into its current order and repainted (probably to gain a higher price): and that many (if not all) of the missing pages-as-numbered were sent by George Baresch to Athanasius Kircher, as per the correspondence.

Perhaps Kircher’s collection of cipher notes will turn up one day (which would be very nice), and will turn out to contain many/all of these missing pages: but perhaps it is safer to assume that somewhere along the way, some well-meaning Jesuit administrator destroyed them – after all, something you can’t read surely has no value?

A few days ago, my wife suggested that the plant depicted on f36r might be a variety of geranium: on a hunch, I thought I’d compare it with the plants in Fuchs’ famous herbal – and Google quite unexpectedly directed me to a museum in Tuscany.

You see, in 2002 the Aboca Museum in Sansepolcro embarked upon an ambitious programme to bring together, to document, and even to publish its own books on the history of herbal medicine in Tuscany. It even has an online virtual tour (in both English and Italian) of its various collections of herbal-/apothecary-related artefacts (such as maiolica, pestles and mortars, books), though I’d recommend broadband. (I can’t stand their background saxophone music, though, sorry!)

For history lovers, they have also put scans of a number of herbals. Here I’m interested in their online browsable copy of Leonhard Fuchs’ Great Herbal (“De historia stirpium”), though only in 72dpi resolution (boo!). Handily, though, this is searchable by keyword: and for “geranium”, you find that Fuchs included drawings of six varieties of geranium (“geranion” in Greek) on plates 204-209. I pasted the images side by side so that I could compare them properly: this is what it looks like (be warned if you click on it, it’s a 3000-pixel-wide image!)


I think that the best match by far is the third plate (plate 206, “Geranium Tertium”, or “Ruprechtskraut”), as this has a similar curious rootball and a hairy lump” (the crane’s bill, I believe!) just beneath each flower. I put this side-by-side along with a picture of the plant on my neighbour’s front step (thanks Alex!) and the Beinecke’s scan of f36r: and now I’m pretty sold on the idea that this is indeed a geranium (thanks Julie!)

There’s another version from the Biblioteca Riccardiana here, and also an uncoloured version of Fuchs’ plate in Yale’s medical library here (on the left).

It is thought that Fuchs’ “Geranium Tertium” corresponds to the “Geranion Eteron” in Book Three (Roots) of Dioscorides. There, Section 3-131 says:-

“Geranium has a jagged leaf similar to anemone but longer; a root somewhat round, sweet when eaten. A teaspoonful of a decoction (taken as a drink in wine) dissolves swellings of the vulva. It has slender little downy stalks two feet long; leaves like mallow; and on the tops of the wings certain abnormal growths looking upward (like the heads of cranes with the beaks, or the teeth of dogs), but there is no use for it in medicine. It is also called pelonitis, trica, or geranogeron, the Romans call it echinaster, the Africans iesce; it is also called alterum geranium by some, but others call it oxyphyllon, mertryx, myrrhis cardamomum, or origanum. The Magi call it hierobryncas, the Romans, pulmonia, some, cicotria, some, herba gruina, and the Africans, ienk.”

What do you think?