What is an Internet troll?

internet-troll-small

To me, an Internet troll is anyone who puts up posts, pages, or comments (a) unsupported by evidence, (b) openly hateful, and (c) specifically designed to generate an emotional response in a small subset of readers (often a specific individual). Hence the three central pillars of trolldom are: fake, hate, and bait.

Unfortunately, from the point of view of a comment moderator, the “fake” part of this trio is very hard (and extraordinarily time-consuming) to judge, given that roughly 90% of what gets posted on the Internet is already fake, imagined, or outright misinterpreted.

As a result of this, all I can reasonably do (as a moderator) is try to reduce the “hate” and “bait” parts. And goodness knows there’s plenty of both of those about as well.

This policy is just about as good as it gets for a blog that has already had 13,000 or so visitor comments to moderate and for a blog moderator who has just a single lifetime in which to moderate those comments.

Moderation Policy

Hateful: if (in my judgement) a comment is openly abusive and/or hateful, I moderate it out, full stop.

Sexism: I include sexist and homophobic comments in the category of “hateful”.

Racism: I include racist comments in the category of “hateful”.

Religion: I include anti-religious comments in the category of “hateful”.

Swearing: note that I tend to replace blasphemies (particularly multiply-strung-together blasphemies) with “[swear]” or similar, mainly to send a signal to the commenter about the futility of swearing.

Response Policy

In the unlikely case that you (the reader) think I have moderated / allowed a comment that is abusive and/or hateful, please email a link to it to me (nickpelling at nickpelling dot com) straight away, and I will – almost always – remove that comment. However, what I will definitely not do is what Pete Bowes recently suggested on his site:

If you (Pelling) would take the trouble to research your own site and collect the IP addresses of the trolls who collected every time Xlamb made a contribution to one of your threads I would be in a position to match them with the IP addresses of the abusers who have threatened me (online) and those who threatened Xlamb through the email system.

What is wrong with this? Simply that individuals such as Pete Bowes are neither the Internet police nor even Chuck Norris: the task of cross-referencing IP addresses should always fall to the police, not to individual online vigilantes.

So once you have opened a case with your local police force, please email me the case reference the police give you and I will happily pass on IP addresses, dates and any other details I have relating to that/those commenter(s) directly to them.

Yes, a positively huge thank you to the London Fortean Society for having me along for one of their evenings. I had a lot of fun covering the Voynich Manuscript and I hope the 100-strong audience managed to walk away with a reasonable feel for what I find entertaining, intriguing and frustrating about it.

What I particularly appreciated was that when (during the Q-and-A section) anyone right at the back asked a question, the entire room went pin-drop quiet so that everyone could hear what was being said. That’s exactly the kind of audience every speaker would like to have. And the questions were really good too!

Oddly enough, I’d never given a talk on the Voynich Manuscript to non-specialists before, so the evening also offered me a nice opportunity to cover a lot of material that I’d thought about over the years but hadn’t really found a way of presenting in Cipher Mysteries.

At the same time, I did deliberately steer well away from Voynich theories (and indeed from almost all Voynich theorists): and noted that as time has gone by, my interest in (and desire to try to answer) any historical question that involves the word “why” has ended up so close to zero that you’d need Roger Bacon’s non-existent microscope to tell the two apart. (Frankly, I find trying to work out what genuinely happened more than difficult enough for me.)

As a salutory tale of what happens when Voynich theories go really bad, all I can really do is point to Dan Burisch and his wonderfully recursive timelines, catastrophes, J-Rods, DNA inventions, etc – here, here, here, and finally here.

Back in the present, the big problem I’m facing is that history tells us that a typical Voynich researcher will study the manuscript for twenty years before being stopped, either by choice (has this ever happened?) or by being forcibly raised to that nymphily balneological structure in the sky. No wonder I’m feeling an increasing sense of urgency, given that it would seem I now only have about four years left to crack it. (And as for Rene Zandbergen, he must be made of awesomely stern stuff, methinks.)

Oh well, all I can do is hope that I’ll be able to come back to the LFS for an update lecture in less than four years with some good news. Fingers crossed! 🙂

I’ve blogged before about the Voynich Manuscript talk I’ll be giving to the London Fortean Society this coming Thursday, but I need to make sure that anyone going realises that the venue has changed.

The new venue is The Pipeline, 94 Middlesex Street, London E1 7EZ, which is located in the City-style Bermuda Triangle of Liverpool Street, Aldgate, and Aldgate East; the last of which three always made one of my grandfathers laugh his head off: he’d once heard a Cockney bus conductor say “Aldgit East, all git aht“.

As to the contents of the talk… anyone expecting a regurgitatory recap of what you read in Wikipedia will (I sincerely hope!) be sadly disappointed, because I plan to cover a great deal of stuff to do with the Voynich Manuscript that you wouldn’t find there, or in fact hardly anywhere on the web. Such as the real deal with Voynich theories, for which I produced a special commemorative meme:

my-theory-is-too-big-for-your-tiny-brain

Anyhoo, I’m looking forward to the evening, and (barring any disasters) it should be fun. Very reasonably priced and timed (7.30pm for an 8pm start, £4/£2 concs), and I hope to see some of you there! 🙂

I mentioned the manuscript BNF Cod. Fonds Latin 7272 in a recent post, specifically because it contains various books on astronomy and astrology by the 13th century Genoese nobleman Andalò di Negro.

Interestingly, though, it also contains a large set of marginalia in what appears to be an entirely unknown alphabet: whoever contributed these added them only to Andalò di Negro’s “Introductio ad judicia astrologica” (folios 100 to 170). These marginalia look like this:

112v-marginalia

I’ve put a complete set of these on a Cipher Foundation “Paris 7272 Cipher” webpage.

BNF Cod. Fonds Latin 7272

According to the BNF’s catalogue entry (prepared in 2011), this manuscript was formerly in “la bibliothèque des rois Aragonais de Naples”, before being seized from Naples by Charles VIII in 1495 and transferred to le château d’Amboise. Subsequently it was transferred to the French Royal Library in Blois round about 1500 (it was described in a 1518 inventory there), and from there to the Royal Library in Paris (it was also listed in a catalogue there at the end of the 16th century).

The BNF’s notes also mention “Nombreuses notes marginales de plusieurs mains”, and specifically wonder whether the ones on “ff. 112-113v, 114v 116v, 117v, 118v, 143, 161-164” – the ones we’re interested in here – might be “indications mathématiques (astronomie?)”, presumably because some of the signs resemble fraction (e.g. 1⁄3, etc).

Because the section where these marginalia appear is completely devoted to judicial astrology, my initial speculation about these marginalia when I first blogged about this in 2009 (though back then I only had low-quality photocopies of a few scans taken from the Warburg Institute’s Photographic Collection, not really enough to work with properly) was that they were actually some kind of astrological shorthand. (I also suspected it was “Florentine”, though I have no idea what led me to conclude that.)

Yet now that I have seen the whole set, I really don’t know. For one, many of the lines appear to be right-justified, which suggests to me that these may well have all been written from right to left. For another, just about every piece of marginalia on late pages includes the following curious shape at the end of a line, which looks more like some kind of hybrid Arabic calligraphy version of the conventional “item” / “ytem” / “ibidem” paragraph marker.

paragraph-block

And for another, there are plenty of consistent letter contacts, as well as plenty of words which appear to recur, e.g.:

fz-word

double-word

Any thoughts?

Statistical and cryptanalytical analyses tend to assume that ciphers will fit one of a small number of well-known and well-researched pigeonholes (e.g. Vigenère, autokey, etc). Unfortunately, this kind of “backwards attack” can often be stopped dead if the encipherer includes one or more additional steps sideways, unless the backwards attacker happens to be cunning or lucky enough to reconstruct those tiny steps.

But as they knew in Bletchley Park, it is sometimes possible to “forwards attack” cryptograms. There, a “crib” was the name BP codebreakers used to describe where you already had the plaintext, typically obtained by decrypting the same message enciphered using a different cipher system: having this would help the code-breakers reconstruct daily settings for the second cipher etc. Just so you know, this is precisely why you should never forward a received (and deciphered) message word-for-word using a different cipher, a lesson many WW2 code bureaux stubbornly failed to learn.

Similarly, the idea behind my “block paradigm” methodology is that if we can use secondary historical clues to determine the plaintext from which a given section of ciphertext was derived, we stand a reasonably good chance (I think) of reconstructing the cipher forwards from there. You can therefore think of it as a high-level “historical crib”, where the plaintext is reconstructed via in-depth research rather than by breaking a parallel cipher.

At the very least, this whole process could very possibly yield a completely different class of problem to solve, which in the case of the Voynich Manuscript shouldn’t be a bad thing, given that a century’s worth of backwards attacks has been largely unproductive. 🙁

But what might the plaintext for the Voynich zodiac look like? Would we even recognize it if we had it in front of us?

The Voynich zodiac section

In the same way that many people have long suspected that the Voynich Manuscript’s “Herbal” section(s) probably contains plant and/or remedy descriptions (albeit secret, valuable or unexpected ones), there has long been a strong – yet untested – historical hypothesis about what the Voynich zodiac section might well contain, which is simply this: per-degree astrology. This is because each sign seems to be divided into 30 elements (29 in the case of Pisces, though this may possibly have simply been a slip of the quill), and there are 30 degrees in each zodiac sign (i.e. 12 x 30 = 360).

The modern history of per-degree astrology is something I covered here before: it moved back from Marc Edmund Jones (1925) to the nineteenth century astrologers “Charubel” (who claimed he channelled his per-degree symbols) and “Sephariel” (who claimed that he copied his from “La Volasfera”, supposedly a Renaissance book by Antonio Borelli / Bonelli [did he mean Guido Bonatti?], but this has never turned up).

It’s often written that Western medieval per-degree astrology arrived from Arabic sources via Pietro d’Abano (while he was in Spain during the 13th century). Heidelberg has a 15th century German translation of his work in MS Cod. Pal. Germ. 832 (“Regensburg, nach 1491”), which Rene Zandbergen mentioned in a comment here back in 2009. (If you look at fol. 36r onwards, you can see a few lines of text for each of the thirty degrees in each of the signs in turn, along with some rather jaunty miniatures.)

Prior to the Arabs, you can doubtless trace all this back to the original Indian sources (Diane O’Donovan pointed to the encyclopaedia-sized “Brihat-Samhita” by Varahamihira), but taking things back that far falls way beyond my paygrade, so I’m not going to attempt it in this post. 🙂

However, if you take the time to read Chapter XII of volume III of Lynn Thorndike’s “History of Magic and Experimental Science”, you’ll see that another medieval writer famously wrote on per-degree judicial astrology: and this is where my search began.

Andalò di Negro

Andalò di Negro (fl. first half of the 14th century) was a noble from Genoa. Boccaccio, who he famously taught “in the movements of the stars”, noted that “since [Andalò] had traversed nearly the whole world, and had profited by experience under every clime and every horizon, he knew as an eye-witness what we learn from hearsay” (De genealogia deorum, XV, 6, quoted in Thorndike, p.195).

andalo-and-boccaccio

One of Andalò’s works (“introductorium ad iudicia astrologie”) that discussed per-degree judidicial astrology was of particular interest to me. So, back in 2009, I managed to get some working photocopies of it courtesy of the Warburg Institute’s Photographic Collection: these were of the two known documents listed further below.

Interestingly (and unlike the Pietro d’Abano-derived Heidelberg manuscript), the key feature that seems to oddly parallel what we see in the Voynich Manuscript’s zodiac section is that these two documents contain only a small amount of data per degree (though admittedly arranged in columns of a table rather than in the form of nymphs, stars and labels).

The first document is at the British Library: I managed to get a look at this in person, kindly thanks (if I recall correctly) to a letter of introduction from Dr David Juste, who was then a historian of astrology at the Warburg Institute. One unusual feature was that a few key parts of the tables were highlighted in different colours, something that wasn’t at all apparent from the black-and-white photographs taken for the Warburg in the (I guess) 1920s or 1930s. (Sadly, the colour notes I took at the time have long since disappeared).

* BL Add. MS 23770 (BL: “14th century”, Warburg: “circa 1350”)
http://searcharchives.bl.uk/IAMS_VU2:IAMS032-002097417 – “Letter of introduction required to view this manuscript
1. “INTRODUCTORIUS ad iudicia astrologie co[m]positus ab A[n]dalo de Nigro de Janua;” with paintings of the signs of the Zodiac, the planetary Gods, etc., ff. 1-44.
Aries (8r), Taurus (9v), Gemini (11r), Cancer (12v)
Leo (13v), Virgo (15r), Libra (16v), Scorpio (17v)
Sagittarius (18v), Capricorn (19v), Aquarius (20v), Pisces (21v)
You can see monochrome thumbnails of these twelve images on the Warburg Institute’s Photographic Collection.

In the case of the second document, since 2009 Cod. Fonds 7272 has been placed online and made downloadable by BNF. As a result, I can include links directly into the Gallica pages for you (which is nice).

* BNF Cod. Fonds Latin 7272
http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b8452771j
Aries (112r), Taurus (114r), Gemini (115v), Cancer (116v)
Leo (118v), Virgo (119v), Libra (121r), Scorpio (122v)
Sagittarius (124v), Capricorn (126r), Aquarius (127v), Pisces (129r)

Here is the Aries table as it appears in BNF Cod. Fonds Latin 7272, courtesy of Bibliothèque nationale de France via Gallica:

7272-Aries-table

By way of a guide, fol. 22v of BL Add. MS 23770 explains (says Thorndike, p.192 n.5) Andalò di Negro’s “fivefold distinction of degrees within the signs: 1, masculine or feminine; 2, lucidus, tenebrosus, fumosi, or vacui; 3. putei; 4. azamena (like the putei, to be avoided); 5, augmentates fortunam.”

However, I have to mention at this point that according to Boncompagni’s (1875) “Un Catalogo dei Lavori di Andalò di Negro” (an offprint taken from “Bullettino di Bibliographia e di Storia delle Scienze, Matematiche E Fisiche”, Tomo VII – Luglio 1874, and for an original of which I paid a load of money several years ago but which is now available print-on-demand from Kessinger *sigh*), there might possibly be a third copy still floating around.

Boncompagni (pp.54-55) mentions that an 1834 alphabetical index of the Biblioteca Altieri di Roma published by Federico Blume lists: “de Nigro, Andali de Ianua, Introductorium ad iudicia astrologiae, Fogl. membr. V.E.5”. Moreover, Emilio Altieri’s index to the Biblioteca Altieri (car. 11a, recto, lin.2) reads: “Andalus de Nigro de Janua, de Astrologia, Pil. 13, Lett. A. Numo. 5”. Yet according to a 1690 index, “Il detto Altieri non possiede ora alcun esemplare manoscritto d’alcun lavoro di Andalo di Negro“, so it seems that it had already disappeared by then.

That sums up the known versions of this work tolerably well: but what might these tell us about the Voynich zodiac? Obviously, that’s a good question something I’ll have to leave for a follow-on post…

A few days ago, Rene Zandbergen very kindly pointed me in the direction of Lat. Borg. 898, a cipher manuscript newly digitized by the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. This has 410 pages of handwritten text, written using an alphabet formed almost entirely of astrological symbols (though with a few words apparently of Arabic right at the start, occasional Latin words fragments near the start, and a page of Italian right at the end).

Borg-Lat-898-2r-first-few-lines

Now, apart from Giovanni Fontana’s technical notes (early 15th century), the Voynich Manuscript (15th century) and the Rohonc Codex (16th century), you’d be quite hard pressed to find any other book-sized manuscript written in cipher from before 1650 (when shorthand started to become fashionable: Samuel Pepys began his shorthand diary in 1660.) So naturally, Lat. Borg. 898 was something I wanted to know more about.

According to the manuscript’s inside cover, it contains “Itineris de septentrionales fructus”, ‘the fruit of a journey to the North’: which also means it is a copy of Montpellier H.505, a handwritten manuscript written by Johannes van Heeck. “Van Hoo?” you may ask.

Actually, Johannes van Heeck was one of the small group of people who founded the ultra-influential Accademia Lincei in 1603, which ran until 1630. Yet not long after, he was jailed for killing an argumentative apothecary in a vicious brawl: even though his ultra-well-connected fellow founder Cesi managed to extricate him from prison, Van Heeck was still quickly banished from Rome. And so it was that he suddenly found himself with the time to go on a naturalist-themed journey to Poland, Pomerania and all points north to look at all of their flora and fauna.

(Incidentally, Johannes van Heeck wrote a book on the 1604 supernova: moreover, van Heeck and Cesi were both at the famous feast in honour of Galileo Galilei where the ‘telescopium’ was first given its name: Galileo and Della Porta both became Lynxes too.)

Johannes van Heeck (‘Heckius’) wrote his notes in Latin using what David Freedberg calls (though without elaborating) the “Lincean code”, which is presumably the simple substitution cipher described above. It shouldn’t be hard to crack, now, should it?

Computer Says No

It seemed obvious to me that the encipherer had not bothered to try to disguise the lengths of words (what American Cryptogram Association people would call an ‘aristocrat’ cryptogram, as opposed to a ‘patristocat’ cryptogram), so immediately it was highly probable that this was only lightly enciphered.

I therefore briefly looked for obvious Latin language cribs (a word with a highly unusual letter pattern, that would only have one or two possible Latin plaintexts) in the early pages, but noticed only this one:

borg-lat-898-crib-1

This could easily be MISSUM or MITTAM: but because I also thought it likely that Latin would have several other words that matched the same pattern, decided not to pursue this further.

However, the cipher shapes had already suggested a likely cryptographic pattern to me: that the encipherer was using the astrological aspect glyphs (conjunction, sextile, square, trine, opposition) for vowels, and the astrological sign and planet glyphs for consonants. As a result, I was confident that I should be able to crack it easily.

But when I transcribed the first half of folio 2r (most of the first folio seemed to have been ripped out) and put it into CryptoCrack… the computer said no. That is, it didn’t find anything remotely like Latin. Or Italian. Or Dutch. Or anything, in fact. And when I tried half a page from folio 52r, that too failed to work (though it suggested a word “DISTILLA”).

That was a bit odd: so, with the briefest of nods to my first headmasterly Latin teacher (Richard Sale), I instead put the first few lines of Caesar’s Gallic Wars (“In tres partes” etc) into CryptoCrack: which decrypted them with ease. So CryptoCrack seemed to be working OK: the problem was apparently with Lat. Borg. 898’s plaintext.

At this point, though, I could see enough of the patterns to have a go at it by hand: and so got almost all of the alphabet.

Lincean-Cipher

Why did CryptoCrack fail to work on such a lightly enciphered Latin ciphertext? Having thought about it, it now seems to me that the way Johannes van Heeck and his contemporaries used Latin was essentially quite different from the way Julius Caesar wrote: and so using a single overarching “Latin” corpus / statistics is probably far from optimal.

So if in future I find myself desperately needing Cryptocrack to break tricky Latin texts circa 1600, I might put together a much later Latin corpus and see if I can get Phil Pilcrow to add that in as a “Late Latin” language option.

Through Philip Neal’s eyes

One nice thing about code-breaking is that even though a ciphertext usually has only one genuine plaintext, there are often many paths to that destination: while all will employ cunning of one sort or another, none is exclusively right.

And so it was that Philip Neal was having a good cryptological chortle at my expense: he asked me if I had seen the “glaring crib” in the section headed ‘Contra Tremorem Cordis‘. I thought he was referring to the MISSUM / MITTAM crib-like word above (which actually turned out to be TOLLIT), but it turned out he was actually referring to the two words immediately after it.

borg-lat-898-crib-2

Nice crib! I wish I’d seen it, because it would have saved me half an hour of crypto hassle – but both roads led to Rome.

The Eye of the Lynx

While David Freedburg’s book “The Eye of the Lynx” doesn’t mention Lat. Borg. 898, it does mention Montpellier BEM H505 (though note that the description there is hyperlinked not to Johannes van Heeck but to quite the wrong “Johannes Eck” (1484-1543)), the book-sized cipher manuscript from which Lat. Borg. 898 was copied (with a few copying errors, inevitably). H505 is apparently subtitled “Mechanica et Naturalia Ioannis Ecchi Lincei”, and (David Freedburg “The Eye of the Lynx”, p.444 note 10):

“is largely devoted to matters of technical and mechanical interest and contains Heckius’s typically rather awkward drawings of machines, instruments, chemical vessels, and a variety of mechanical devices. Introducing the manuscript are thirty pages of medical notes written in Arabic, Syriac, and a strangely hermetic combination of Arabic and the Lincean code, as well as a passionate and moving invocation to the Virgin to assist him in his exploration of the hidden parts of nature.”

[Update: I found a scanned image from H505 here and inserted it below:]

fructus-alchemy

So it would seem that Borg.Lat.898 is nothing more than the dreary text-only child of H.505: but, almost inevitably, H.505 has not yet been digitized, so as far as Lincean cipher manuscripts go, we currently have what we have (Borg.Lat.898) and no more.

Incidentally, If you want to know more about the Accademia Lincei, then David Freedburg’s (2003) “Eye of the Lynx” is a nice accessible read. For more on Johannes van Heeck, Freedberg mentions Alessandrini’s (1978) “Cimeli lincei a Montpellier” pp.288-293 and pp.68-77, plus Gabrieli’s (1989) “Contributi alla storia della Accademia dei Lincei” pp. 1055-1078): but nothing much else is obviously online. Which is shame, because he was a particularly colourful character.

Transcription of fol 1r2r

[R] calamenti thimi
pulegt cardui benedic-
ti rosarum menthe cr
ispe anam [l. se.] anisi
feniculi ozimi urthi
ce aneti [an }s vad:] angeli
ce feniculi althee
squille iridis turbit
elle: albi ana [}y. Esula9
propter: }y] asali [}vi] galan
ge cinamomi calami [azo:
an }s] infundantur trita
omnia in aceti fortis
simi [ttx.] tridup in lo-
co calido in uase ui-
treo uel terreo uitre
to deinde bulliant

Transcription of fol 2v

in uase fictili uitre
ato ad casum medietatis
fieru coleture adde
sachari melli despuma
ti [an }XX] fiat strupus
hui aromatizetur cum cr
cimacis cinamomi zin
ciberis [ana }y] suspen
datur in saculo intus
et seruetur urui
[Contra tremore Cordis]
nos sumus experti
si tollatur puluis [An]
rubeorum et croci et
uino bibatur subtili
statim tollit tremore
cordis

Transcription of fol 3r

magnum secretum indo
lorem mamillarum pellistal
pe superposita mirabilis
est si permiseris
talpam mori in manu tene
do oculos irsius con
tra radios solis si
tetigetis cum illama
nu mamillam dolentea ces
sat dolor
[Hands stoldis] uxor passa
est apostemata mamilla
rum usq ad mortem et tale
adposuit emplastrm a
factum lacte rani quod
est pingue super natans
lacti post quam stete
ris ad tempus et cum cre
ta communi et superpone
[batur]

Transcription of fol 3v

batur et in [1/4] quore ces
sauit et dolor requieu
per noctem dicebat quo
prius plura erant appli
ta et nullum contulit
sequenti die fureran
applicate aque camphor
et alie resolutiue
[Alia experta medicin]
[R] ceram nouam ex afac
as pileum siue capsam
in quam totam mamillarum
pone diu noctuq gest
itauit mamilla intus pos
sudare et tunc stati
omnia apostemata mitigant
durities et nodos dis
souit et quando urte
[ate]

In older writings, it should probably be no surprise that secret recipes and secret writing often go hand in hand.

Today I was looking through Trinity College Library MS. 1351 (shelfmark O.7.23), a late 15th century manuscript “in an ugly hand”. I was led there by Daniel V. Thompson’s (1935) “Trial index To some unpublished sources for the history of mediaeval craftsmanship” (in Speculum), which contains a long list of unpublished manuscripts, most of which have some “receipts” (recipes) for making colour.

Two nice things about this manuscript are (a) that Trinity College have digitized it and placed it entirely online; and (b) that the manuscript is (the catalogue notes) “likely MS. 34 in the Catalogue of Dr Dee’s library. Experimentorum diversorum liber. De vernisio quo utuntur scriptores. Secreta philosophorum. De usu virgae visoriae et huiusmodi secreta multa: papyro 8vo.

As a result, it links all the usual suspects in an interesting way: which was well worth a blog post, if you ask me. 🙂

Anyway, here’s a simple cipher I found on fol. 10r that I thought you might all particularly appreciate. Even though seeing its basic key is very easy, I think you’ll find it still takes more than a little effort to decrypt it all:

Today’s Simple Cipher

Greek-letter-cipher

(Click on the above if you want a slightly higher resolution image to work from.)

Rather than just giving you the key, I thought it would be more fun to leave it to you all to see how you get on, I hope you don’t mind. Anyway, it’s much more fun than the GCHQ Christmas puzzle (which I actually thought was a bit tiresome).

Shall I give you a clue? Well… I wasn’t planning to, but seeing as you pulled that face… perhaps a small clue, then. Which is: you don’t actually need to be a cryptologist or code-breaker to break this cipher. Enjoy! 🙂

There has long been a tendency to frame the Somerton Man as some kind of social outsider, whether as a spy, a loner, a drifter, a criminal, or whatever. The fact that, nearly seventy years on, he remains unidentified would superficially seem to support that view.

And yet he certainly did know people.

It was revealed not so long ago by Jessica Thomson’s family that she (the nurse “Jestyn”) did know who the man was, but chose not to disclose his identity. It therefore seems highly probable (though not completely certain) that he travelled by the 11:15 bus to Glenelg for the specific purpose of visiting her or her husband Prosper Thomson, a journey that ultimately finished with the man’s lying dead on Somerton Beach.

Along with the bus ticket in the Somerton Man’s pockets, there was also an unused train ticket from Adelaide to Henley Beach. It therefore seems very likely to me (though far from certain) that he was planning to catch the 10:45 train to Henley Beach to visit someone he knew, and perhaps even leave his suitcase with them.

Hence it’s an entirely plausible (but unprovable) scenario that he telephoned his Henley Beach friend(s) when he arrived at Adelaide Station that morning but got no response, and so decided to leave his suitcase at the station and go directly to Glenelg. (Though if he had missed the 10:45 Henley Beach train and found out that the next train left after one o’clock, he might well have changed his plans for the day.)

LuggageTag

The charge for each article (Motor Bicycles excepted) is for day of lodging and one clear day thereafter 4d. For each subsequent day 4d.

But that’s far from the end of our search for the Somerton Man’s social network.

A suitcase was subsequently found in the station which was connected to him not only by a thread – specifically, a certain kind of thread (“Warm Sepia of Ridgway”) that both was in the suitcase and had been used to mend his trousers – but also by the same type of jockey-style underwear that he was wearing and that was in the suitcase.

SM Suitcase

And that suitcase, amongst all its pell-mell contents, contained a number of blank prepaid letters and envelopes, about which relatively little has been said so far.

somerton-man-suitcase-envelopes

John Burton Cleland’s notes

But John Burton Cleland noticed these: and in his notes to the Coroner, he wrote:

The appearance and history and social class of the deceased as revealed by the body and contents of suitcase:

1. Age: Dr. Dwyer estimated the age as probable 40 – 45. Supported by his appearance (as preserved), hair beginning to grey, several teeth missing, no appreciable atheroma in cornoaries or aorta.

2. Height: To be checked. Slimmer than I am (vide 3 in preceding section).

3. Hair: Brushed back off forehead, no parting, fair approaching sandy-coloured turning grey, rather long for a man. This item seems important in identification. Also do many Americans brush the hair backwards, more so than Britishers

4. Had shaved recently?

5. Nails of fingers and toes clean and carefully attended to – evidently particular in his appearance. Not those expected in a hard manual worker or seaman – more of a clerk or officer class.

6. Fingers tobacco stained. Shreds of tobacco in pockets of coat worn by deceased and coat in suitcase. Heavy smoker.

7. Trousers in suitcase well-pressed. Clean shirts and jockey-pants in suitcase. Garments quite clean – one slightly soiled. Particular in his dress.

8. Air-mail stickers in suitcase – corresponded with some one at a distance – other State more likely than Britain (special air-mail letter forms usually used for latter).

9. Empty squarish envelopes in suitcase suggest Christmas cards posted before November 30 (suggests overseas rather than interstate – America or Britain?).

10. Straight nose, not Jewish. Appearance not foreign. Not circumcised – Det. Leane points out [that this] excludes Turks, Egyptians, Jews.

11. New tan shoes on body, very little worn. Look as though they had just been polished and not worn all day walking about.

12. Had he been vaccinated? I could not satisfy myself that an indefinite patch below the left shoulder was a vaccinated area. Dr. Dwyer says that many service men vaccinated has ‘takes’ and showed later very little scarring.

13. Implements probably used for stencilling. A hobby or part of his work?

Cutting to the chase here, Cleland infers from the air-mail stickers found in the suitcase that the Somerton Man was corresponding interstate, and from the “empty squarish envelopes” that he had recently sent some Christmas cards (plural) overseas.

If Cleland was correct, I suspect that we perhaps can further rule out America’s West Coast as a likely location for him to be sending Christmas cards to, simply because the post boats got there too quickly from Australia.

And if we run with the American stitching in his coat and Juicy Fruit chewing gum in his pocket, we can possibly push the balance of probability away from the UK to America’s East Coast. But might he have been born in the UK circa 1900 (and not circumcised, as was more often the practice in the US then), and be writing back to family there? This is where the evidential crystal ball becomes too hazy to read.

All the same, what surely emerges overwhelmingly from all of this is simply this: that the Somerton Man was not an unknown lone wolf. He was actually connected into a wider social network of family, friends and allies… and very possibly enemies, too.

A “research tree” is the term I like to use to describe a whole group of evidence / artefacts / phenomena / ideas that are linked together in non-chain-like ways. The term is particularly relevant to unsolved cipher mysteries because you almost always start by not knowing where in particular research trees your cipher fits (if it even fits at all, which they typically don’t).

So, to both recap and expand slightly:

(1) I suspect that the Voynich Manuscript’s Quire 20 contains a sizeable collection of encrypted recipes.
– – Though an old suggestion, we now have a lot of secondary analysis to help reconstruct its original page order.

(2) I suspect we now know enough to be able to match Quire 20’s original structure with that of unencrypted recipe collections.
– – This matching trick is what I call the “block paradigm” approach to cracking historical ciphertexts.

(3) The most likely languages for the plaintext are Italian, Latin, and French.
– – The ‘michitonese’ handwriting appears to contain some Voynichese, and looks to have come from Savoy.

(4) I believe we can eliminate Latin as the plaintext language.
– – This is because Voynichese’s ‘8’ and ‘9’ characters appear to function as ‘contraction’ and ‘truncation’ shorthand tokens, making them essentially incompatible with Latin (where word endings hold a large amount of semantic content).

(5) My working hypothesis is that the plaintext is in Italian (Tuscan).
– – This is because there are a large number of Italian herbals, but very few French herbals.

(6) The various reliable dating evidences we have suggest that this was written between 1440 and 1470.
– – (…don’t get me started on this, or we’ll be here all night.)

(Feel free to disagree with any of the above! I’m not telling you what to think, but making clear the constraints I’m using to guide my own search.)

As a result, I’ve been looking for 13th / 14th / 15th century recipe lists written in Italian. My current hunch is that Quire 20’s plaintext might well be something close to BNF MS Latin 6741 – Jean le Bègue’s collection of paint, colouring, and gilding recipes.

Hence probably the best way to start is to build up a picture of the research tree in which that hunch is located, and then explore it a little…

The Italian colour recipes research tree

For building up an initial view of this research tree, I began with “Original Written Sources for the History of Mediaeval Painting Techniques and Materials: A List of Published Texts” by Salvador Muñoz Viñas, pp. 114-124 of Studies in Conservation, Vol. 43, No. 2 (1998) (many thanks to Juergen W. for this!). [Though because this concentrates on published sources, there may be several significant books of colour secrets out there that it misses, e.g. MS Sloane 416.]

Now that I have pruned the (initially somewhat overgrown) research tree down to more manageable proportions, this is the view I’m currently seeing through my research window:

Books-of-Italian-colour-secrets-diagram

This research tree has four main branches I now hope to explore in more depth:

* The recipes of Johannes Alcherius (as copied by Jehan Le Begue).
– – Jehan Le Begue’s translation is in volume 1 of Mary Merrifield’s book Original Treatises.
– – Alcherius was in fact a master builder working in Milan, had access to a large number of secrets, and was still alive in the early years of the 15th century: and so would seem to be an excellent candidate for the author of the Voynich Manuscript. 🙂

* Secreti per colori, Biblioteca Universitaria di Bologna MS 2861
– – Description here, transcription here, or in Volume 2 of Merrifield.

* “Ricepte d’affare Piu Colori”
– – There’s an article on this in Archeion, Vol. XV (1933), pp. 339-347 by Daniel V. Thompson Jr, which I hope to read soon. 🙂
– – There may possibly be more in “Trial index to some unpublished sources for the history of mediaeval craftsmanship” Daniel V. Thompson Jr – Speculum / Volume 10 / Issue 04 / October 1935, pp. 410-431.

* MS Sloane 416, “The Venetian Manuscript”.
– – This manuscript also contains a (brief) description of ciphers, which makes it doubly interesting to me.
– – Parts of this might be in Dutch, but I can’t tell properly from the description.
– – I can’t find any good description of this. I’ll probably have to spend a day at the British Library…

Have I missed anything important? Please say if I have! Oh, and I’ve ordered a copy of Mark Clarke’s (2001) “Art Of All Colours”, which looks to be extremely interesting as well….

In a recent post, I discussed a large number of features of the Voynich Manuscript’s Quire 20, to try to get under its vellum skin (so to speak). One thing I’d add is that if you compare the vellum colour of the front (recto) and back (verso) of pages f103 through to f108…

vellum-comparison

…you can see (I think) if you constrast enhance these…

vellum-comparison-contrast-enhanced

…that f104, f105, f107 and f108 appear to match each other quite well.

Hence – given that I think f103 may well be separate anyway – I infer from this that f104, f105, f107 and f108 may well have been folded and cut from a single piece of vellum: and hence that they might very well have sat next to each other in Q20’s alpha state. Hence f106 and the missing f109-f110 bifolio may well have been from a different piece of vellum, and so (given that I suspect f105r was the first page of the book hidden in the quire) may well together have formed the two most central bifolios of the quire.

So: given all the above, and that there seems to be a good chance that f108v and f104r originally sat next to each other (as discussed before), I suspect we now know enough to reduce the large list of bifolio permutations for Q20’s original state down to just four good candidates (I’ve only listed the first folio of each bifolio pair for convenience):

a) f103 : f105 f108 f104 f107 f106 [f109]
b) f103 : f105 f108 f104 f107 [f109] f106
c) f103 : f105 f107 f108 f104 f106 [f109]
d) f103 : f105 f107 f108 f104 [f109] f106

Of course, I may be wrong… but I do now think there’s a high chance that this is basically correct.

But to use the block-paradigm trick (i.e. to decrypt a cipher by finding a separate copy of the text from which it came) with these possible candidates, though, we need to also find a structurally matching copy of the hidden book’s plaintext.

So the big question is surely this: how on earth do we find a copy of Quire 20’s plaintext?

Johannes Alcherius

Elsewhere in Cipher Mysteries, I mentioned BNF MS Latin 6741, which is a collection of 359 recipes collected together in Paris by Jean le Bègue / Jehan le Bègue in 1431, and which was discussed by Mary Merrifield in her 1849 book Original Treatises, Dating from the XIIth to the XVIIIth Centuries, on the Arts of Painting.

Yet having now read in rather more depth about Jean le Bègue’s recipe collection here, I suspect that the answer lies not in Paris (the city which BNF MS Latin 6741 seems never to have left) but instead in Milan, and specifically with Johannes Alcherius – arguably the key author whose recipes Jean le Bègue ripped off collected together.

However, the big problem is that while Alcherius wrote in Italian, Jean le Bègue wrote in Latin – so what we have in BNF MS Latin 6741 is actually a Latin translation of Alcherius’ Italian original.

So if I’m right about this, it would mean – unfortunately – that rather than finding the Italian plaintext from which I believe a large part of Quire 20 was derived, I strongly suspect that BNF MS Latin 6741 instead contains Jean le Bègue’s Latin translation of that same Italian plaintext.

So… even though I suspect that the block paradigm trick may have got me close to the finishing line in this instance, the Voynich Manuscript’s secrets still continue to elude us. Close, but no cigar. Or pizza. Oh well! 🙁

How to cross the Quire 20 line?

It seems to me that the single most important piece missing from this jigsaw is the Italian plaintext of Johannes Alcherius’ recipes for colours. I can see two possible routes to achieve this:

(1) Reverse translate Jean le Bègue’s Latin back into the Italian plaintext from which it was derived. Which would be exquisitely nuanced, and very hard to get right, but just about possible all the same. Or…

(2) Find fragments of Alcherius’ recipes floating in other documents, but in their original Italian form (rather than in Jean le Bègue’s Latin translation). It may be that, somewhere in the far recesses of Academe, someone has already searched for this, perhaps as part of a compeletely separate study. But if so, my own digging has been utterly unable to find it.

Perhaps you will have better luck, though!

Things you can help with

Does someone have (or can get access to) a PDF copy of “The recipe collection of Johannes Alcherius and the painting materials used in manuscript illumination in France and Northern Italy, c. 1380-1420” (1998) by Nancy Turner that they can send me, before I start throwing my money at Maney Online (now part of Taylor & Francis)?

Or a copy of “Painting Techniques : History, Materials and Studio Techniques, Proceeding of the IIC Dublin Congress, 7-11 December 1998”, where the same thing also seems to appear?

Or… does anyone have a study listing all pre-1500 Italian colour recipe manuscript fragments? (For what it’s worth, I was unable to find any mention of Alcherius or Jean le Bègue in Thorndike.)