There are so few certainties in the study of the Voynich manuscript, everything is so fluid and open to dispute, that it is important to latch fast to those things which are beyond contention. If something certain emerges, then we ought to hold onto it like holding onto a firmly rooted tree in a flood.
One thing certain is that the people who made the manuscript – if not also the people who composed it – spoke and wrote and read German. The evidence for this is beyond dispute. It is the unavoidable conclusion from even a cursory examination of the linguistic evidence found in the margins and elsewhere in the text. There is really no room to question this. It can be counted as a plain fact.
Two items of evidence are enough: the infamous marginalia on the very last page of the manuscript, and a few instances where German plaintext words have been used to give instructions to the painter and can be seen under the paint. (Note that while the marginalia might be dismissed as a later addition, the painting instructions are not.)
There is nothing new here. It has all been said before. But studying the Voynich manuscript is like making your way through a swamp - to use another metaphor. It is important to secure your footing from time to time.
This is a foothold: the language in the background of the manuscript (or one of them) is certainly German. The manuscript comes from a German-speaking region. At very least the scribes or illustrators – certainly the painter – spoke German. Very likely – almost certainly - the author(s) did too. The makers of the manuscript spoke and wrote German. The work comes from the Germanic world.
This fact should be enough to eliminate a wide range of scenarios – namely any from outside the Germanic world. And it conforms to certain scenarios, including the scenario I propose in the hypothesis promoted on these pages.
To rehearse it again: by my account the manuscript concerns the Ladin herbal tradition of the Dolomite regions of alpine northern Italy. The world depicted in the manuscript, I argue, is the South Tyrol. Here is a map (the blue areas being the parts of especial interest):
One thing certain is that the people who made the manuscript – if not also the people who composed it – spoke and wrote and read German. The evidence for this is beyond dispute. It is the unavoidable conclusion from even a cursory examination of the linguistic evidence found in the margins and elsewhere in the text. There is really no room to question this. It can be counted as a plain fact.
Two items of evidence are enough: the infamous marginalia on the very last page of the manuscript, and a few instances where German plaintext words have been used to give instructions to the painter and can be seen under the paint. (Note that while the marginalia might be dismissed as a later addition, the painting instructions are not.)
There is nothing new here. It has all been said before. But studying the Voynich manuscript is like making your way through a swamp - to use another metaphor. It is important to secure your footing from time to time.
This is a foothold: the language in the background of the manuscript (or one of them) is certainly German. The manuscript comes from a German-speaking region. At very least the scribes or illustrators – certainly the painter – spoke German. Very likely – almost certainly - the author(s) did too. The makers of the manuscript spoke and wrote German. The work comes from the Germanic world.
This fact should be enough to eliminate a wide range of scenarios – namely any from outside the Germanic world. And it conforms to certain scenarios, including the scenario I propose in the hypothesis promoted on these pages.
To rehearse it again: by my account the manuscript concerns the Ladin herbal tradition of the Dolomite regions of alpine northern Italy. The world depicted in the manuscript, I argue, is the South Tyrol. Here is a map (the blue areas being the parts of especial interest):
Although claimed by the modern Italian state, this region was, and is, German speaking. The linguistic history of the area is characterized by southward intrusions of German languages. There were waves of Germanization over many centuries, perhaps as far back as the 6th C AD.
The spoken language of the common people of the region was Ladin – a vulgar Latin. But the language of the secular authorities was German (with Latin, of course, being the language of the ecclesiastical authorities.)
Although the linguistic patterns of the region are highly complex, this was the basic situation in the early Renaissance: German was the language of the rulers. Latin was the language of the Church. Ladin (not so-called, ‘Ladin’ is a modern name for it) was the language of the common folk. (Noting that ‘Ladin’ was fragmented into many local dialects.)
In a document that concerns the Ladin herbal tradition, then, it is entirely to be expected that its makers spoke German. It is not the work of an illiterate peasant who only spoke the ancestral language. The educated and higher born Ladin also spoke German, the language of their overlords. This is what we find in the Voynich ms. The illustrations – and the map – concern the Ladin herbal tradition, and while the main text is a mystery, the marginalia is German. These marginalia are fingerprints left by the makers of the work. Their working language was German. At very least, the language of the manuscript workshop was German. This is entirely consistent with my hypothesis. German was the working language of the Ladin regions in the relevant period.
Of course, it is also consistent with a scenario involving Nicholas of Cusa, the only German born, German speaking cardinal of the Roman Church in this period. (In the Church he was THE German in some ways, an emblem of German identity. The elevation of a German to the College of Cardinals was a remarkable thing. He was famous just for this.)
The spoken language of the common people of the region was Ladin – a vulgar Latin. But the language of the secular authorities was German (with Latin, of course, being the language of the ecclesiastical authorities.)
Although the linguistic patterns of the region are highly complex, this was the basic situation in the early Renaissance: German was the language of the rulers. Latin was the language of the Church. Ladin (not so-called, ‘Ladin’ is a modern name for it) was the language of the common folk. (Noting that ‘Ladin’ was fragmented into many local dialects.)
In a document that concerns the Ladin herbal tradition, then, it is entirely to be expected that its makers spoke German. It is not the work of an illiterate peasant who only spoke the ancestral language. The educated and higher born Ladin also spoke German, the language of their overlords. This is what we find in the Voynich ms. The illustrations – and the map – concern the Ladin herbal tradition, and while the main text is a mystery, the marginalia is German. These marginalia are fingerprints left by the makers of the work. Their working language was German. At very least, the language of the manuscript workshop was German. This is entirely consistent with my hypothesis. German was the working language of the Ladin regions in the relevant period.
Of course, it is also consistent with a scenario involving Nicholas of Cusa, the only German born, German speaking cardinal of the Roman Church in this period. (In the Church he was THE German in some ways, an emblem of German identity. The elevation of a German to the College of Cardinals was a remarkable thing. He was famous just for this.)
* * *
It seems there is insufficient traces of German in the margins and elsewhere in the Voynich to be more precise about the type and nature of the German used. That is where the arguments begin. But there is no argument about the presence of German per se.
The marginalia on the final page of the manuscript is, of course, especially celebrated, because it seems to offer the hope of a key. Famously, Newbold based his entire interpretation of the work – spectacularly amiss, as it happens – on this tell-tale text on the last page. Others have done the same. I have been tempted to do so too.
As explained above, there are three main languages in the South Tyrol in this period. Secular German. Church Latin. Common Ladin. On the final page of the Voynich the marginalia is – curiously – a mix of several languages. German. Latin. And Voynichese. It is extremely, and frustratingly, cryptic, but we can agree that it is a mix of words in these languages.
This is one of the things that led me to suppose that Voynichese might be some rendering of Ladin. I know the many formidable reasons against such a supposition, but the mix of languages in the final page marginalia is suggestive.
Let us ask: what combination of languages is plausible here? What might Voynichese be? Is German + Latin + Turkic plausible? Is German + Latin + Chinese plausible? German + Latin + Slovenian might be.
I place the manuscript within a particular landscape – alpine northern Italy, the Sudtyrol. In that landscape the linguistic profile was: German + Latin + Ladin. Since the marginalia on the final page mixes German and Latin with Voynichese, I might have reason to suspect the Voynichese in this equation is Ladin. I don’t actually make such a claim, but it would not be an unreasonable inference.
What I do claim is that the solid ground of the Germanic background of the Voynich manuscript is consistent with my Ladin Cusanus hypothesis.
Beyond that, it is not unimportant that the persons who created the manuscript – the minds that conceived it and composed it – were German speaking. This is the work’s known linguistic cradle.
R. B.
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