c. 2900 words. This one’s a full essay. I did think of breaking it into two or three parts – but decided against. I’ll wait a while before posting again).
The author’s rights are asserted.
Setting aside, for the moment, the issue of that three-point head, this post looks at some computistical manuscripts from the environments in which Michael Scot gained his primary and higher education, looking for insight into what we might call the calendar-related problems – such as the Voynich series’ including only ten months, its starting from March, its assigning the crocodile as posited Scorpius to November and this emblem, as posited Cancer, to July – not June. And we are also seeking to understand when and why Latin works developed this lobster-like form at all.
As our first step, I’ve selected a computistical miscellany dated to about a century before Scot’s lifetime. Among the texts gathered there is a copy of Bede’s classic De Temporum Ratione.
Note: Scot’s lifetime is our benchmark, at present, because an earlier study by Koen Gheuens began there.
* * * * **
Bede’s De Temporum ratione might have been made with constellation-drawings, but if so no original copy survived; the fifty or so copies extant are in computistical compilations, or miscellanies. These are handbooks of material relating, more or less closely, to calculations of time and the calendar, but few include sections displaying single images or emblems for the constellations – not even for the calendar-zodiac ’12’.
One which does was made in England or in France, and is one of the most admired of such miscellanies. This is Brit.Lib. Royal MS 13 A XI, from which I’ll cite Bede as our first textual justification for the Voynich calendar’s assigning its lobsters to July and its crocodile to November – given that the one is posited as a form for Cancer and the other for Scorpius.
This passage offers our first textual justification but is not the only justification that can be offered. A Roman-era mosaic calendar recovered near Tunis shows a series of twelve images in the Labours-and-feast-day style. Its year begin with March, and its July and November images are compatible with those in our late copies of the Chronography of 354. The oldest Roman calendar had only ten months and also began from March.
I don’t wish to suggest no other reason but antiquity can explain why a calendar might begin with March and contain only ten months; the same would describe the Mediterranean sailing year during the centuries of interest to us; in the western side of the Mediterranean, at least, one did not set sail in January or February. This does not, of course, explain inclusion of the doubled April and May in the Voynich series.
However it will become important, later, that calendars of the Labours type pre-date the Christian era; are attested in regions beyond the Italian peninsula and especially that the theme of the November image in the Tunis mosaic sequence, and in the Chronography of 354 and in the Voynich series, all emphasise a link with Egypt and its vision of the heart-soul’s journey into the afterworld, something discovered in exploring the ‘November’ emblem (see previous posts in this series).
Historical context – brief sketch.
In Egypt, particularly in the Fayum, imagery of the crocodile would continue to appear in that context of entry into the otherworld journey, and to as late as the 6thC AD – by which time Christianity had been made a recognised religion of the Roman empire; the empire’s capital had been moved from Rome to Constantinople, the model of Egyptian monasticism both anchoritic [solitary] and cenobitic [communal] were established, the former style earliest adopted in the west, and chiefly among the Irish but the latter had come too, with its emphasis on copying manuscripts.
By the 6thC AD, too, Rome had already been sacked by the Visigoths, Hagia Sophia was being built, North Africa was a major centre of Christianity, Augustine having lived just a century earlier, and now Gregory the Great travelled to Egypt to acquire books (or more exactly, scrolls and papyri) while Isidore of Seville was attempting to preserve the learning of the late Roman west by composing his encyclopaedic Etymologiae.
To so late a time did the beliefs of older Egypt survive, and in Alexandria the accumulated knowledge of the Greek and Roman would survive into and after the coming of the Arabs in the following, seventh, century.
That corpus would provide a foundation for the flowering of Baghdad and of Cairo’s scholarship from which – and from about Scot’s time – a small proportion would again enter the Latins’ intellectual horizons, much of it coming via North Africa and the Iberian peninsula. The style of commercial calculation and Arabic-Hindu numerals would spread chiefly by the models of ‘abbaco’ style schools in north Africa and the Aegean, while most astronomical knowledge came, so far as we know, via Spain and particularly through Toledo though Idrisi’s work in Sicily should not be overlooked.
The role of multi-lingual Jews in that transmission, shortly before and during Scot’s lifetime, is increasingly recognised by western scholars.
De temporum ratione and its dissemination.
Bede’s De Temporum ratione was written around the beginning of the eighth century. He was an Anglo-Saxon monk who lived almost all his life in the confines of his English monastery. He wrote, of course, in Latin, the purity of which has often been remarked.
By the time De temporum ratione was copied in Brit.Lib. Royal MS 13 A XI, England’s language of governance was now Norman-French and from France were coming to England replacements for older texts (and libraries) lost to war and raiders after the days of Bede, in whose time Anglo-Saxon Britain had seen a remarkable, if localised, flowering of intellectual and artistic life, notably, but not only, in York and Winchester. One of Bede’s pupils would teach Alcuin, a first teacher of Charlemagne. By Michael Scot’s time, the monastic and manuscript-copying cultures of France and England were so closely in step that the holding library can describe Royal MS 13 A XI only as having been made in “Northern or central France or England”. Not even the style of script or the finish of the membrane is distinct enough to know whether the manuscript was made in the one region or the other. Not that it matters greatly to us, except in allowing us to include England of that time among the Romance-speaking regions.
To judge from the fifty or so remaining copies of De Temporum ratione, its greatest popularity was reached by the mid-late thirteenth century, but its overall importance means it was certainly known to Scot, as a text basic to earlier computistical miscellanies.
The work’s importance, and therefore its dissemination, is explained by the publisher of a recent English translation:
Bede’s The Reckoning of Time (De temporum ratione) [was]… the model and reference for all subsequent teaching, discussion and criticism of the Christian calendar … but it is more than a technical handbook. [it] incorporates themes as diverse as the theory of tides and the threat of chiliasm. ….
One French scholar puts it this way (here)
“Because [Bede] wrote with great clarity and his examples were addressed both to teachers and to students, the De Temporum Ratione became one of the most popular of Bede’s works and remained for centuries a standard reference text in Western Europe”.
As with most computistical miscellanies, however, pictures of the constellations have been included by adding some separate extract or summary of a ‘constellation text’. In Royal MS 13 A XI, this takes the form of a summary* made by Abbo of Fleury.(c. 945 -1004 AD), of Ps-Hyginus’ Poeticon Astronomicon.
*’Excerptio Abbonis ex Hygino de figuratione signorum (ff.105v-113r). For a full description see link (supra) to Brit.Lib. Royal_MS_13_A_XI.
Here are Abbo’s figures for Cancer and for Scorpius in that miscellany:
In that small, somewhat faded drawing, buried in a copy of a text composed before the year 1000 AD, (Fig. 4 and Header) we’re given a clue to the reason that western medieval works sometimes draw forms for ‘Cancer’ with a lobster-like tail.
Its mask-like face aside, the rest of the figure is a near-literal image of what is popularly called today the Slipper Lobster (Fig. 4 – right and centre). Its abdomen is usually kept curled below the thorax. Its claws are not large. Its antennae are short and reminiscent of what you see on smaller creatures such as a grasshopper, or even like whiskers . Seen through the water, or in its usual habitat, at the mouth of a crevice underwater, and camouflaged as it would be in life, it is easily be mistaken for a crab.
Modern taxonomists do not count the Slipper lobster a true lobster, though its genus is named fairly enough: Scyllarus.
So too for the other creature shown above (Fig. 5, left) and again here (Fig.6).
It is also not included by modern taxonomies in the Lobsters, though still called the spiny lobster, or less aptly as the [marine] crayfish. Another term for it may seem modern and informal but is very much the oldest, and in that sense the most authentic: Locust-lobster.
Here’s part of the entry from Etymology Online showing that the idea was widespread, particularly in France and Britain.
Lobster – Early Middle English lopster, lopister, from Old English loppestre “lobster,” also “locust,” … Latin locusta, lucusta “marine shellfish, lobster;” also “locust, grasshopper”..Locusta in the sense “lobster” also appears in Old Cornish legast and French langouste (12c.), now “crayfish,” but in Old French [it means] both “lobster” and “locust” A 13c. Psalter has God giving over the crops of Egypt to the langoustes).*
* langouste – details of that Psalter were not given, or I’d have included the image. 🙂 The reference is to Ps.105:34-35, taken as prefiguring the eighth plague visited on Pharaoh. Langoustine, in modern French describes a type of prawn, which also appears for ‘Cancer’ in Latin Europe’s medieval art.
But words don’t come from books – they come from people and are recorded in books. Associations in language imply practical observation of one kind or another.
Lobster as Locust.
A perception that locust and lobster were similar is also found among the Greeks, as Isidore rightly said at least a century before Bede wrote. and in a book that was to be found, in part or entire, in almost every monastic centre of Europe, his Etymologiae.
Locusta are so-called because their legs are ‘long, like spears’ (longis . . . asta, i.e. hasta, “spear”). Whence the Greeks call the sea- as well as the land creature αστακός (i.e. “lobster”). – Etymologiae XII.viii.9. The modern English translation, (the first ever made), has a translators’ note that locusta means not only “locust” and “lobster” but also “crayfish”.
One can understand how that perceived equivalence between locust, lobster and similar creatures was reached. All are voracious feeders, indiscriminate (especially the marine locusta) and after their passing nothing has been left unconsumed. Little wonder that in thirteenth century Oxford, the same locust plague, as the eighth inflicted on Pharaoh, is represented in Apocalyptic style. These are marauders – voracious beasts with the faces of men – langoustes:
It also makes intelligible a form given Cancer in one of the Labours series of Vézelay, though the series’ in Latin Europe typically gave Cancer for June, the month for harvesting hay in cooler latitudes, as against July when northerners’ harvested grain.
*scientific information on Locusts.
Another passage recorded by Isidore offers the key to another early (eleventh-century) image for Cancer, while clarifying that inference, so commonly seen in the imagery, that the creature for Cancer, and that for Scorpius are akin to one another.
Many creatures naturally undergo mutation and, when they decay, are transformed into different species – for instance … locusts from mules, scorpions from crabs. And at this point, he quotes Ovid: “If you take its curved arms from a crab on the shore a scorpion will emerge and threaten with its hooked tail (Ovid, Metamorphoses. 15.369).
Those are the heads of two mules, and their inclusion meant as a memory-prompt for fellow scholars, in the same monastery, of that passage of text: “Locusta from mules..”
I hope two things will have become clear by now – that the analyst’s task is not to produce ‘matches’ of superficial form, but to read the intention of an image in terms of its own time and context and to be equipped to recognise when the intention and ideas informing images ‘match’ – despite variations in outward form.
Secondly, that in order to read correctly the intention of a problematic image set down when our twenty-five-times-great-grandparents lived, one needs rather more than “just two eyes and commonsense” as some Voynich ‘memers’ assert.
A Lobster-like creature for Cancer is not wrong.
* (edited to modify) I disagree with some of Nicklies’ opinions, especially in the first part of his paper, where he appears to rely on combination of theorising and scrying, but my initial judgement was too hasty. I’ve altered this comment accordingly (25th Sept. 2022) and in the next post point out where Nicklies’ research and mine co-incide. . But for Voynich research, I repeat, its most valuable element is that reference to ‘Ausonian verses’,
- Charles E. Nicklies, ‘Cosmology and the Labors of the Months at Piacenza: The Crypt Mosaic at San Savino’, Gesta, Volume 34, Number 2 (1955) pp. 108-125.
Nor does it imply, necessarily, that a draughtsman, carver, painter or writer knew nothing more.
Isidore himself says, quite correctly:
Pliny [Natural History 32.142] says there are 144 names for all the animals living in the waters, divided into these kinds: whales, snakes common to land and water, crabs, shellfish, lobsters, mussels, octopuses, sole, Spanish mackerel (lacertus), squid, and the like. – Ety.XII.vi.63.
So the ‘lobster’ idea is perfectly ok, even if it’s not what we might have expected or would describe as ‘normal’ for our own time.
Since this exercise is treating only two emblems, not the series of diagrams as a whole, we must leave detailed exploration of the calendar, as such, to others, though De Temporum ratione would be a sensible first text in the reading list. I also recommend
- Bracken, Damian, ‘Virgil the Grammarian and Bede: a preliminary study’, Anglo-Saxon England 35 (2006): 7–21.
- Wallis, Faith [trans.], Bede: The reckoning of time, Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1999.
- A longer bibliography here.
- A useful vocabulary, and articles offered or planned on the Alexandrine computus, the Computus Runicus, and the Klingshammer computus HERE.
- A clear and detailed explanation of the computus controversy between Ireland and Rome HERE
But despite all we’ve discovered so far we’ve still encountered no pairing of these locustae or αστακοί. And we’re not likely to find them in the few illustrated constellation texts typically included in the Latins’ computistical miscellanies – whether or not the matter in those miscellanies informs the diagrams whose centres these emblems fill.
Constellation pictures in Computistical texts.
Other than the odd copy from Aratus or from Abbo’s summary extract from the Poeticon Astronomicon, just three texts figure, one attributed to Bede through the medieval period but now assigned to some unknown author as ‘Ps-Bede’. Lippincott lists them (Aratus; De signis coeli; de Ordine when speaking of the marked disjunction between transmission of those texts and transmission of the illustrations used in them. She writes:
“The illustrations accompanying these texts, however, are much less uniform than the texts they purport to illustrate. As seems to be the case with so many of these constellation manuscripts, the division into pictorial families fails to accord with what one might expect given established philological stemmata of the texts…
- For more on ‘de Signis’, ‘de Ordine’, the Aratus Latinus and Revised Aratus Latinus see published works by Elly Dekker, Kristen Lippincott and Ivana Dobcheva, and an essay published online by by Filippomaria Pontani, though one should not expect each to agree completely with the views of any other, even about the written text(s)
Does this mean we should we ignore written context?
Not necessarily. Pace Lippincott, not all drawings in manuscripts were derived from none but manuscript sources, and despite the Latin’s world’s usually granting primacy to written over pictorial text – and often treating images as no more than ‘illustration’ of the written text – it is also the case that drawings may work as a parallel, or alternative, or complementary ‘text’ for that which they accompany.
The forms given an image may be informed not only by the associated text, but by popular lore, puns across Latin and a vernacular, local by definition, by imported terms, and common lore as well as by a effort to ‘translate’ originally non-indigenous imagery.
Or, as Lippincott says, by one or more other, but unrecognised texts.
I believe I may have identified one: Ausonius’ school-room mnemonic poems, thanks to the three-point head detail and finding among the examples one from the mosaics of Piacenza and – hunting that up – come across t
he bare mention of ‘Ausonian verses’ in an otherwise unremarkable paper. Nicklies’ paper is unremarkable for its first couple of pages, It rises to the level of the scholarly and thoughtful for most of the middle section, but then simply returns to the same art-appreciation-theory style with which it began.
Still – it really is good in the middle.
Here are the verses used, as photocopied from the old edition in our library.
This is not the end of the story, though. Ausonius only knew the 12-month year which began in January. That suited medieval Europe, of course, but to complete the account of these emblems from the Voynich calendar (if it is a calendar), one more post will be needed.
2 thoughts on “O’Donovan notes ‘Calendar’ emblems Pt 6.2 – July and computistic lobsters.”
A characteristically generous and helpful pers.com. response from Nick Pelling – about another question entirely – has now prompted me to search his blog ‘Ciphermysteries’ for any precedent mention there of Bede and/or of computus texts in connection with Beinecke MS 408.
I regret being unable to search Santacoloma’s mailing list, or the more recent ‘voynich ninja’ conversations. Such searches are only permitted current participants. But while that means I’m am denied the means to properly credit any earlier work of value discussed there, it also serves to guarantee that my own observations involve nothing found there.
I am obliged to add that I should be in any case wary of citing what is said in either of those Voynich arenas, for one cannot rely on the members’ accurately citing in their conversations the secondary or tertiary sources from which, they, themselves have gained what may be termed there an idea, or new information.
Over more than a decade, I’ve always found Pelling to be meticulous in such matters, so I can certainly register a belated credit for his comments on the ‘Crocodile’ image (not as a crocodile, but as a ‘Scorpio’) in 2008, where he mentioned Laud 644.
N. Pelling, The Scorpio ‘Scorpion’ in the Vms’, ciphermysteries (21st. Nov. 2008)
The research which Pelling published through his blog also refers more than once to computus , though chiefly with regard to a speculative and hypothetical link between the Voynich manuscript and the sort of book called a ‘commonplace book’ and of which printed versions multiply after 1440 especially in Germany.
One commonplace book in manuscript, known as the ‘Pol hausbuch‘ has been somewhat dubiously dated by Christian Tobler to as early as 1389 but as the author of a German-language article (see link) says, “An upper limit on the origin of the manuscript can be set based on the date in the cover, but realistically it could still originate from any time between the turn of the 15th century and Nicolaus Pol’s ownership in 1494.”
Voynich theories involving the German examples of commonplace book typically fail to examine the possibility closely, and fail to distinguish between the date and nature of any manuscript, or between manuscripts and printed books, or between widely different genres as e.g. monastic breviaries and works on involving military arts. The standard of iconological analysis rarely moves beyond efforts to ‘match the picture’ and regularly makes invalid assumptions, such as that all crossbowmen are German crossbowmen. None but evidence ‘pro-‘ is referenced, all contrary evidence from the primary document or from secondary commentaries simply ignored.
The ‘German/central European’ theory is most flawed by imbalance. Errors of omission are typically more pronounced even than those of commission.
However, commonplace-book theory aside – in one post, Pelling mentions that “.. Roger Bacon (genuinely) constructed his own computus”. (Which I hadn’t known).
In a post of 2009 (Dec. 17th), he refers to Lyn Thorndike’s writings on the subject of computus and provides a lucid explanation of the Cisiojanus mnemonic.
Pelling’s studies being primarily focused on ciphers and secrets, I have always found his historical facts *and his documentation of facts and of his precedents* impeccable, though his custom in employing those facts and precedents is normally within his posing questions relating to – or his attempting to build – some larger narrative of the speculative and/or hypothetical kind.
From the point of view of my own discipline, this often leads him to miss the elements of importance in an image or set of images, and to lose focus on the historical lineage as well as the intention of what the manuscript actually presents, in his effort to create an hypothetical argument about it.
His post on the Scorpio-Scorpion is as good an example as any.
btw – a comment made by Thomas Spande to that post is one of the very few cases where a Voynich writer has even noticed the presence of that detail in the drawing that I’ve explained is a human skull given the hat of wayfarer and/or hunter. Spande supposed it represented a baby in the creature’s jaws. He was mistaken, but he remains one of very few Voynicheros who have so much as noticed that it was there, and attempted to understand why.
I do not refer people to Rene Zandbergen’s website. I am so often asked ‘why not?’ that I’ll explain again here.
Experience has shown that while his documentation of sources and precedents is meticulously typed, it is often woefully inaccurate about when, and by whom, a contribution was first made in Voynich studies.
All writers err, but few other Voynich writers present their personal collection of matter, taken from others’ work, as if it been subject to external peer review and as objective and authoritative as the Encyclopaedia Britannica.
Another and, for me, serious problem with that site is that matter which Zandbergen elects to incorporate (with or without permission and accurate documentation) often fails to distinguish between the repetition of an original contribution by a fellow adherent of his theory, and when (and by whom) that contribution to Voynich studies was first made. Allied to that, is the further problem of discrepancy between the site’s copyright date and the date at which a given item was first brought to notice. Consciously or not, the second failure means the site is riddled with what is effectively ‘gazumphing’. The best material included by Zandbergen, in my experience, is the ‘Who’s who’ or ‘Alamanac de Gotha’ entries. Other researchers may – and no doubt will – hold different opinions from mine, rating convenience a greater benefit than accuracy or Zandbergen’s habit of projecting, in his site, an erroneous impression of objective and authoritative utterance.
PS – keep an eye out for some mention of Ausonius on Zandbergen’s website. I’d lay a coffee on its either quietly appearing as an undated addition, and/or its being introduced in connection with Beinecke MS 408 being unattributed or wrongly attributed, or attributed in a way that makes no reference to this series of Voynic essays. Even old dogs can learn new tricks though, so a coffee is all you get if the mould is broken.