Now that we’ve spent some time identifying the owners, what do we know about the book itself? It should be noted for accuracy’s sake that the manuscript is generally considered to have been “lost among the stacks” of the library’s collection during that time. This is where the trail goes cold, because discussion around the book stops for 200+ years before Wilfrid Voynich purchases it in 1912. In fact, his correspondence surrounding the Manuscript is relatively light, until Baresch’s friend (and new Manuscript owner) Prague University President Johannes Marci sends the book in its entirety to Kircher at his teaching post at the Collegio Romano. Kircher is a polymath of some note, being known by the moniker “Master of a Hundred Arts”, but he did not reply to Baresch’s letter. In the letter, he describes it as “taking up space uselessly in his library.” This is accepted because he describes it in a letter to Athanasius Kircher and even transcribes part of it for decoding. Voynich could allegedly see, and identify, the faint signature of Jacobus Sinapius, a court physician of Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II (this is mostly unconfirmed as the signature in the book doesn’t match Sinapius’ signature in a letter known to have come from him), though this signature is still visible today under blacklight.Īs far as we know, the alchemist Georg Baresch, is the first owner of the Voynich manuscript. Kraus tried to sell it but cannot interest anyone, and instead donates it to Yale’s Rare Book Library, where it’s been on display since 1969. When Ethel passed away, the book went to Anne Nill, Ethel’s close friend, who successfully sold the book to Hans Kraus, an Austrian bookseller, for ~$25,000. The Villa Mondragone (credit: AroundRome) “I believe you have a rare book or two for me?” “What’s your last name?” you ask, as you scan the ledger’s extensive list of names. The two of you make your way to the front of the library, where you’re able to see the Father’s list of outstanding book orders that need to be picked up. He is about your height, though you are much thinner. He has a mustache, round spectacles, and is donning a double-breasted off-white suit. You rise from your crouch and motion for the man to follow. “I’m here to pick up some books, the Father said you had some rare ones that may be worth something?” He fails to notice, and forges on instead. “Hello,” you answer back politely, if markedly less enthused. He has a thick accent from somewhere in Eastern Europe. “Hello!” a man says to you as you look down the shelf to the next row of books. Underneath that, you also notice the faint yet contrasting scent of a man’s aftershave. As you breathe, you take in the scent of aged pages somehow both stale and sweet. You’re in the fiction section, where things are considered sufficiently organized if they are placed in alphabetical order. You take a deep breath as you skim over the books you’ve just organized. Imagine this: The year is 1912 and you’re working part-time in the library at Villa Mondragone, an historical building that houses the Collegio Romano.
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