At first I thought I was alone in the room and presumed that the Romans did not rank Claudius very high as an author since they left his scrolls collecting the dust in their slots. But then I noticed that over by a narrow reading-window a young woman was sitting with her back to me. I hunted for the Etruscan history for a while. I found the history of Carthage which Claudius had also written, but the slots in which the history of the Etruscans was evidently kept were empty. I looked again at the woman reading and noticed she had a whole heap of scrolls beside her.

I had allotted the whole day to this dreary task, for one may not read by lamplight in the library because of the danger of fire, and I did not want to leave without having accomplished my work. So I plucked up courage, for I was shy of speaking to strange women, went over to her and asked her whether she was reading the history of the Etruscans and whether she needed all the scrolls at once. My voice was sarcastic, although I knew perfectly well that many well-brought-up women are bookworms. But they certainly did not usually read history books, but more likely Ovid’s fantastic love stories and adventures.

The woman started violently, just as if she had only then noticed my arrival, and she looked up at me with her eyes glittering. She was young, and judging by her hair style, unmarried. Her face was not beautiful but rather irregular and coarse of feature. Her smooth skin was sunburned like a slave’s, her mouth large and her lips full.

“I’m learning the words of the holy rituals and I’m comparing them with each other in different books,” she snapped. “It’s not funny.”

Despite her bad temper, I had a feeling that she was as shy of me as I was of her. I noticed her hands were blackened with ink and that she was making notes with a leaky pen on a papyrus. One could see from her handwriting that she was used to writing but the poor materials blurred her script.

“I assure you I’m not laughing,” I hastened to say, smiling at her. “On the contrary, I am full of respect for your learned occupation. I don’t wish to disturb you in any way, but I’ve promised my father to read this book. Of course I shall not understand as much of it as you, but a promise is a promise.”

I had hoped she would ask me who my father was so that I could ask after her name. But she was not as inquisitive as that. She looked at me as one looks on a troublesome fly, then poked among the heap of scrolls at her feet and handed me the first part of the book.

“Here you are,” she said. “Take it and leave me in peace from your advances.”

51

I flushed so violently that my face burned. The girl was certainly mistaken if she thought I had trumped up an excuse to get to know her. I took the scroll, went over to the reading-window on the other side of the room and began to read with my back to her. 

I read as quickly as possible without attempting to try to memorize the long list of names. Claudius evidently considered it necessary to enumerate from whom and how he had received every piece of information, what other people had written about it and what he himself considered to be the case. I did not think I had ever before read such a finicky and tedious book. But at the time when Timaius had ordered me to read the books he liked, I had learned to read swiftly and to memorize a few things that interested me. I used to cling stubbornly to these when Timaius later questioned me on the contents of the book. I thought I would read this book in the same way.

But the girl would not let me read in peace. She sat tittering to herself and sometimes swore aloud as she rustled the scrolls. In the end she tired of constantly sharpening her useless pen, broke it in half and stamped her foot in a rage.

“Are you blind and deaf, you horrible boy?” she cried. “Go and get me a proper pen at once. You must be very badly brought up if you can’t see I need one.”

My face burned again and I was annoyed, for the girl’s own conduct did not exactly point to a good upbringing. But I did not want to quarrel with her over the scrolls just as I had finished the first one. So I controlled myself and went to the librarian and asked for a spare quill. He muttered that according to the library rules, quills and paper for notes were free, but that no citizen was so poor that he had the nerve to take a pen without paying. Angrily I gave him a silver piece and he happily handed me a bundle of pens and a scroll of the worst paper. I returned to the Claudius room where the girl snatched the pens and paper out of my hand without even thanking me.

When I had finished the first book, I went back to her and asked her for the second.

“Can you really read so quickly?” she asked in surprise. “Do you remember anything of what you’ve read?”

“At least I can remember that the Etruscan priests had a deplorable habit of using poisonous snakes as throwing weapons,” I said. “I’m not surprised that you’re studying their customs and habits.”

I had a feeling she was already regretting her behavior, for in spite of my nasty remark she humbly handed me a quill and like a little girl, said, “Would you mind sharpening my quill for me? I don’t seem to be able to do it. They start leaking almost at once.”

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