Demetrius Cotto confronts the extinction of the scroll

Cotto: Lucius! What ho, Lucius! (Enter Lucius.)

Lucius: You called, my lord?

Cotto: I did. Bring thou to me a scroll from my scriptorium. I wish to read the Iliad. For I would be reminded of Achilles' wrath, and of the fall of Troy.

Lucius: Aye, verily, my lord. (Exit. Returns, carrying a book.) Here thou art, my lord.

Cotto (staring at the book): What's this? What squalid trash afflicts mine eyeballs? I asked thee for a scroll, whelp, not a sheaf of scraps.

Lucius: This is a new invention, lord, a product of our technology. The papyrus scroll is obsolete, outdated, soon to be extinct. To supplant it, the gods have given us this wondrous innovation, wrought by unknown hands: sheets of parchment, bound together, in a mating most auspicious. In short, a codex, also called a book.

Cotto: Tush! Pah! A fig for it! What are these stinking strips of goatskin, tied akimbo at the edge? They look like rags. Shall a man read rags? Away with them! They offend the civilised eye. 

Lucius: Listen, lord, and stand amazed. Those sheets, which thou despiseth so, are called pages; bound together, they are called a book. The scroll hath now been superseded by this marvellous medium. No longer dost thou have t' unroll thy cumbrous scroll, and roll it up again. No longer must thou grip the spools in both thy hands, constantly unrolling from the top, re-rolling from the bottom, inflicting toil and strain upon thy tender tendons. Nay, by Jupiter, thou canst hold this little volume in one single hand alone, and flip the pages merrily.

Cotto (crossly): I care not for these poncey novelties of a shallow and degenerate age. This foul thing shall not defile my elegant scriptorium. Away with it! I yearn to hold a noble scroll, stately and venerable, hallowed by centuries of scholarly use, exuding the pleasant fragrance of old papyrus. I love t' unroll and re-roll it leisurely, according to my sweet pleasure. For the scroll hath an ancient dignity that shall never be usurped by thine impudent upstart "book."

Lucius: O my lord, do not disgrace thy faithful slave by being so Jurassic. My fellow slaves will laugh at me. They'll say my lord is retro. Why, all the local noblemen are queueing up to buy these newly crafted books. The scroll is an antique, my lord! Cast thou off this vain attachment to the relics of the dead, outmoded past! Get with it, dude! I mean, my lord. Embrace the future, please, I pray thee!

Cotto: What, naughty lad! Wilt thou insult thy master?

Lucius: Please chill thou out, my lord, I do but seek t' upgrade thee. The book is more convenient; lo, it taketh up less room, is less cumbersome to manage. Thou canst mark important passages by dog-earing the pages. Canst thou dog-ear a scroll? Behold, a dog-eared scroll would be a dog indeed, and fit for only kicking. Why, sir, this invention will consign the scroll to quick extinction. It soon will rule the reading world.

Cotto (grumbling): Thou'rt very glib of tongue, thou rascal boy. I'll give thy book a look. But I doubt that I shall like it.

Lucius: Far greater things are yet in store, my lord. For there is in town a soothsayer who hath predicted many wonders. Now thou canst read of fierce Achilles, and how he slew brave Hector; but in centuries yet to come, men will view their clash upon a TV screen.

Cotto: What blighted brain hath spawned this fevered fantasy?

Lucius: In truth, my lord, the soothsayer hath spoken. His name is Julius Vernus. He saith that in time to come, bold Hector will be played onscreen by Eric Bana, and Achilles by Brad Pitt.

Cotto: What barbarian names are these?

Lucius: They are in a language yet unborn, my lord, belonging to a future age. In our fair Latin tongue, they are Ericus Bana and Braddus Pittus. And there will be yet more prodigious marvels t' astound our second-century brains. Why, the book itself, which thou despisest as an upstart novelty, will in time to come be superseded. Five thousand books will be contained in one small machine, held in the hand and read through the miracle of electronics.

Cotto: What piffle, this! Thy soothsayer is a madman. Must I then give up my beloved scrolls for a heartless, cold machine?

Lucius: Not yet, my lord, for that is yet far off.

Cotto (grumbling): Let be, then. For now I shall try to read thy book; but methinks I will detest it.

Lucius: Farewell, my lord. I go to water the geraniums. (Aside, to audience:) Alas, I did not tell him of the soothsayer's most dire prediction: that in time to come, his surname, Cotto, will be famed through the world - not as a symbol of great learning, nor civilised ways and gracious living - but as a brand of toilet bowl.