Shortly after returning from exile in 58,
Cicero sent a brief note to Atticus with the sole purpose of requesting
his
friend’s assistance in arranging his library. This letter (Att.
4.4),
and a few others that followed it, became a source of some conjectures
about the
specifics of bookmaking in classical Rome and Greece, as well as the
pertaining
terminology. It is difficult to imagine a monograph or even an article
on
ancient libraries that omits this episode – quite rightly so, but
nevertheless
there are some elements of contemporaneous cultural context that should
be
considered in this connection.
The
wording of Cicero’s request addressed to Atticus bears very strong
references
to the social order of the time. It may be noted how Marcus Tullius
distances
himself from the actual task of renovating his personal library. It was
Tyrannio, a freedman, who was responsible for the arranging (dissignatio)
of the surviving volumes (Cicero does not give us an impression of his
own
involvement in this process). Librariolus¸ the general term,
used by
Cicero for those employed by Atticus in his book publishing business,
is a
characteristically diminutive form of librarius, suitable for
a slave
and reminiscent of the contemptuous Graeculus. Atticus’ slaves
are
expected to perform their job under Tyrannio’s supervision, and Cicero
once
again does not imply his own possible involvement or his guiding role.
This
detachment, cultural reasons for which had been suggested above, may
very well
resonate in the final part of Cicero’s request: iisque imperes ut
sumant
membranulam ex qua indices fiant, quos vos Graeci, ut opinor, sittÚbaj appellatis.
Through this circuitous tone
Cicero either wants to create an impression that for him the knowledge
of
specific terminology is duly and understandably superfluous or he
indeed has
some doubts as to how one calls the little slips of parchment that were
at
times attached to papyrus rolls. Either way, Cicero is not worried
about using
a wrong Greek word, considering that he hardly lacked a specialist with
whom he
might have consulted (Tyrannio, for instance, certainly would have been
of
assistance). A Roman aristocrat simply could afford not to care much
about the
terminology of any given craft. It is ironic, that Cicero’s letters
became the
primary evidence for this particular Greek term, shrouded in
orthographic
uncertainty (s…lluboj
or sittÚbai?).
Although a mere scribal error is likely responsible for the confusion,
the
varying spellings in Att. 4.4a , 4.5.3 and 4.8.2 may in fact
ascend to
Cicero’s manuscripts, with Cicero’s carelessness being the reason. The
disregard for the social context may have contributed to the subsequent
coining
of the term syllabus in humanist Latin and some modern European
languages. Cicero, a figure of great literary authority, was presumed
to be a
trustworthy witness for the Greek word not attested
in other classical writers (at least not in the form found in
the
Medicean manuscript, which in 1470 was used for the editio prima).
The
word was suitably reinterpreted to denote any kind of a concise summary
or list
of subdivisions in a text. In the atmosphere of enthusiasm for the
recent
advances in book production, it only seemed proper that an author would
be well
versed in the terminology of the trade that made distribution of his
works
possible.
;)
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