Summer 2026 · Torch: U.S. · CAREER OF COPIES
14
The morning sun was bright as it showed through the window of Marcus Terentius Varro’s villa in Rhaetia, Italia. Today, in particular, was a busy one. He was going to finish his Saturae Menippeae. Book 150 was going to end his famous collection. So, with aching hands and a heavy heart, Varro wrote. He wrote through the morning birds singing and the noon children playing and the evening crowd socializing. He wrote till a lamp had to be lit, and the moon was high in the sky. In the end, he wrote until his hands could write no more, until no more scratches in his tabulae could be made. His stilus crashed to the floor, echoing throughout his small room. Varro drops to his knees. His shaky hands held the tabulae to the lamplight, and tears began to run down his face. Hours had been spent writing such an incredible work of art. The words leapt out at Varro, stealing his breath. Masterpieces were one in a million. Something so special could not be taken lightly.
So, the next morning, Varro travelled the town telling the villagers his story. Most listened, for he was a quite famous author. However, the people of Italy could not read his work unless he was there to hand them the original copy. How could he spread his masterpiece of 150 books to so many people? Normally, he would hire a scriba to make hand-made copies of his works. But 150 books were too many to copy. In utter disappointment, he headed home, defeated feet dragging through the sand. Burning sun up above, Varro could feel his failure setting in. When his hope was spent and his legs weak, the author set himself upon the edge of a fountain. The cold water felt nice on his hands when he swirled the water with his fingers.
“Excuse me, sir,” Varro jumped, looking up to see a young Greek gentleman clad in a merchant’s robe and endowed with many gems. Concern was palpable on his face, distorting his features.
“Why are you so sad?” The man asks, stepping towards Varro with a rag. The author wiped his face, realizing it was wet with tears.
“Oh, kind fellow, I wrote many words that none past these village gates will ever read.” Varro responded, lowering his head in sorrow.
“Oh my, sir. I’m so sorry!” the man gasps, laying a hand on Varro’s shoulder. “You mean to tell me you have a story?”
“Indeed,” responds Varro. “But it is quite long, I cannot possibly copy it by hand!” Varro drops his head into his hands and weeps. The Greek gentleman begins to think, before gasping in joy.
“Sir, you could use my new printing press!” He shouts leaping into the air and clapping his hands.
“Printing press,” Varro says, “What on Earth is that?”
“Oh sir. The printing press is my newest invention. It allows for us to press characters onto papyrus with ink, so we don’t have to copy by hand.”
“How is that possible? An invention like that would change my life!” Varro exclaims, eager to learn more of this mystical contraption.
The man walks Varro to his shop, which lays across town. The small building is warm on the inside, nicely lit by torches. The large press sits in the center of a room full of papers, ink, tabulae, and books, so many books. Varro runs his hands over the machine, shaking in disbelief.
Lorelei Edwards, Dreher High School, South Carolina
CAREER OF COPIES