What is old is new again.

I am sitting in the main branch of the Bologna (Italy) public library. The library is literaly built on Roman ruins, which anyone may see by merely walking down to the sub-basement. I am one of a many dozen people sitting at large tables, each reading and writing with great intensity. The scene is very much like the scene described by Washington Irving in his short story called "The Art of Book-Making" from The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gentleman (1819):

  ...I found myself in a spacious chamber, surrounded with great
  cases of venerable books. Above the cases, and just under the
  cornice, were arranged a great number of black-looking portraits
  of ancient authors. About the room were placed long tables, with
  stands for reading and writing, at which sat many pale, studious
  personages, poring intently over dusty volumes, rummaging among
  mouldy manuscripts, and taking copious notes of their contents...

Apparently the people at the tables are authors making books:

  ...I found that these mysterious personages, whom I had mistaken
  for magi, were principally authors, and in the very act of
  manufacturing books. I was, in fact, in the reading-room of the
  great British Library- an immense collection of volumes of all
  ages and languages, many of which are now forgotten, and most of
  which are seldom read...

Every once in a while, the authors request items from the stacks with the assistance of a librarian:

  Now and then one of these personages would write something on a
  small slip of paper, and ring a bell, whereupon a familiar would
  appear, take the paper in profound silence, glide out of the
  room, and return shortly loaded with ponderous tomes, upon which
  the other would fall tooth and nail with famished voracity...
  
The narrator falls asleep and dreams of a person who tries to take something from the library:

  ...But the personage that most struck my attention was a
  pragmatical old gentleman, in clerical robes, with a remarkably
  large and square, but bald head. He entered the room wheezing and
  puffing, elbowed his way through the throng, with a look of
  sturdy self-confidence, and having laid hands upon a thick Greek
  quarto, clapped it upon his head, and swept majestically away in
  a formidable frizzled wig.
  
And the paintings -- who are authors of long ago -- begin to scream:

  ...In the height of this literary masquerade, a cry suddenly
  resounded from every side, of "Thieves! thieves!" I looked, and
  lo! the portraits about the wall became animated! The old authors
  thrust out, first a head, then a shoulder, from the canvas,
  looked down curiously, for an instant, upon the motley throng,
  and then descended with fury in their eyes, to claim their rifled
  property...
  
And the very last paragraph of the story describes the perspective of the librarian, emphasis are my own:

  The librarian now stepped up to me, and demanded whether I had a
  card of admission. At first I did not comprehend him, but I soon
  found that the library was a kind of literary "preserve," subject
             ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
  to game-laws, and that no one must presume to hunt there without
  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
  special license and permission. In a word, I stood convicted of
  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
  being an arrant poacher, and was glad to make a precipitate
  retreat, lest I should have a whole pack of authors let loose
  upon me.

What is old is new again, or maybe, the what of librarianship changes very slowly while the how of librarianship changes very quickly.

Read the story for yourself:

  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2048/2048-h/2048-h.htm#link2H_4_0012
  
--
Eric Lease Morgan <[log in to unmask]>
Navari Family Center for Digital Scholarship
University of Notre Dame