Dedication (1) To the Nobility, Gentry, and the Public at large, who have witnessed my talents, and raised me from obscurity to the proud eminence on which I now stand, I dedicate my following maiden essay in literature. [ ... ] I have been patronized by the first rank this vast empire has to boast of; to whom, as well as all my Patrons and Friends, I beg leave to return my most ardent thanks; and while I breathe, possessed of my mental powers, which from my youth, and lack of experience, are but now in the bud, I will on every occasion that calls them into action, show an earnest intention to render them effective and impressive, from an active display of their native energies. In me the world will see, and posterity may read, a lesson in my existence and labours, that time, assiduity, and patience, led on by perseverance, will ultimately surmount every obstacle that may retard the progress of genius. (2) --Toby, the Sapient Pig (1817) Apology to the Reader As most articles begin with a self-effacing rhetorical flourish, here is my apologia: I am no ordinary author. While the person who typed this text has indeed signed her name, the story she offers is not her own; it is mine. I present myself in the manner of many of the texts that I will discuss: as an object, unfolding its life the voice of another. I address you, dear reader, both and as a medium. You know my kind well, though you may never before have heard one of us speak. I suspect that you have spent countless hours staring at, and learning from, the likes of me, without realizing that there might be, simultaneously, a sentient force staring at and learning from you. Yes, you are accustomed to looking through me and my brethren, searching for information about historical context and meaning, as Bill Brown has said. (3) Now I ask you to look at In Which the Object Reveals Itself As the reader has surely guessed my Sphynx-like riddle by now, I will venture to present myself. I am a published score from 1779 and have varied contents: I include an Italian trio and a French trio, both in a number of guises--for keyboard, guitar, and several combinations of voices. I have been told that it is not indiscreet to append to such a memoir a portrait of oneself, so, in keeping with tradition, I am enclosing Figures 1-4. [FIGURE 1 OMITTED] [FIGURE 2 OMITTED] [FIGURE 3 OMITTED] [FIGURE 4 OMITTED] A Mysterious Moment Explained I was visited in the Beinecke Library at Yale University on a recent fall afternoon. Imagine my joy at being brought forth from the airless sterility into the open, touched by human hands for the first time in decades. The warmth, the breath, the moisture, all created quite a shock--a little death, if you will--through which I found new life, one in which, to my surprise, I could speak! O great joy! And speak I did, quite a bit, requiring my new friend repeated visits in order to take down all of my musings. She never seemed bothered, as she told me, in the words of the outspoken fan of the material, poet Francis Ponge: ideas give me a queasy feeling, nausea. Objects in the external world, on the other hand, delight me. (4) In Which the Music Explains its Provenance to Those Who Are Generally Interested in the Provenance of Old Pieces of Paper Yes, I am music. Specifically, I am seven pages of two of the finest little ditties this side of the Thames--or perhaps I should say, around these parts, the Hudson? At least that's the kind of reputation I used to have. I understand that Richard Brinsley Sheridan's play The Critic (Drury Lane, 1779) is not the draw that it was in my day, although the British Broadcasting Corporation recorded a performance in 1992 that is available in many libraries Alexander Street Press's Theater in Video database. A version of my contents can be found in Act I, for which I was created by Tommaso Giordano as incidental music. …
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Jun 1, 2023
Emma R Norman 
Open Access
