Hidden Gems

My research at the AAS, for the most part, consists of looking at book illustrations, lithographs, and various pen and ink drawings from the late 18th and early 19th centuries. As a result, I've handled a lot of very delicate paper and turned pages very, very slowly. Yesterday I looked at Trumbull's "Battle of Bunker Hill" (1798), political cartoons from 1813, and a lot of currency from New Hampshire, Rhode Island, New York and Massachusetts, printed between 1771 and 1865. I was looking for images of "America" figured as female -- not to mention pictures of pirates to go with my John Paul Jones stuff. I found a lot -- and am still processing what to do with it all.

I happened to look through some sheet music from the early 19th century. The AAS catalogs its sheet music by cover illustration, in addition to other categories, of course. So, I can look for first lines and subjects relating to my research in a purely "pictorial cover" database. (An extra benefit? This collection has yet to be cataloged digitally, so I have a rare opportunity to pull out card catalogs and thumb through the entries. I'm certainly no Luddite, but every once in a while it's nice to use wood and paper in the library. But anyway…)

So sheet music. One of the pieces I looked at was titled "The Pirate's Serenade." The AAS owns six copies of the piece and the cover of one mentions that no fewer than eight editions were released. Opening the folds of one of these copies revealed a dried flower lodged in its crease. Although it could have come by any number of means, I like to think someone -- a teenage girl, perhaps? -- dreamily pressed the wildflower in the music with thoughts of her own swarthy pirate strumming a guitar at her window. She (or he, I suppose) could have chosen any number of books for pressing flowers, but chose this one. I know from experience that these things are chosen neither randomly nor lightly.

I showed the flower to one of the curators and she, while delighted, informed me sadly that she had to remove the flower and dispose of it. I understood. The flower will not be forgotten, however: years of presence makes its absence very visible within "A Pirate's Serenade." The weathered impression of the flower on the music will outlast its source. All any of can hope for in the end, I suppose.