GUIDES FOR MUSEUMS.
WE print elsewhere a letter from Lord Sudeley in a cause which, we believe, he invented, which he has industriously laboured for, and of which he already has the satisfaction of seeing the partial adoption. For some years he has urged the Government to appoint competent " guide demonstrators " in order to explain the exhibits in our national museums and collections to people who would otherwise wander aimlessly about, getting neither profit nor pleasure from their
visit. Where his plan has been acted upon it has been a success. He now appeals for its much wider adoption. We are sure that he is working on the right lines, for the feeling frequently inspired in people by the very thought of museums is in itself an injustice to the mighty inherent capacity of the exhibits to interest every man, woman, and child ; and it must be that there is a way to end this unhappy paradox. We believe that the " guide-demonstrator " provides the way. It may be said that it is no part of the State's function to pay for exposition other than is provided by guide-books and labels. But on reflection it will be seen that this criticism is not sound if it be—as is admitted—the office of museums to educate. A large sum of money is spent on them, and the total improvement of popular education which they accomplish is not commensurate with the cost. Yet only a little further expenditure would probably make a difference out of all proportion to the increase of cost. It is always a pity to spoil the ship for a ha'p'orth of tar. Exposition by official guides is after all only an extension of the labelling and guide-book writing which is at present accepted as a natural part of the work of a museum staff.
The average man who enters a large museum is lost. One teed only use one's eyes to see that. He is bewildered by the multitude and complexity of the objects. He perhaps tries to see everything, and therefore sees nothing. The brain becomes tired, just as the eyes become tired in the attempt to focus a rapid succession of moving objects. His gaze flits about like a butterfly, and he is fortunate if he does not pass over much that i3 beautiful and inconspicuous and give all his atten.tion to things that happen to be large and prominent. The atmosphere (in an intellectual sense) of a museum is undoubtedly chilling to the purposeless visitor. He does not see the vases for the china ; he does not see the sculpture for the marble ; he does not see the coins for the metal. There are such masses of material everywhere that he does not get into friendly relations with a thing that would enchant him if it were placed singly in his own room. It may still be said that any intelligent person can get enough "story" out of a guide-book to satisfy his curiosity. But this is not so. The human touch in a museum has an extraordinary effect in directing attention to what is cardinal or characteristic. In a museum the spoken appreciation of a man of genuine information and enthusiasm will communicate itself to his audience in a manner that is impossible by any other means. The person addressed will feel that he somehow can enter into the relation of "living with" the object—a relation banned by the atmosphere of a museum as it is generally breathed by a " f oiled , circuitous wanderer." The human exposition is the. clue to the labyrinth.
It is difficult to explain the reality and value of the human touch in these circumstances, but the results cannot be questioned. In another region of education there is a curious proof of what we mean in the success of education " by correspondence." It may be asked why on earth men should prefer to learn, and find it easier to learn, by writing letters about their studies, when they could just as well get all they want out of books. No doubt some people would get on better simply with books. Personally we think that we should find education by correspondence clumsy and tiresome. But its success proves that this is not the usual experience. The human incentive, response, rapport, or whatever it is, works where the intangible literary impulse fails.
Of course the guide-demonstrators would always have to be men with an equipment of genuine learning coupled with a capacity for lucid and simple exposition. They would be— and those who have already officially undertaken the work are —the antithesis of what Lord Sudeley once called the " parrot " guide. The writer remembers listening to a guide in charge of a party of English tourists in Paris. About a bridge laden with historical memories, a bridge that had groaned beneath the feet of troops of the Grand Army, supported dire processions marching to the place of execution, and been bespattered with the bullets of the Commune, he remarked: "There is a very interesting thing about this bridge. It is said that you can never look at it without seeing a white horse and a red-haired soldier." The sudden minute examination of the bridge in the hope of seeing the white horse and the red-haired soldier was an entertaining, or perhaps a pathetic, illustration of the craving for historical food. The fact is that every visitor to a museum, like every tourist abroad, is not only willing but anxious to be interested. If he is seen wandering about with a listless air as though he had just come in out of the rain, it is undoubtedly because the system of education provided by museums has failed just at the very moment when it has succeeded in laying hold of him.
It cannot be expected, however, that cultivated men will discharge the duties of guide-demonstrators with unflagging zest if they are not properly protected from annoyances that have been experienced hitherto. The audiences must not be too large, and a subordinate official must prevent unauthorized persons from tacking themselves on to the original party. Otherwise the noise of feet and the talking of persons who scarcely know what is going on, and do not acknowledge any obligation or tribute of courtesy to the guide, make the latter's work harassing beyond words. No sensitive and selfrespecting man could be expected to go on with it.
In a debate in the House of Lords on the whole subject it was objected that the variety of the exhibits at such a collection as that in Hertford House would prevent any one man from being an authority on them all, and that it would be out of the question to provide a specialist for each section. But the objection betrayed, in our opinion, a misconception of what is wanted. The visitor who wants the information of a specialist would not be in need of a guide at all. It is the ordinary visitor, desiring a rapid but intelligent survey, who would be helped enormously by the sort of guide that Lord Sudeley has in mind. The guide might speak purely on the authority of others in regard to many of the sections, but he would not necessarily be a worse popular expositor for that reason. In most cases he would be better. He must be an intelligent man, a true lover of art, a good speaker, and one with a general knowledge of the museum—that is all. What sort of fee, if any, should be charged is a question we need not discuss now. The experience at Kew Gardens appears to prove that a fee as large as half-a-crown defeats the whole scheme. Might it not be possible on occasion to induce unpaid volunteers to act as deputy guides ? It would be a. branch of educational public work which the members of the Cavendish Club might well undertake or stimulate the undertaking of by others. Men of great learning might be willing to act in this capacity—say once a quarter. What a piece of luck it would be to go round the National Gallery with Lord Crawford on one of his volunteer days !
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