What effect will these changes have on the desirability of library work as a profession? The only conclusion can be that it will be greatly increased. By this I mean that it will be more interesting, more likely to give pleasure to the worker as a by-product. I do not mean that it will necessarily pay very much better. The most interesting and pleasurable occupations are generally, I think, those that do not pay well in money. One should not expect full payment in both cash and pleasure. The exception is where the acquisition of money is itself the feature of the occupation that gives the pleasure. I do not quarrel with those who pursue this form of pleasure, but they certainly have no business to be librarians or teachers, or artists or authors, or to engage in any occupation which in itself constitutes to the worker the fullness of life and its illumination. The library profession will make its appeal in 1950, as it does today, to men and women who like to work with and among and through books; who also like to work with and among and through people; who enjoy watching the interplay of relations between the man and the book and using them for the advancement of civilization. This is an intellectual and spiritual appeal, and it is not likely to be replaced by that which glitters on the metallic face of the dollar.
In taking leave of our subject we may go back to our opening simile of the railroad train. The flier that reaches New York is the same train that left Chicago; its passengers have not greatly changed, and yet its environment is wholly different, so that the outlook of those within it has totally altered. It is in some such fashion that the library of 1950 will differ from that of today. It will be the same institution with the same staff, but it will have traveled far on the rails of time. Its environment, its outlook will be different, and in its response to that variation it must needs do different things and render a different service. May its motive power never fail, its machinery be kept well oiled, and the crew maintain their strength, intelligence and sanity!
POPULARIZING MUSIC THROUGH THE LIBRARY[18]
The purchase of music by a public library is justified by the assumption that its use is to be somewhat analogous to that of printed speech. The analogy is, in fact, somewhat closer than most persons realize, and its consideration reveals some mistaken ideas about the use of music in a library and may give rise to suggestions for the improvement of that use. A page of music, like a page of written language, is a record of something whose primary expression is obtained through sound. Anyone who understands the notation in either case may reproduce the sounds. In one case this is “reading aloud”; in the other it is a performance of the music. In the case of the music the sounds may be made with the voice, or with an instrument or with one or several of both at once, but this is only an apparent complication and does not affect the principle. The reader, of course, may learn the language, or the music, by heart and then dispense with the written record. In practise there are important differences between the treatment of records of speech and music. As sound is readily imagined as well as actually produced, both speech and music may be enjoyed by a reader without making a sound. If the reader of a book cannot do this, he is not regarded as at all skilled. Most of us, I think, do not consider that a person knows completely how to read when he is not able to read “to himself”, but finds it necessary to make the actual sounds of speech, whether loudly, or only under his breath. In the case of music, however, only the skilled musician, as a general thing, is able to read a page of music “to himself”, as he would read a page of written language. This is especially the case with instrumental music and with music where there are several parts. An accomplished musician, however, may run over an orchestral score and hear the performance “in his mind”, with the quality of each instrument brought out, the harmonies and the shading of intensity.
We may go a step further as a matter of curious interest. Language is not necessarily connected with sounds at all. A deaf mute, who has never heard a sound, and is incapable of understanding what sound is, may nevertheless learn to read. He is, however unable to appreciate a page of written music, and I do not know how it would be possible to explain to him what it is like, except the rhythm of it, which may be made to appeal to the senses of sight and touch, as well as to that of sound. In general, however, the reader of music must at least imagine the sounds represented by the notation before him. This is not the case with the reader of speech. Anyone who can read fast and well enough may, like the deaf mute, understand what he reads without even imaging the sound of the words. One may even read so fast that the mere speed forbids any thought of the corresponding oral language. Skilled readers may take in a sentence, a paragraph, almost a page, at a glance. This is the sole point of difference between reading language and reading music; and it does not greatly concern us here because all that it practically affects is speed of appreciation.
Something that is of greater importance is the difference of purpose usually found between those who read words and those who read musical notes. When we say of a child that he is studying music we usually mean that he is learning how to sing or to play on some instrument with the special view of being able to perform before some kind of audience. A music-teacher in like manner is one who teaches his pupils how to play on the piano or the violin, or how to sing.
But when we teach a child to read we are not primarily concerned with his future ability to read aloud or to recite so as to give pleasure to an audience, what we are thinking of is his ability to read rapidly to himself so as to understand what is in books. Looked at in the same way the main thing in musical instruction would be to teach rapid sight-reading so that the reader should get the ability to become acquainted with as large a number of musical masterpieces as possible. One learns to talk by talking; one learns to read by reading; and the same is true of reading music. And as the omnivorous reader of books always wants to express his own thoughts in writing, so the omnivorous reader of music will want to compose. Neither the one nor the other may produce anything great, but the effort will aid in mental development. As a matter of fact, the child begins to put his thoughts into words before he knows how to read. He is encouraged to do so. No mother ever tried to stop her baby from learning to talk because its first efforts were feeble, halting and unintelligible. How differently we treat the child’s attempts at musical expression—for that is the explanation of many of the crude baby noises that we hear. As the child grows, its expression in this direction is discouraged, and seldom is any effort made at encouragement or development. Is it not a wonder that anyone succeeds in composing original music? How many great poets or novelists should we have if every baby were discouraged in its efforts to express itself in words; if it were never taught to talk and never to read?
By the time we librarians are able to exert an influence on the reader, this period is past, but it is still possible to do something. Our first job is to disabuse the public of the idea that enjoyment of music has necessarily something to do with mastering the technique of some musical instrument. The phonograph has done good work in removing this impression, but we should never be content with the phonograph any more than we should consent to do away with all printed books and rely wholly on works “read aloud” on the victrola. There will always be pleasure and profit in doing one’s own reading, whether in speech or in music. One must understand musical notation of course, just as one must know the notation of written speech before he can read books. He must also understand a little of some instrument, preferably the piano; though only enough for sight-reading, his object being to understand and appreciate the music himself, not necessarily to bring understanding and appreciation to others.
I think I have gone far enough along this train of thought to show the principle on which I should select the music for a public library collection. I should form such a collection in precisely the same way as my collection of books. A very large proportion of the books in a public library are properly intended for those who will read them for their own delectation, enjoying and appreciating and profiting personally by what they read. A much smaller proportion are books for study and research. A still smaller number are dramatic or other selections intended principally for recitation or declamation. So, in selecting my music I would acquire chiefly selections for reading. I do not mean elementary reading—one does not limit his language books to primers. I should buy works of all grades of difficulty, but I should have always in mind the primary use of these for sight reading. Comparatively few would be pieces written solely for display—to dazzle the hearer or to show off technique. Few would be pieces whose interest is chiefly historical or academic. I do not say that I should exclude either of these kinds, but I certainly should not include them in greater degree than I should include analogous material in buying ordinary books. Bear in mind also that I am speaking of an ordinary public library, of average size, not of a university library nor that of a music school; nor a public library so large that it may properly have some of the functions of both of these.
Just as it is a conspicuous duty of the library to raise and maintain the level of literary taste in its community and to keep this fact in mind in the selection of its books, so it is the business of its musical collection to raise and maintain the level of musical taste.