The George Peabody library, the internet informed me, wasn’t open Saturdays.
Closed?! What? How had I missed this? I had plans to go to the library today! Working so close to Baltimore, I’d anticipated a trip downtown to Johns Hopkins University and the world-famous George Peabody library. The library was built in 1857 and currently has more than 300,000 titles all arranged in a stunning six-story room called the “stack room”.
Okay, I figured, I might as well go to Baltimore today anyway. There’s got to be more in the city than a library, right? Doing some quick research, I found good parking, then headed off into a frozen Maryland morning in my little rented Mazda.
After driving for an hour, I looked at the skyline in the distance and wondered if this was such a good idea. The city looked gritty and crime-ridden even from far away. As I turned off the highway, my fears were confirmed. The streets had seen better days, and so had its occupants. Homes lining the streets had been beautiful once, but were now empty except for “no trespassing” signs. When I saw the parking lot I’d planned to leave my car in, I laughed.
“Your destination is on the right,” Google Maps informed me. “Turn right.”
“No!” I said, and kept driving.
Since I’d driven all the way there, I decided to drive around for a while and then see if anything interesting stood out to me… and if so, I would go through the hassle and perils of finding a parking place and getting out of my vehicle to see it.
I drove through Mount Vernon, past national banks in old, stately buildings. I drove past the harbor, where I’d stayed before for a college honor society conference. I drove until I almost had reached the interstate again. I looked for museums, theatres, antiques, shopping, even considered visiting the childrens’ museum. Nothing stood out to me. The University of Baltimore looked particularly dreary.
After sitting in traffic for a while I understood that at every red light turning green, no matter how quickly the first car takes its start, it’s never fast enough for the cars waiting behind. Just the inevitable few seconds it takes for traffic to start moving again is delay enough to set off impatient drivers waiting. Also, even though they were all in a hurry, these drivers were not Baltimore natives – I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know where I was going! Realizing the level of anger around me was not entirely my fault, I relaxed and settled into the flow of traffic.
Then I realized the city was changing around me. Refined, hunter-green, contemporary townhomes faced the street, replacing gloomy, ornate, broken facades. Shops became more ‘hip’ and streets became cleaner. There were obvious tourists walking on the streets not being mugged. I cheered up a bit and then I saw it: “Johns Hopkins University…” I didn’t catch the rest, but it was definitely time to get out and explore.
Then I saw it: THE PEABODY INSTITUTE.
I had to see it from the street, on foot.
But of course, this meant I had to park, alone, and walk alone for about three-quarters of a mile, alone, in a strange city, Baltimore no less…
Worth it.
I parked and started off. Must – see – the – library, my little patent leather moccasins determinedly told the uneven flagstones. I just hoped to see this legendary library from the street, walk around, maybe peek through the windows, and walk back to my car. The wind icy and about ninety miles an hour. It’s cold enough to snow, I thought!… then it started to snow.
Taking crosswalk cues from bolder pedestrians, I drew closer and closer to the huge Presbyterian Church, the monument to Washington, and the Peabody Institute. It looked like people were coming and going from the building, but I remembered the Institute also houses the school of music. I started to hope I could slip in like I knew what I was doing. I walked a few paces behind a student, climbed the stairs, and pulled open the intimidating doors.
Marble floors. Soaring ceilings. A security guard. I quickly decided to go down an open corridor away from the security guard and found myself facing a dreamy curved staircase. Staircases were made to be climbed, so I lightly ascended.
On the landing, looking out over the city, stood a lady named Anyur. Together we stood looking out over the city.
After a brief but dazzling conversation with Anyur about work, religion, and love, (she turned out to be a Turkish immigrant who studied at Johns Hopkins for her PhD and now works for the National Health Institute, while her husband works for NASA and her son is a prodigy cellist), I left her regretfully to explore the rest of the stairs – I was only half way up. At the top, there was no view, only a brilliant violinist practicing passionately.
Slowly, thinking it was the end of the adventure, I went down the stairs again.
In the lobby again, I looked around more confidently. It didn’t matter if I got shown out now. The security guard didn’t look too perplexed to see me, or even confrontational, for that matter. So I looked to the right of the main door, and I saw, through the glass panes set in dark wood, the George Peabody Library… museum. The library had to be close. And wonder of wonders… the museum doors were open. Maybe… I went in.
And as I hoped, on the other side of the museum, open double doors revealed more marble flooring and soft light… and more old, beautiful books than my brain knew what to do with. I ran in, completely losing it. The smell! Not just one good, old-smelling book, but three hundred thousand of them. The smell hit me like a thousand histories. Slowly I circled the room, looking at the old, beautifully preserved titles.
Through some glass doors, a man carefully handled some old, enormous manuscript. I could not resist asking.
“Hello,” I said.
He looked up briefly and smiled… or rather, his eyes did, brown and twinkling over a rather large beard. His casual shirt and jeans made him look young, but there were gray streaks in his hair. He looked absorbed in his work. As I came closer, I could see he was carefully tying what looked like gauze around a huge, ornate golden book to keep the crumbling cover together. His hands moved with a practiced slowness.
“Are you the librarian?”
“Yes,” he said. “Actually, just working on shipping a few things over to Humanities.”
“What’s the significance of this work?” I asked, trying not to breathe on it.
“Oh, it’s just a Florentine history from the 1500s,” he said, chuckling. “Not very interesting, really.” From underneath the beautiful (but apparently boring) manuscript he pulled a thick, dusty book about three inches thick with a plain brown cover. “This one is much more interesting,” he said. “It’s a polyglot Bible.” He lifted the cover to reveal the work inside. Each page was divided into two columns: one Latin, one Hebrew, one Greek, and one I did not recognize. “It was made for Philip II of Spain in 1556,” the librarian continued, brushing his fingers at the title page. “Commentary in Chalcedonian.” The pages were thick and limp. I looked closer at the letters, knowing they had all been laid on a barely invented printing press. It was a marvel.
“Wow,” I said. “Thank you for showing me. That is just mind-blowing.”
“We’re not technically open on weekends,” he said. “But I was here doing a little work, and” he smiled again and shrugged, “it’s nice to let people in.”
I was grateful to be let in, and grateful for a librarian who doesn’t hide in dark rooms hoarding manuscripts like a greedy dragon. It was a beautiful experience, a rare treat. I was so glad I took a chance on Baltimore today.
This fatal attraction to libraries… Where will it take me next…?
Well, here’s looking at you, Bodleian.
~The Dauntless Princess~
