Fragments of a Lost Metropolis

The Library's monumental marble facade along Fifth Avenue

Stuck holding the fort while some of our Sanfedisti brethren are off gallivanting around our ancestral homeland (i.e., the former Kingdom of the Two Sicilies), we’ve been doing our best to keep our religious and cultural initiatives as active as possible here in New York City. A staycation of sorts, we’ve been visiting various religious and cultural institutions in a vain attempt to convince ourselves we made the right choice by not vacationing in the old kingdom.

Marble bust of Julius Caesar

I must admit, once you get past the woke contamination, the exploration and sightseeing have for the most part been quite enjoyable. As bad as New York City has become, and don't kid yourself it is really bad, we still surprisingly have fragments of a once-great metropolis to enjoy. Always under threat and at risk of disappearing, they are worth visiting whenever possible.

With the advent of the internet and the availability of affordable books, not to mention the purging of the collections by ideologically driven librarians, I’ve had little need of New York’s public libraries since I was a student. Often lacking in resource material and crowded with unruly children, with few exceptions they have become after-school hangouts rather than places of actual study and learning. University, college and independent research facilities they are not.

Admittedly, it has been at least thirty years since I last visited Manhattan’s Stephen A. Schwarzman Building, aka the main branch of the New York Public Library, at Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street. Since then, I’ve passed it innumerable times for various reasons—I just haven’t gone in. Curious to see what has befallen it, we packed our pipes and sketchpads and braved another adventurous commute on the infamous New York City subway system.

"Patience"

On what was perhaps the nicest day of the year so far, the city was bustling with tourists, and nearby Bryant Park was packed and relatively peaceful. We found a shady spot and did a little people-watching before exploring the library. 

"Fortitude"

Entering through the Fifth Avenue entrance, we passed between the two famous marble lions nicknamed "Patience" and "Fortitude" in the 1930s by New York City Mayor Fiorello La Guardia (1882-1947). Sculpted by Edward Clark Potter (1857-1923), the iconic leonine sentinels were carved by the renowned Piccirilli Brothers in 1911.

A view from one of the library's grand stairs

Strolling through the hallowed halls, we admired its Beaux-Arts architecture and collection of marble busts of Roman Emperors. Housing an incomparable collection of rare books and manuscripts, which combined the impressive resources of the Astor and Lenox Libraries and the Tilden Trust in 1895, the library boasts the first Gutenberg Bible to come to the New World.

Understandably, several research rooms were off limits to mere sightseers like us, but peaking through the glass we were happy to see several scholars and students hard at work. Curiously, considering the stacks of books at their disposal, a vast majority of the people in the public reading rooms were working on their laptops.

chandelier above the grand stairs

The Library’s Treasures gallery was an eclectic trove of antiquities of uneven quality and importance. As with any exhibit, interest in the works on view is clearly dependent on the viewer’s predilections. Personally, I thought it was more than a little strange to see a letter from Christopher Columbus to Luis de Santángel, the Bill of Rights, and Thomas Jefferson’s fair copy of the Declaration of Independence on display with the same gravitas as Winnie-the Pooh, a portrait of Mary Wollstonecraft, and Virginia Woolf’s walking stick, among other lesser works. Frankly, I actually found the old-fashion wooden telephone booth in the hallway more compelling than some of the items on display. 

Ceiling mural in the McGraw Rotunda

More to my taste were Albrecht Dürer’s The Triumph of Emperor Maximilian (Triumphal Arch); Ludwig van Beethoven’s Sketches for Piano Trio in B-flat major, op. 97 (the Archduke Trio); and the ornate Evangelie naprestol’noe (Altar Gospels) with heavily gilded silver binding and five enameled miniatures depicting Christ in Majesty and the four Evangelists: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.

Architectural details in the McGraw Rotunda

The ongoing Charles Darwin: A Life in Letters installation in the Wachenheim Gallery and Charles Darwin: Off the Page installation in the Rayner Special Collections Wing and Print Gallery are open through August 5, 2023. Regardless of your views on the controversial man of science, the exhibits would have been better served if the curators didn’t interject their own trite progressive socio-political agitprop. Stating the obvious, this would be true if applied to everything.

Architectural details in the McGraw Rotunda

Just as things were getting interesting, we were politely and deservingly shushed by a security guard for discussing the exhibits a little too loudly in the Salomon Room. It should be noted, all the employees (guards, guides and librarians) were extremely helpful and courteous.

Overall a fond remembrance of my old college days, I will try to keep the library on my radar. My friends have mixed reviews—some less generous than mine. Hopefully, there will be better exhibits in the future, so it won’t be another thirty years before I return.

~ Giovanni di Napoli, August 5th, Feast of the Madonna della Neve

Biblia Latina, 1455, Johannes Gutenberg

Apocalypsis Sancti Johannis (Apocalypse of St. John), ca. 1470

Evangelie naprestol'noe (Altar Gospels), 1791, Moscow

Sketches for Piano Trio in B-Flat Major, op. 97 ("The Archduke Trio"),
1811, Ludwig van Beethoven (ca. 1770-1827)

(L) The Triumph of Emperor Maximilian (Triumphal Arch), 1799, woodcut, Albrecht Dürer (1471-1528). (R) Lock of Ludwig van Beethoven's hair, ca. 1827

Old-fashion vintage telephone booth

(L) Pencil sketch of Charles Darwin, ca. 1840.
(R) Caricature of Charles Darwin by George Montbard, ca. 1871

Model of HMS Beagle

The Blind Milton Dictating "Paradise Lost" to his daughters,
1878, oil on canvas, Mihály Munkácsy (1844-1900)