The Long Room

It is one of the most beautiful rooms in the world. A long chamber, 65 metres in length. The ceilings are vaulted and arched. The floor is made of solid polished floorboards; they are preserved but the scuffs and scratches reveal the truth of their age and the many visitors that flood the room each year.

There are thousands of bookshelves, it is a bookworm’s dream. There are rows upon rows, and millions of books in this vast room. They dominate it. Their brown and green leather spines are worn and weathered from years gone before. The pages inside are yellowed and faded.

The room is sectioned by solid wood pillars, each guarded by a white marble bust of a famous writer, philosopher, poet, or, scientist from the western world. All men of importance, from Socrates to Isaac Newton to Shakespeare.

Each pillar has a vertical row of lower case golden letters to indicate where a book may be found in alphabetical order. The pillars have been carved meticulously out of solid wood and look like vines growing outward.

Above the pillars, there are long panels that run the length of the room, they have names of each section in yellow lettering on a green background.

The room smells of history long gone, of musty old books that haven’t been touched in an age. It is imposing, this long room with its high arched ceiling of dark wood panels. The public move about respectfully, as if not to disturb the history. Quiet and delicate footsteps echo in the immense room and offer a peacefulness that can be matched by sitting near a calming ocean. There are hard wooden polished benches running along the centre of the room.

Despite being hidden in the centre of Trinity College; the room is bright. The sun forces its way through the windows, highlighting the golden letters on the spines of the books. There are solid wooden ladders in each section to reach the highest books hidden away at the top. But only library staff from the college can touch the books, and a woven green silk rope keeps the statues and books safe from the grubby fingers of the public milling about.

In the middle of the long room, sits a harp in a glass cabinet. A plaque sits proudly under the cabinet and boasts that the harp is from the 15th century and made of oak, willow, and has 29 delicate brass strings. There is an beautiful black metal spiral staircase that flows up to the second floor like a bean stalk up growing up into a magical world. On the second level, there is a hidden quiet balcony and curved wooden archways frame each section up there. It is strictly for library staff.

A wooden doorway lies at the end of the long room. The words ‘Fire Exit’ are written in clear white letters on the door. The end of the room is blocked off by more woven green ropes and is a reminder that this library room is a museum piece and not a functional library.

© Sarah K. Gill on April 8, 2017.