‘Ex Libris Biltmoris’

You don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to identify the booklovers at the Biltmore Estate.

Simply stand near the library at the Biltmore House and observe the queue of visitors passing by. Watch for the ones who freeze in their tracks, and who then stand dumbstruck and enthralled by the room on the other side of the barrier. From Giovanni Antonio Pelligrini’s magnificent “The Chariots of Aurora” on the ceiling down to the polished floor and Persian rugs, the library casts its spell over the readers in the crowd. From their still, enamored faces, you can see they long to run their fingers along the spines of the ten thousand books on these shelves, pull out one of the volumes bound in Moroccan leather, and sit near the sculpted fireplace on this chilly winter’s afternoon, a cup of cocoa or a glass of wine at their elbow, reading and listening to a crackling fire. Eventually, prodded by a companion or by the ticking of the clock, the enchanted readers depart, casting a last glance over the shoulder as if to carry that magical room with them through the rest of the tour and out the door.

George Washington Vanderbilt III (1862-1914) oversaw the construction of this personal library. With the help of many artisans and workers, he built a palace within a palace to hold his beloved book collection. Karl Bitter, who had charge of much of the sculptural work for Biltmore, designed the fireplace with its enormous carved wooden figures of Philosophy and Health. Above the tapestry separating the figures is the carving of an oil lamp, symbolizing knowledge and enlightenment. Around the room are secret panels and compartments, empty now but perhaps built to store papers, maps, and building plans. An ornate spiral staircase twists up to the wraparound balcony sporting additional bookshelves and a hidden passageway to several bedrooms, permitting guests to slip from their rooms in their nightclothes and pluck a book from the library shelves. Off the back of the library is The Den, its door a carved wooden monk holding a finger to his lips, perhaps warning visitors that this room acted as Vanderbilt’s scriptorium, a private study where he wrote and on occasion practiced one of his hobbies, the translation of Sanskrit and Hebrew.

Adding to the luster of this library is the obvious love of its owner for the printed word. These books, and the additional 12,000 volumes stored in other locations, are not the collection of a pretentious dilettante or of some bibliomaniac more interested in the monetary value of a work of literature than in its contents. Vanderbilt, who could apparently read in at least six languages, had fallen in love with books as a child, and never lost the pleasure and the sense of wonder derived from reading.

Several clues other than the library speak of his passion for books. A painting of the young Vanderbilt, executed by the renowned portraitist John Singer Sergeant, gives us this prince of fortune dressed all in black, pale in the face, but holding a gleaming red book in his right hand. A bust by Mary Grant that appropriately sits in the library depicts Vanderbilt with two books beneath his elbow. Vanderbilt even designed the bookplates for his library bearing the inscription “Quaero Ex Libris Biltmoris,” which Biltmore’s website interprets as “Inquire in the books of Biltmore,” but which more personally translates as “I am seeking in the library of Biltmore.”

Most indicative of the man’s zeal, however, is “Books I Have Read,” a reading list in which Vanderbilt logged 3,159 books between 1875 and 1914, which means he read about 81 books per year, or a book and a half each week, many of them high quality literature or history. His erudition and hunger for books caused one contemporary journalist to write of Vanderbilt “he is one of the best read men in the country.”

Tutored at home through high school and having never attended college, Vanderbilt became the classic autodidact, reading both for pleasure—he particularly enjoyed the novels of Balzac, Dickens, and Scott—and for practical knowledge. His chief architect, Richard Morris Hunt, his landscape architect, Frederick Low Olmsted, and his forester Gifford Pinchot recommended works in their respective fields that Vanderbilt then bought and used for reference. He also delved into interior design and art, adding title after title to his growing library. His chief affection, however, was for history, and the last title recorded in “Books I Have Read” is the third volume of Henry Adams’ History of the United States.

A collection this size presents the Biltmore House staff with some difficulties. Though they dust the books and shelves every two years, climate control is, as one staffer said, “a nightmare” both in the library and the house in general. As a result, the more valuable of Vanderbilt’s books are kept in a special room in which exposure to moisture, heat, and light are more easily regulated. 

Theft is another concern. In the late 1970s, a third shift security guard stole several hundred volumes from the library over a period of time and sold them before he was caught and sentenced to prison. Though investigators recovered most of these titles, the staff at Biltmore remains vigilant in watching over the books and leery about letting too many outside have access to the collection.

Some say that on stormy days, when Vanderbilt often retired to his library to read, you can on occasion still see the shadow of the man standing in the dim light before his bookshelves, a ghost haunting what was once his favorite room in this mansion. 

An unlikely scenario, yes, but fitting. As any book lover might acknowledge, the library at the Biltmore House is pretty near as close to heaven as we can expect to get on earth.