A locked door and myriad treasures beyond, in vast rooms deemed unusable at Boston Public Library

"The resplendence of the Boston Public Library's McKim Building unfolds with each step up the grand staircase. Past the imposing stone lions, the golden-hued stairwell gives way to an airy gallery of murals, a millennium-spanning celebration of the muses. Nearby, a narrower stairway leads to the hushed third floor, where people wander the opulent gallery to untangle John Singer Sargent's "Triumph of Religion," a monumental cycle of murals the artist left unfinished despite nearly three decades of work."

"Inevitably, some will try the leather-clad door at the end of the gallery, whichseems to promise yet more wonders beyond. But the door is locked. It has been closed to the public for more than a decade, concealing a once-grand enfilade of vaulted ceilings, interior arcades, and elevated walkways that wrap around the library's courtyard. The rooms, which rival many of the building's most celebrated spaces, now warehouse a Narnia-worthy collection of the library's holdings."

"There are neoclassical sculptures that peek from beneath plastic, a weathervane in the shape of a cod, a printing press that belonged to artist Hyman Bloom, and a set of golf clubs once swung by author Cleveland Amory. And that's to say nothing of the myriad architectural plans, microfiche, administrative records, card catalogues, and archives piled about in boxes and in crates."

The McKim Building's grand staircase leads past stone lions into a golden-hued stairwell and an airy mural gallery, including John Singer Sargent's "Triumph of Religion," a monumental cycle left unfinished after nearly three decades of work. A leather-clad door at the gallery's end remains locked and has been closed to the public for more than a decade, concealing a once-grand enfilade of vaulted ceilings, interior arcades, and elevated walkways around the courtyard. Those rooms house an eclectic, extensive storage of library holdings—sculptures, portraits, illuminated dioramas, a printing press, personal objects, architectural plans, card catalogues, and archives. At 130 years old and designed by Charles Follen McKim as a secular cathedral to the life of the mind, nearly 40 percent of the building—essentially the entire third floor—lies inaccessible and shows visible deterioration, including peeling paint and crumbling plaster that exposes masonry.

Read at Boston.com