Ulm Part I: A Palace for Books - Wiblingen Monastery Library

Last month, I was privileged (yes, privileged) enough to walk into what I’m now almost certain is the most breathtakingly beautiful library in the entire universe, 'Der Bibliothekssaal des Klosters Wiblingen' (I swear the name sounds so much cooler and serious in German) or in plain English - The Library Hall of Wiblingen Abbey (See? English just ruined it). I’m a hard-core book lover, the kind of person who feels relaxed just by passing by a bookshelf. I’ve been to my fair share of libraries in my lifetime. Old libraries, new libraries, cramped libraries that smelled like dust and dreams. I don’t like to pick favorites, because honestly, how do you choose between temples of books? But Wiblingen Monastery Library? It didn’t just become a favorite, it ruined me for all others.

The second I walked in there, I literally had to stop and breathe. You know that kinda feeling that something is so pretty that it takes a second to process through your brain? Yeah, that’s exactly what I was doing, just standing there like a overwhelmed Victorian child looking at a chandelier for the first time. That room looked less like a library and more like a palace that decided books were the royalty they wanted to bow down to.

Every inch of that room was decorated. And I mean every inch. The ceilings were painted with these wild dramatic paintings. Stories painted in colours I couldn't fully understand but oh-so-desperately wanted to. Not one corner had been left plain or dull. Pillars, shelves, balconies, sculptures, everything had details on details. It felt like the architects woke up one day and said, "Hey, let's make a place screaming BOOKS ARE IMPORTANT."

And honestly? Mission accomplished.

And what really got me was just how bright it was. So many libraries are ancient and tend to have that whole gloomy, haunted-castle feel to them. Romantic in theory, horrible for my sun-worshipping soul. But Wiblingen glowed. The tiered windows let natural light flood in, and the warm lamps added to that, casting this golden softness over everything and making it all feel so alive. I absolutely could live there, though I'd need to supply my own reading stash since most of those books are ancient and in languages my brain is incapable of decoding.

A little background info so you know why this place is being so extra. The library hall was constructed between 1740 and 1750, and it’s considered “one of the finest Rococo interiors in Germany.” The library stretches across a decent length and is quite high, and along each side is this fancy gallery, almost like a balcony in a theater. From the outside, the north wing of the monastery already gives you a hint that something majestic is waiting inside, but trust me when I say you won’t be prepared for what you see.

The main attraction of the room is the ceiling fresco, which was painted in 1744 by Franz Martin Kuen. This isn’t just some beautiful but meaningless art piece. It’s an entire intellectual statement. It combines pagan and Christian sources of knowledge and celebrates the history of learning. In the very center of the ceiling, one can spot an image of a figure of divine wisdom surrounded by angels, who appear to be overseeing everything within the room. Underneath the gallery, other pieces by Dominikus Hermenegild Herberger can be found, which essentially makes this entire hall one giant love letter to human knowledge.

At one time, it boasted an impressive collection of around 15,000 volumes, more than some universities possessed at that time. The funniest part was that all the book covers have been painted white or made out of light paper, blending in beautifully with the decor. It’s not just a library; it’s interior decorating with intellectual ambitions. The bad news is that after secularization, it’s been dispersed to various libraries, so what you’re seeing here is more museum than actual working library.

Nevertheless, there I was, and I didn’t particularly care that I was unable to reach out and pick up a book and make myself comfortable with it. I just thought the place was its own story. I made slow circles, finding new faces carved from the wood, new golden swaths, new little angels scolding me for my ignorance of the Latin language.

I left feeling like that rare kind of happiness. Happiness that comes when something you love receives the kind of respect it deserves. Books had built this world, and here was a room that had announced it in plain words.

If you find yourself in Ulm someday, dismayed by the thought of a library "Eh, a library. how boring is that?" then go there anyway, so it might prove you wrong. And if you notice someone gazing at the ceiling with tears of emotion, it might be me going back with a suitcase of novels again.