We left this beautiful interior, to snatch a hasty view of the dormitories and saloon, and to pay our farewell respects to the Principal.  The architect of this church was a Florentine, and it was built something more than a century ago.  It is doubtless in too florid a style.

Instead of calling the bed-chambers by the homely name of “dormitories,” they should be designated (some at least), as state bed rooms.  At each corner of several of the beds was a carved figure, in gilt—­serving as a leg.  The beds are generally capacious, without canopies; but their covertures—­in crimson, blue, or yellow silk—­interspersed with spots of gold or silver—­gave indication, in their faded state, of their original costliness and splendor.  The rooms are generally large:  but I hurried through them, as every thing—­from the gloomy state of the afternoon, and more especially from the absence of almost every piece of furniture—­had a sombre and melancholy air.  Nothing is more impressive than the traces of departed grandeur.  They had once (as I learnt) carousals and rejoicings in this monastery;—­and the banquet below made sweet and sound the slumbers above.  But matters have recently taken a different and less auspicious turn.  The building stands, and will long stand—­unless assailed by the musquet and cannon—­a proud monument of wealth and of art:  while the revenues for its support ... are wasting every year!  But I hope my intelligence is incorrect.

The highest gratification was yet in store for me:  in respect to an architectural treat.  In our way to the Saloon, I noticed, over the door of a passage, a small whole length of a man, in a formal peruke and dress, walking with a cane in his hand.  A noble building or two appeared in the background.  “Who might this be?” “That, Sir, (replied the Dean) is the portrait of the architect of THIS MONASTERY and of MOeLK.  He was born, and lived, in an obscure village in the neighbourhood; and rose to unrivalled eminence from the pure strength of native genius and prudent conduct.”  I looked at the portrait with increased admiration.  “Might I have a copy of it—­for the purpose of getting it engraved?” “There can surely be no objection,”—­replied the Dean.  But alas, my friend, I fear it will never be my lot to possess this portrait—­in any form or condition.

If my admiration of this architect increased as I continued to gaze upon his portrait, to what a pitch was it raised on entering the Saloon!  I believe that I may safely say I never before witnessed such a banquetting room.  It could not be less than sixty feet long, by forty feet wide and forty high;—­and almost entirely composed of Salzburg marble,[98] which is of a deep red tint, but mellow and beautiful.  The columns, in exceedingly bold alto-relievo, spring from a dado about the height of a man’s chest, and which is surmounted by a bold and beautiful architrave.  These columns, of the Ionic and Corinthian orders, judiciously intermixed, rise to a fine bold height:  the whole being terminated by a vaulted ceiling of a beautiful and light construction, and elaborately and richly ornamented.  I never witnessed a finer proportioned or a more appropriately ornamented room.  It is, of its kind, as perfect as the Town Hall at Augsbourg;[99] and suitable for an imperial coronation.