The preceding was not delivered in one uninterrupted flow of language; but I only string it together as answers to various questions put by myself.  “Observe yonder”—­continued the Abbot—­“do you notice an old castle in the distance, to the left, situated almost upon the very banks of the Danube?” “I observe it well,” replied I.  “That castle, (answered he) so tradition reports, once held your Richard the First, when he was detained a prisoner by Leopold Marquis of Austria, on his return from the Holy-Land.”  The more the Abbot spoke, and the more I continued to gaze around, the more I fancied myself treading upon faery ground, and that the scene in which I was engaged partook of the illusion of romance.  “Our funds (continued my intelligent guide, as he placed his hand upon my arm, and arrested our progress towards the library) need be much more abundant than they really are.  We have great burdens to discharge.  All our food is brought from a considerable distance, and we are absolutely dependant upon our neighbours for water, as there are neither wells nor springs in the soil.”  “I wonder (replied I) why such a spot was chosen—­except for its insulated and commanding situation—­as water is the first requisite in every monastic establishment?” “Do you then overlook the Danube?”—­resumed he—­“We get our fish from thence; and, upon the whole, feel our wants less than it might be supposed.”

In our way to the Library, I observed a series of oil paintings along the corridor—­which represented the history of the founder, and of the foundation, of the monastery.[107] The artist’s name was, if I remember rightly, Helgendoeffer—­or something like it.  Many of the subjects were curious, and none of them absolutely ill executed.  I observed the devil, or some imp, introduced in more than one picture; and remarked upon it to my guide.  He said—­“where will you find truth unmixed with fiction?” My observation was adroitly parried; and we now found ourselves close to the library door; where three or four Benedictins, (for I should have told you that this famous monastery is of the order of St. Benedict) professors on the establishment, were apparently waiting to receive us.  They first saluted the Abbot very respectfully, and then myself—­with a degree of cheerfulness amounting almost to familiarity.  In a remote and strange place, of such a character, nothing is more encouraging than such a reception.  Two of our newly joined associates could luckily speak the French language, which rendered my intercourse with the Principal yet more pleasing and satisfactory to myself.  The library door was now opened, and I found myself within a long and spacious room—­of which the book-shelves were composed of walnut tree—­but of which the architectural ornaments were scarcely to be endured, after having so recently seen those in the library of Moelk.  However, it may be fairly said that the Library was worthy of the Monastery:  well stored with books and MSS., and probably the richest in bibliographical lore in Austria, after that at Vienna.