Speaking of tombs—as of late my thoughts "have had much discourse with death"—the most beautiful which I have ever seen anywhere is that of Queen Louise, the mother of the present Emperor, in the Mausoleum at Charlottenburg. The statue of the Queen is by the famous German sculptor, Rauch. When I first saw it years ago, it left such an impression that I could not leave Berlin without seeing it again and we drove out of the city several miles for the purpose. It is in the grounds attached to one of the royal palaces but we did not care to see any more palaces, if only we could look again on that pure white marble form. At the end of a long avenue of trees is the Mausoleum—a small building devoted only to royal sepulture—and there, in a subdued light, stretched upon her tomb, lies the beautiful Queen. Her personal loveliness is a matter of tradition; it is preserved in innumerable portraits, which show that she was one of the most beautiful women of her time. That beauty is preserved in the reclining statue. The head rests on a marble pillow, and is turned a little to one side, so as to show the perfect symmetry of the Grecian outlines. It is a sweet, sad face (for she had sorrows that broke her queenly heart); but now her trials are ended, and how calmly and peacefully she sleeps! The form is drooping, as if she slumbered on her bed; she seems almost to breathe; hush, the marble lips are going to speak! Was there ever such an expression of perfect repose? It makes one "half in love with blissful death." It brought freshly to mind the lines of Shelley in Queen Mab:
How wonderful is Death!
Death and his brother Sleep!
One, pale as yonder waning moon,
With lips of lurid blue;
The other, rosy as the morn
When throned on ocean's wave,
It blushes o'er the world:
Yet both so passing wonderful!
By the side of the statue of the Queen reposes, on another tomb, that of her husband—a noble figure in his military cloak, with his hands folded on his breast. The King survived the Queen thirty years. She died in her youth, in 1810; he lived till 1840; but his heart was in her tomb, and it is fitting that now they sleep together.