He gives a casual picture of
filial piety which I cannot but transcribe; for I trust it is as
useful as it is delightful to illustrate the amiable virtues of
the sex. "When I was at Berlin," says he, "I followed the
celebrated Iffland to the grave. Mingled with some pomp you might
trace much real feeling. In the midst of the ceremony my
attention was attracted by a young woman who stood on a mound of
earth newly covered with turf, which she anxiously protected from
the feet of the passing crowd. It was the tomb of her parent; and
the figure of this affectionate daughter presented a monument
more striking than the most costly work of art."
I will barely add an instance of sepulchral decoration that I
once met with among the mountains of Switzerland. It was at the
village of Gersau, which stands on the borders of the Lake of
Lucerne, at the foot of Mount Rigi. It was once the capital of a
miniature republic shut up between the Alps and the lake, and
accessible on the land side only by footpaths. The whole force of
the republic did not exceed six hundred fighting men, and a few
miles of circumference, scooped out as it were from the bosom of
the mountains, comprised its territory. The village of Gersau
seemed separated from the rest of the world, and retained the
golden simplicity of a purer age.
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