_Cocher_ stopped at the door,
and we heard a general sputtering of gutturals between him, W., and
G., he telling them something about Luther. I got it into my head that
the manuscript of Luther's Bible was inside; so I rushed forward. It
was the public library. A colossal statue of Goethe, by an Italian
artist, was the first thing I saw. What a head the man had I a Jupiter
of a head. And what a presence! The statue is really majestic; but was
Goethe so much, really think you? That egotistical spirit shown in his
Diary sets me in doubt. Shakspeare was not self-conscious, and left no
trace of egotism; if he knew himself, he did not care to tell what he
knew. Yet the heads are both great and majestic heads, and would
indicate a plenary manhood.
We went into the library, disturbing a quiet, good sort of bibliopole
there, who, with some regret, put aside his book to guide us.
"Is Luther's Bible here?" W. and G. opened on him.
"No;" but he ushered us into a cabinet.
"There are Luther's _shoes!_"
"Shoes!" we all exclaimed; and there was an irreverent laugh. Yes,
there they were in a glass case, - his shoes, large as life, - shoes
without heels; great, clumping, thick, and black! What an idea!
However, there was a genuine picture by Lucas Cranach, and another of
Catharine, by Holbein, which gave more consolatory ideas of her person
than that which I saw before at Basle.
