THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
logne with such effect that the departing congregation stood still in astonishment. Even the count stepped out from his chapel to see what was the matter. This was the climax of my musical career as an organist, which soon came to an abrupt end. One Sunday at vesper service I accompanied the choir, consisting of the sacristan and four other singers. It was the organist's custom to play a short interlude between the alternate verses of the hymn. This gave me an opportunity to give my faculty of improvising full swing. Beginning in the key in which the hymn was being sung, I moved up a tierce, intending to return to the original key by means of a bold transition. But the sacristan and the choir were not accustomed to such antics. They resumed their song in the higher key, shrieking themselves red in the face until the veins of their foreheads and temples threatened to burst. At the close of the service the sacristan declared with unmistakable emphasis that he would have no more improvising and thorough bass; that this nonsense must stop, and that for his part he liked the old organist far the better of the two. Thus was my glory as a performer on the organ in Liblar forever gone.
In another field an ambitious wish of mine found its fulfillment. I became a member of the Sanct Sebastianus Society, and resolved to take part in the annual bird-shooting. Having learned very early how to handle a rifle, I had myself inscribed in the list, and offered to several members, male and female, to shoot for them; and the offers were accepted. The casting of bullets on the Saturday before Whitsuntide was one of the most solemn acts of my life; and when I woke with sunrise on Whitsun Monday I felt as if for me a day of great decision had dawned. I have already described the different features of that popular festival. With profound seriousness on this occasion I marched behind the old bow-legged drummer
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