THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
dren shouted, and the old people stood in their doorways, greeted me with their hands, and called out: “See the Schurz Karl!” But I felt as if we two, the old washerwoman and myself, presented a decidedly grotesque spectacle in that triumphant procession, which in my imagination had always been such a solemn affair. I thought I even saw some people indulge in a mocking smile about our unquestionably ridiculous appearance. But worse than this—I noticed on the faces of some of the old marksmen something like an expression of disapproval; my ear caught a remark that it was, after all, not quite proper to make the Schützenfest of the venerable old Sanct Sebastianus Society a boy's play. I could not deny within myself that this view of the case was not unjustified; and thus in the hour of that triumph which I had so often pictured in my dreams, a heavy drop of bitterness fell into the cup. It was the old, old experience, at that time still new to me, that we seldom are blessed with success or joy without some bitter admixture, and that the fulfillment of a wish usually looks very different from anticipation; and this experience has been repeated in my life again and again.
In the meantime dark clouds were gathering over our home. My grandfather's retirement from the Burg had been followed by evil consequences; it was as if the firm ground had been taken from under our feet. The proceeds of the sale of the inventory had been entrusted to my youngest uncle for investment. He groped about for a considerable time and finally hit at the idea of trading in grain. In connection with this plan my father, who was in need of a larger income than his little hardware business yielded, decided to erect a building of which the ground floor was to be a large amusement hall and the upper story a granary. In one of his many books he had read the description of some new method of construction
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