THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
to quit Liblar, but he left the quarrel behind, and it affected the relations between my grandfather and the count, which down to this time had been most friendly. Count Wolf Metternich was older than my grandfather—a stately and stalwart figure over six feet high and unbent by the burden of his years; his hair and whiskers silver white and his countenance most benignant. He was a nobleman of the old school, proud to have old servants and old well-to-do and contented tenants. The farm-rents were low, and when the crops failed the count was always willing to make reductions. On the other hand, when the crops were plentiful, he did not at once seize the opportunity to advance rents, but rejoiced in the prosperity of his people. His old business manager, the rent-master, as he was called, looked grim and exacting, but he conducted affairs in the spirit of his lord. Thus the relation between the count and my grandfather had been one of easy-going contentment on both sides, cemented by the common remembrance of the hard times of the “French War,” during which the count had often been obliged, under the most trying circumstances, to entrust to my grandfather the care of his ancestral home. Of course, the difference in the worldly position between the count and the halfen was never overlooked. My grandfather, according to the ideas of those days, was a well-to-do man and could allow himself some comforts and luxuries. But I remember hearing it spoken of in the family circle that this or that could not be had or done, because the castle people might consider it presumptuous and take offense. For instance, my grandfather could go to town or pay visits in a two-wheeled chaise, but not in a four-wheeled carriage; and his wife and daughters might wear as pretty caps or hoods as they pleased, trimmed with lace ever so costly and even adorned with precious stones, but they could not wear bonnets such as
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