A royal son and mother

by freiherrin von Pauline Hügel

IV.—LAST DAYS.

As Gallitzin's settlement increased and prospered and he had plenty of land, he determined to found a little town, and for that purpose encouraged workmen and tradespeople to come to him; and thus was founded the little town of Loretto.

No sooner, however, had the zealous missionary founded his town than a speculator arose ready to "undercut" him in every way. He also started his opposition town, which, as he was an Irishman, he called Münster. Unfortunately, a German tailor, after deciding to settle at Münster, changed his mind and came to Loretto. This was taken in very bad part by the Münster worthies. Their ringleader was only a nominal Catholic; he gave such bad example that Gallitzin, as his pastor, could not leave him unreproved. The wretched man was now able to make himself out a martyr. He "talked big" of priests who loved power and gold, and were ever ready to tread a poor but honest enterpriser underfoot. The laxer members of the community, who had chafed against Gallitzin's high moral code, soon joined the malcontent party; to this were also added certain ambitious people who had hoped to be church-wardens, trustees, and so forth, and who resented Gallitzin's keeping the reins of government in his own strong hands.

At this most inopportune moment there appeared on the scene a priest of whose past Gallitzin knew far too much to be able to entrust him with any ecclesiastical duties. On the other hand, the Prince's high sense of honor and charity made him unwilling to expose the poor man's history. His only return for Gallitzin's clemency was to stir up the people, and represent himself as persecuted on account of the parish priest's jealousy and avarice.

And as if all this were not enough, a Westphalian turned up who had known Gallitzin in Münster. He was a lazy ne'er-do-well, who thought it would be very fine to live at a rich prince's expense. After treating him with great kindness and giving him the chance to work, Gallitzin, finding him incorrigible, was finally obliged to send him away. Then the man spread the most odious calumnies against his benefactor, hinting this, asserting that; asking if it were "natural" that, if everything were all right and square, a Russian Prince of large fortune should be called "Herr Schmet" and bury himself in Loretto. For once the wretch had surmised correctly: no, it was not natural.

Gallitzin was too high-souled to take notice of this dastardly mud-throwing. As usual, the pastor continued to go about "doing good"—calm, fearless, kindly,—and that at a time when, at length, he was in danger of his life. One day he was seized upon by a set of roughs bent on extorting from him all kinds of concessions which would have done away with his influence forever. As he remained firm, they became so threatening that he sought shelter in his chapel, where he would have had to sustain a regular siege but for the timely intervention of a certain John Weakland, known as the tallest and strongest man within a hundred miles. Like most giants, he was sparing of words, gentle and peaceable; but he was a great admirer of Gallitzin, with whom he had travelled from Maryland.

As soon as John appeared, the roughs paused a little, thinking he intended to beat about right and left with the monster staff he held in his hand; but, far more wonderful, he made a speech. "In my day," he cried, "I have fought with bears and other wild beasts, but up to this I have never, thank God, injured any human being. Now things may be quite changed, if you don't go home at once and behave yourselves. For whoever makes a row near God's house or dares to lay a finger on the Lord's anointed, let him look to it"—and he brandished his staff,—"for so true as I'm a living man I'll dash his brains out!" The situation had required a master-hand. The better-disposed now rallied round honest John, and but for Gallitzin's timely interference the affair might have ended in bloodshed.

Bishop Carroll wrote private letters of comfort to his sorely-tried missionary. He also wrote a public notice, dated Nov. 30, 1804, which was nailed to the church door. It ran as follows:

"I think it necessary, dear children in Christ, to inform you, the faithful of Reverend Mr. Schmet's community, that I am cognizant of the differences that have arisen between him and some of his parishioners. All the information I have obtained has convinced me that Mr. Schmet, in all that has taken place, was never actuated by any other motives than those of charity and zeal for the good of those entrusted to his care. Moreover, I know that he is quite open to reconciliation: that he will be ready to treat all members of his community with fatherly affection; and that it is their simple duty to give proofs of their confidence and readiness to profit by his pastoral care. Indeed they ought to be forever grateful to him for enduring so many hardships for their sakes. Moved by the love of God and of their souls, he has generously renounced great earthly advantages.

"✠J., BISHOP OF BALTIMORE."

Peace and order were now once more restored. Many of the offenders, after begging Gallitzin's pardon, became his stanchest friends. It was noticed that a person who refused to do this died not long afterward a horrible death; whereas the good John Weakland died only fifteen years after Gallitzin, at a very great age, leaving a posterity of over a hundred souls. He was followed to the grave by a great-granddaughter carrying her child in her arms.

But now another ordeal began for Gallitzin,—one that was to continue to harass him for thirty long years. After his father's death his mother found herself involved in a tedious and expensive lawsuit, to obtain her just rights. She won the lawsuit but died before reaping any benefit therefrom; her daughter Mimi now came in for the fortune. During the last ten years of her life, despite all her efforts, Amalie had not been able to help her son as much as formerly. But he, counting on her ever-ready purse, and upon his sister's repeated promises as to the future, had not only conceived great plans, but had unfortunately begun to carry them out. And as the weary months went by and brought no remittances from Europe, his poverty increased till at times he had barely enough to keep body and soul together. To one of Gallitzin's temperament that, however, was not the sting of the trial: the real sting was to see his noble daydreams—that had been so practical, so excellent as well as noble—doomed to disappointment, and himself reduced to the humiliating position of a seeming foolish enthusiast who had begun to build ere counting the cost.

In 1806 Princess Amalie Gallitzin died. Bishop Carroll, Mimi Gallitzin, and Count Stolberg all sent letters to Demetrius to tell him the sad tidings. Count Stolberg wrote thus:

"Blessed and praised be Jesus Christ! She is doing this, dearest Mitri! ... She is blessing and praising Him better far than we can ever do. But yet we, too, must, to the best of our powers, praise Him—and not in a general way, for that is a matter of course, and something we ought to do with our every breath, but in a special manner,—for having so unspeakably blessed your saintly mother. She was like Him in suffering, to be the more like Him in glory. I need not tell you ... what an angel your mother was; but in my deep sorrow I feel I must tell you that ever since I have known her I could never think of the bond which God, in His mercy toward me, had created between her soul and mine, without being filled with a sense of intense reverence, heartfelt love, and deep happiness. My soul is very sorrowful, and yet my spirit rejoices at the same time that she has reached the goal; and I know that she continues to help me by her powerful intercession. Rejoice, dearest Mitri, in being the beloved son of a saint; rejoice to have been the cause of so much consolation to her; rejoice to know that she is still blessing you with the unspeakable love of a mother!"

Amalie Gallitzin was buried as she had wished it,—not with any pride or ostentation, in some grand vault, but in the little churchyard of Angelmodde, among the poor she had loved so well. A large crucifix throws its hallowed shade upon her humble grave, and on the base of it are inscribed these words:

"'I count all things to be but loss for the excellent knowledge of Jesus Christ my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them but as dung, that I may gain Christ.' (Phil., iii, 8.) Thus felt and lived the mother of the poor and the oppressed, Princess Amalie Gallitzin, Countess von Schmettau, whose mortal remains rest at the foot of this cross, awaiting a glorious resurrection. She died the 27th of April, 1806, in the fifty-eighth year of her age. Pray for her."

Bishop Carroll, writing to Gallitzin, said: "It is not only because she was your mother that she was dear to me, and that I get others to pray for her, but because she sought ever to promote the welfare of religion with zeal and earnestness in this diocese. I can only offer you my deepest sympathy on being deprived of a mother who was so much to be revered, and who in the hands of God was the means of procuring you so many precious graces."

A kindly French proverb says: "To know all would be to forgive all." We must not, therefore, judge too harshly of the conduct of Gallitzin's sister. She found it far more difficult to get her rents paid, owing to the distracted state of Europe at that time, than her brother could well imagine. When he heard that the Russian government had recognized all her claims, he naturally expected to receive the half of the large fortune that had always been promised him. Instead of this small doles of money occasionally reached him with long excuses; she may, indeed, have been an inexperienced business woman. But after a while, at the age of forty, she married, and then she seems to have felt it quite out of her power to help her brother at all.

Dear old Overberg finally came to the rescue. Amalie had left him a valuable collection of rare gems to be sold if necessary in aid of his many charities. With characteristic disinterestedness he resolved to send all the money thus obtained to Gallitzin, and exerted himself to find a suitable purchaser. The King of Holland bought the collection; and, remembering his friendly relations with the Gallitzins in other days, paid a truly regal sum. It is one of the pathetic sides of life that as age advances, our hopes and wishes grow smaller and smaller. The ardent missionary, who in his generous youth had dreamed such great and noble things that were to be achieved with his large fortune, ended in only longing very wistfully that he might die free of debt; for he felt debt as a kind of stain upon his priestly character. And this wish was granted him.

By the time Father Lemke, Gallitzin's devoted helper and biographer, arrived at Loretto the grand old missionary was showing a few signs of failing health; but he was still upright, active, energetic as ever, in spite of his thinness which amounted almost to emaciation. No longer able to travel on horseback owing to an injury to his leg, he went about in a strange old-fashioned sledge, in which were packed all the requisites for saying Mass at the stations he visited. His clothes were of the poorest and almost threadbare. Father Lemke at once felt he had to deal with a saint, and valued the privilege accordingly. But, it was hard and at times futile work to induce the old Father to rest and to take things a little easier. He was wont to say that as in these days there was little opportunity for a missionary to glorify God by a bloody martyrdom, he was at least allowed to wish that he might drop down dead in the harness like a worn-out old cart-horse.

To his countless other labors Gallitzin added that of writing. He wrote some excellent though simple controversial treatises, always in that remarkably pure English he had so easily mastered.

Of course Father Lemke thought that Gallitzin would keep him at his side to relieve him from the strain of excessive work. But, to his dismay, a few days after his arrival Gallitzin sent him a considerable distance, to a small station badly in need of the ministrations of a priest; giving him permission, however, to return to Loretto once a month to help him over the Saturday and Sunday.

The winter of 1839 and 1840 was a particularly cold and trying one, and Father Lemke was obliged to travel great distances during Lent, that not one of the scattered flock might be without the means of approaching the sacraments. As ill-fortune would have it, he met with a serious accident, which made it at last impossible for him to put his foot to the ground. It was just at this most inopportune moment that news reached him from Loretto that Gallitzin had fallen ill; that he had just managed to say Mass on Easter Sunday, but had been unable to preach, and had been obliged at length to take to his bed.

Father Lemke immediately sent a messenger to Loretto, who came back with the news that he had seen the dear old man; that he looked very ill, but that he had said Father Lemke was not to dream of coming, but was to take good care of himself; that if there should be any danger he would be sure to send for him. But a friend had whispered that the saintly Father was really very ill, and that it would be well if his coadjutor lost no time in coming. Not long after Gallitzin's old sledge arrived, the driver bringing a petition from the doctor (who loved the old priest as his father) to come at once, as there was but little hope. In spite of his own sorry plight, Father Lemke immediately set out upon the journey; and on arriving found that the doctor was only waiting for his coming before performing a necessary operation.

Gallitzin required but little preparation. He was perfectly resigned to the will of God,—ready for anything. "I have made my will," he said. "I do hope that I can depart in peace so far as that is concerned, and that everyone will receive his due, and that there will even be a trifle over. Now my only desire is to receive the last Sacraments, and then you may do with me whatever you like."

After midnight Father Lemke said Mass for him in his room, during which he received Holy Communion with most intense devotion. The operation brought some temporary relief; but the whole system was so thoroughly worn out his community realized they were to lose their dearly beloved Father and friend.

The news spread like lightning that he was dying; and from all the neighborhood there poured into Loretto a very stream of pilgrims, old and young, all anxious to see him once more and to receive his blessing. So great did the numbers become that it was found necessary to prevent their entrance into the sick-room. But this had to be done with the utmost caution; for the dying man himself seemed pleased to see them all, and had a sweet smile and a kindly word for every comer.

But at length a man came for whom Gallitzin had no smile. He had repaid all the good priest's kindness with extreme ingratitude, and had of late years given way to intemperance and other evil habits. Him the dying priest looked at sternly, while he lifted up a warning finger. This silent sermon had a wonderful effect: the prodigal fell upon his knees, and, weeping bitterly, confessed his wickedness and promised to amend. He kept his promise. And Gallitzin, on his side, did not forget him; for on the day of his death, after having a long time lain still and unconscious, he whispered this man's name. It seemed to pain him that he had not left him anything, as he had to his other former servants. Father Lemke caught these words: "Poor scamp—if it could still be done—not forget him." Father Lemke, of course, respected the dying wish.

Two days before his death Gallitzin had the consolation of a visit from another priest, an old friend of his—Father Heyden, of Bedford. On the evening of the 6th of May the end had come. Father Heyden said the Prayers for the Dying, while Father Lemke held a lighted candle in Gallitzin's hand. As the prayers ended Father Lemke felt that the pulse had stopped and another beautiful soul had flown to the Feet of its Redeemer. A bystander, gazing at the dead priest, exclaimed: "Does he not look like a grand old conqueror who had just won his victory?"

The testimony of one of his fellow priests is too beautiful to be omitted. Writing three years before Gallitzin's death, he said: "I do not see much of the venerable Father, for I live twelve miles distant. Besides he has lived, so to speak, alone, for forty-two years, and he is reserved and self-contained. But he is the noblest, purest, most Christian man I ever met. He requires to be well known.... Now that I live without any consolation, and have, thank God, gained sufficient mastery over self no longer to wish for any consolation that this world could give me, I believe that He will come to comfort me who alone can give comfort worthy of the name. We have abundant proof of this here. For have I not Gallitzin before me? He gave up everything—everything; and, best of all, he gave himself. Therefore he now goes about enshrouded in an abiding peace, and an angel looks out of his calm eyes; and I feel that at any moment he could lay himself down smiling to sleep his last sleep like a weary child. Can anything higher or better be striven for or attained?"

Gallitzin's funeral told something of the universal veneration in which he was held. In spite of bad weather, mourners came a distance of forty and fifty miles to pay him the last tribute of love and gratitude. It would have taken but a few minutes to convey the body from the presbytery to its resting-place; but his friends had a pretty thought. They carried their dear Father through the gardens and fields and meadows, and lastly through the little town—all of which had been his creation, his life's work,—that he might once more bless it all and dedicate it anew to Him to follow whom he had, in the most literal sense of the word, "left all things."