II.—AMERICA.
It is strange that Gallitzin's sudden immersion should have effected as sudden a change in his character. Up to then he was the refined, romantic, purposeless youth; henceforth he is a man of energy and action—devoted, self-sacrificing, ready to do and dare anything in the great cause to which he was about to give his life. Almost the first news received in Germany from our traveller was the very astounding intelligence that he had resolved to leave all things and settle down in America as a poor, despised missionary of the Cross of Christ.
Mitri, her own beloved Mitri—dear and good, it is true, but somewhat of a "softy," a purposeless dreamer,—now a priest, and above all a missionary! His mother could hardly believe her senses. This was the son to whom but a few years before she had written: "It is a wretched thing that a youth of eighteen should be a child. He can not, of course, as yet be a man; but he must be a youth and no longer a child, if he ever means to be a man."
And now Princess Amalie had a hard time of it. She was a chronic invalid, a great sufferer. With all her seeming harshness toward Mitri, she loved him dearly and well. Yet she had to bear not only his loss, but to be blamed by her husband and all her relatives for being in the secret,—for having known "all about it" throughout. And when able to disprove this assertion, she was still accused of having, through her exaggerated piety, been the means of putting such high-flown ideas into the young man's head. The Prince was the first to recognize his mistake and to write a generous letter to his wife, freeing her from all blame; which, considering his grievous disappointment, was most creditable to him.
The Gallitzins were indeed in a very awkward position. As Demetrius held an ensign's commission in the Russian army, and was due in St. Petersburg at the end of two years at the latest, his father now wrote to him entreating him, almost commanding him, to return; for he foresaw clearly enough what a refusal would entail. According to Russian law, he would be disinherited for becoming a Catholic priest; but besides this he would, because of his neglect to take up his commission, be looked upon as a quasi-deserter, and be banished from the empire as a rebel.
It was now that the full beauty and magnanimity of Amalie Gallitzin were seen in their true light. Her absolute unworldliness, her reverence for the slightest whisper of the Divine Voice were so great that never once did she seek to turn Mitri from his purpose, beyond quietly laying the state of the case before him for his own judgment. In spite of worry and opposition and a good deal of secret heartache, in the depths of her great soul she rejoiced and gloried in the vocation of her son.
When the Princess had given Mitri the Bishop of Hildesheim's introduction to the Bishop of Baltimore, she no doubt imagined him one of those dignitaries of the Church, such as they were in Germany—a temporal lord, a man of vast influence, who lived in a palace and had a large seminary and other ecclesiastical establishments under his control. How different was the reality!
John Carroll had been named Bishop in 1790, two years before Gallitzin's arrival. He belonged to one of those honorable families that had come over to America in Lord Baltimore's time and settled in Maryland. His cousin Charles was a true-hearted patriot, who had signed the Declaration of American Independence. Demetrius found Bishop Carroll living a life of truly evangelical poverty and hardship. Beyond a small private fortune, he possessed no means except such as, with some difficulty he derived from Europe; for no endowment went with the episcopal dignity.
Carroll had received his ecclesiastical education in France, where he had formed many friendly relations. Hence when the revolution broke out several distinguished French priests came to America and offered him their services. Among these were the Abbé Dubois, who died in extreme old age as the first Bishop of New York; Flaget, Bishop of Louisville; Bruté, afterward Bishop of Vincennes; and Nagot, president of the famous Seminary of St. Sulpice in Paris. When first this little band of devoted men came to the new country, they had to earn their daily bread by giving French lessons; and only after mastering the difficulties of the English language were they able to help Bishop Carroll in the care of souls.