It was at this period of spiritual darkness, as yet showing no signs of the grand revival to come, that Amalie von Schmettau was born in Berlin, in the year 1748. Field-Marshal Count von Schmettau, her father, was a Protestant; but, as her mother was a nominal Catholic, Amalie was to be brought up in the old faith. She was sent at a very early age to a convent school in Breslau, from whence at fourteen she returned good and innocent but with a very imperfect education. "I felt," she wrote in later years, "as though I had dropped from the skies, to find myself abruptly removed from the atmosphere of an enclosed convent to that of my mother's house, one of those most frequented by the gay world of Berlin." Frederick the Great had received Voltaire with open arms at his court, and the French infidel had taught fashionable German society to sneer in the most approved style at all things great and holy. The grand old language of their fathers was no longer tolerated; in polished circles only French was to be spoken and written; and with the old language the old beliefs were to go too; and, if possible, that which has been well called the glory of the Teutonic race--its hunger and thirst after God. Amalie von Schmettau, whose rare abilities fitted her to shine so brilliantly in her mother's salon was now sent to an educational establishment in Berlin, conducted by an avowed French atheist. The girl remained there about eighteen months, to return home once more, still innocent and in one sense unspoiled, but with no faith whatever left. Her beauty, her great talents, her musical accomplishments, and a certain innate refinement and distinction, quickly made her a great favorite at court. In 1768 she went to Aix-la-Chapelle as lady in waiting to one of the German princesses. Here she met Prince Gallitzin, the Russian Ambassador to France. He was a man considerably older than the interesting young girl, but perhaps all the quicker to discern and appreciate her superior qualities. After a short acquaintance he made her an offer of marriage, that was accepted both by Amalie herself and her relatives, though for very different reasons. It was a brilliant marriage; this recommended the Prince to her family. With Amalie this side of the question had not the least weight. In after years she wrote to an intimate friend: "My heart did not feel the need of what is generally called love. But an affection that would lead one to desire and seek the perfection of the person one cared for--this I felt myself strongly capable of; it was an idea that had taken deep root within me and had become necessary to my happiness. Such an ideal was quite independent of externals. I believed the Prince could be everything to me, if he but shared these views."