Chapter IX (3)

"And, in the matter of systems, we submit that there is no
logical pause possible between the two extremes to which we
referred, near the beginning of this article--that each man's
own conscientious reason be his umpire, or that that reason be
implicitly surrendered to some sole arbiter without. It must be
pope or people; the absolutism of the papacy or the democracy
of Congregationalism. There is no intermediate stand-point on
which the aristocracy of Presbyterianism, or the limited
monarchy of Methodism, or Episcopacy, can solidly build itself.
And this is, in point of fact, the unintended confession of
actions that are louder than words, in all these systems;
inasmuch as an appeal to the people in their individuality is
their quick, sharp sword which cuts every knot that draws hard
and cannot be untied."

But we do not see how this follows. The writer, if he has proved anything, has proved, not that Congregationalism is a ground on which one can stand, but that the individual is. He places the infallible tribunal in the inside of the individual soul; Congregationalism places it, if anywhere, in the congregation or brotherhood. He should have said, therefore, that it is either pope or individualism. We readily agree that there is no solid ground between the pope and the people, taken individually, on which any third or middle party can stand; but is individualism, or the individual soul, a solid ground on which any one can stand, without danger of its giving way under him? We have seen that it is not, because an external standard is needed by which to try the internal; and the writer himself concedes it, if he understands the force of the terms he uses. He confesses that a man, after due investigation, with all the helps he can derive from the Holy Scriptures and the Spirit, cannot be certain of arriving at absolute truth--that is, at truth at all; he can only arrive at what is true and right for him, though it may not be so for any one else. At best, then, he attains only to the relative, and no man can stand on the relative, for the relative itself cannot stand except in the absolute. {219} His whole doctrine amounts simply to this: What I honestly and conscientiously think is true and right, is true and right for me; that is, I may follow what I think is true and right with a safe conscience: but whether I think right or wrong; in accordance with the objective reality or not, I do not and cannot know. What is this but saying that infallibility is both impossible and unnecessary? Relying on what is inside of the soul, then, without any authority outside of it, we cannot attain to that certainty the writer began by affirming to be necessary, and craved by the soul; and which he proposed to show us could be had without the pope. All the writer does, is to show us that without the infallibility of the pope or church, we cannot have infallible faith; and to attempt to prove that we do not need it, and can do very well without it. What does he establish, then, but what Catholics have always told him, that there is no alternative but pope or no infallibility? He says:

"We are even prepared to go so far as to claim that, as human
nature has been divinely constituted, it is a psychological
impossibility for any man to waive this prerogative of being
the _supreme authority_ over himself in regard to his
religion; for if he decides to accept the pope and his dictum
as conveying to him the sure will of God, that infallibility
can only be received as such by an express volition of his own
thus to receive it; that is, the man infallible stands behind
the pope infallible, and decrees that he shall become to him an
infallible pope; so that all the infallibility which the pope
can have is just only what the man had before, and gives to him
by his volition."

In this it is not only conceded that the internal, as we have seen, does not give infallibility, but asserted that man is so constituted that he is incapable of having an infallible faith. Consequently, there can be no infallible teaching. It goes farther, and denies the supreme authority of God in matters of religion; and, like all error, puts man in the place of God. It says: "It is a psychological impossibility for any man to waive his prerogative of being the supreme authority over himself in regard to his religion." This is the necessary conclusion from the writer's assumption in the outset, that the infallible authority is inside the soul, not outside of it; therefore, purely subjective and human. Consequently, man is his own law, his own sovereign; therefore independent of God, and the author and finisher of his own faith. This is pretty well for a Calvinist, and the organ of New England Puritanism! But we charitably trust that the writer hardly understands the reach of what he says. He confounds the action or office of reason in receiving the faith, or the internal act of believing, with the authority on which one believes, or on which the faith is received. The act is the act of the rational subject, and therefore internal. The authority on which the act is elicited is accredited to the subject, and therefore necessarily objective or external. I believe on testimony which comes to me from without, or a fact or an event duly accredited to me. I believe the messenger from God duly accredited to me as his messenger, although he announces to me things far above my own personal knowledge, and even mysteries which my reason is utterly unable to comprehend. Hence, Christians believe the mysteries recorded in the Holy Scriptures, because recorded by men duly instructed and authorized by God himself to teach in his name.

The Puritan writer will hardly deny that St. Peter was a duly accredited apostle of our Lord, and therefore, that what he declares to be the Word of God is the Word of God, and therefore true, since God is truth itself. {220} Suppose, then, the pope to be duly accredited to us as the divinely authorized and divinely assisted teacher and interpreter of the teaching of our Lord, whether in person or by the mouth of the apostles, would reason find any greater difficulty in believing him than in believing St. Peter himself? Of course not. Now, Catholics look upon the pope as the successor or the continuator of Peter, and therefore as teaching with precisely the same apostolic authority with which Peter himself would teach if he were personally present. It is not more difficult to prove that the pope succeeds to Peter than it is to prove that Peter was an apostle of our Lord, and taught by his divine authority. The same kind of evidence that suffices to prove the one suffices to prove the other. Suppose it proved, should we not then have an infallible authority for faith other than that which is inside the soul? Should we not be bound by reason itself to believe whatever, in the case supposed, the pope should declare to be "the faith once delivered to the saints"?

Our Puritan psychologist, and Protestants very generally, contend that, since the authority of the pope is accredited to reason, and we by reason judge of the credentials, therefore we have in the pope only the authority of our own reason. This is a mistake. We might as well argue that an ambassador accredited to a foreign court can speak only by authority of the court to which he is accredited, since it judges of the sufficiency of the credentials he presents, and not at all by the authority of the court that sends him. This would be simply absurd. The ambassador represents the sovereign that sends him, not the sovereign to whom he is sent or accredited. The credentials of the pope are presented to our judgment, but what the pope, the accredited ambassador from God, announces as the will of his sovereign and ours, must be taken not on the authority of our own judgment, but on the authority of the ambassador. The pope is not, indeed, commissioned to reveal the truth, for the revelation is already made by our Lord and his apostles, and deposited with the church. The pope simply teaches what is the faith so revealed and deposited, and settles controversies respecting it. Our own reason, operating on the facts of the case, judges the credentials of the pope or the evidences of his divine commission, but not of the revelation to which he bears witness. The fact that God has revealed and deposited with the church what the pope declares God has so revealed and deposited, we take on his authority. It is a mistake, then, to say that there can be no authority in faith or religion but the authority which every man has even of himself. To deny it is simply to deny the ability of God to make us a revelation through inspired messengers, or otherwise than through our natural reason.

It is equally a mistake to suppose that belief or an external infallible authority is simply a volition or an act of the will, without any intellectual assent. We might as well argue that the credit a jury yields to the testimony of a competent and credible witness is simply a volition without any conviction of the understanding. Infallible authority convinces the understanding as well as moves the will. We do not believe the revealed truth on the authority of the pope; we believe it on the word of God, who can neither deceive nor be deceived; but we believe on the authority of the pope or church the fact that God has revealed it. The church or the pope is not authority for the truth of what is revealed--for God's word suffices for that; and we believe it on his veracity--but is the infallible witness of the fact that God has revealed or said it. {221} If God has made a revelation of supernatural truth, as all Christians hold, the fact that he has made it, since it confessedly is not made to us individually, must be received by us, if at all, on the testimony of a witness. This is what is meant by believing on authority. If we believe the fact at all, we must believe it either on some authority or on no authority. If on no authority, we have no reason for believing it, and our belief is groundless. If on some authority, then either on a fallible or an infallible authority. A fallible authority is no authority for faith. Then an infallible authority, and as the authority must be duly accredited to us--therefore, be itself outside of us--it must be an infallible external authority. The Puritan journal should therefore have headed its article, not Pope or People, but, Pope or no Faith. Without the infallible authority or witness, we may have opinions, conjectures, guesses, more or less probable, but not faith, which excludes doubt, and is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen. The Puritan is able, but has not mastered his subject. There are many things for him yet to learn.

We have called attention to the article we have reviewed, as one of the signs of what is going on in the Protestant evangelical world. It is beginning to learn that there is no resting in the infallible Book without an infallible interpreter. It begins to see that it has therefore no authority for dogmas, and it is gradually giving them the go-by. Dogmas discarded, Christianity, as a revelation of mysteries or of truth for the intellect, goes with them, and Christianity becomes a truth only for the heart and conscience. Then it is resolved into love, and love without understanding, therefore a sentimental love, and, with the more advanced party, purely sensual love. This is whither Protestantism is undeniably tending, and well may Dr. Ewer say that, as a system of religion, it has proved a failure. It has lost the church, lost practically the Bible, lost faith, lost doctrine, lost charity, lost spirituality, fallen into a sickly sentimentalism, and is plunging into gross sensuality. Here endeth the "glorious reformation."

----------

Translated From The German
By Richard Storrs Willis.

Emily Linder.

II.--Her Conversion.

We are now arrived at the most important period of her life. Miss Linder often referred with thankful heart to God's guiding providence; and in the steady progress of her spiritual life thus far is this not to be mistaken. Naturally religious, and inspired with an unaffected yearning for the entire truth, she was happily conducted into a circle of friends where her dawning faith received both impulse and guidance. Exterior incidents strengthened a certain interior magnetic bias. Since the day which rendered Assisi so dear to her, an invisible power had drawn her toward the visible church, and her leaning to Catholicity was imperceptibly strengthened. {222} Her activity in art deepened her sympathies with a church in which art finds its true place and consecration. An intellectual intercourse of many years with friendly Catholic men and families could not fail to remove many a prejudice. Thus had an unexpected but powerful combination of circumstances conspired to lead a mind ingenuously seeking the truth to Catholicity. It would be quite a mistake, however, to suppose, as has been thought by some, that the personal influence of any friend whatever had worked decisively upon her determination to take the final step. No one could do this; not even Brentano, strong as was his interest in her spiritual life.

Clemens Brentano had come to Munich in October, 1833, and made his domestic arrangements in his usual characteristic style at Professor Schlotthauer's, "in one of the most pious and genial of Noah's arks," as he facetiously describes it. His associations led him into the same social circle in which Miss Linder moved, and soon after his arrival he made her acquaintance. Her pious earnestness, her cultivated, artistic nature, her charming and judicious benevolence, enchained his interest; and he believed, as is stated in his biography, to have found in her just the nature for the Catholic faith. One knows with what strength and zeal Brentano devoted himself (and in increasing ratio with increasing years) to such friends as were dear to him in the matter, particularly, of their acquaintance with the faith of his own church, and their participation in her blessings. His animated desire to instruct, which was ever without affectation or concealment, expressed itself in just such cases with the utmost freedom and frankness. Whoever reads that clever letter, "To a Lady Friend," written during these years at Munich, can tolerably well judge of the tone and style with which he brought home to a pious Protestant the warmth and depth of his religious convictions.

Certain is it that Miss Linder gained, through Brentano, a deep insight into the inner life of the church and the hidden graces and forces which stream through her. He had the power, as she said, "of making some things intelligible which might otherwise remain for ever closed to one." The life and the visions of Katharina Emmerich, which he read aloud on her weekly reading-evenings, made a profound impression upon her. As though in confirmation of what she heard, she saw with her own eyes at Kaldern a similar phenomenon in Maria von Mörl, that astounding living wonder, and was penetrated with the atmosphere of truth with which, as Gorres expresses it, Maria von Mörl seemed enveloped. She caused a portrait of this phenomenon to be executed by her lady friend, Ellenrieder; and always gladly gave her visitors (as is stated by Emma Niendorf) a full description of the _stigimated_, just as Brentano was wont to do in his letters. In this, as in other ways, was her intercourse with Brentano of service to her. To many an outwork of knowledge did he build a bridge, a _pontifex maximus_, as he once jestingly applied the term to himself. Finally, his own Christian death made a profound and lasting impression upon her.

Any other influence than mild, patient instruction was, once for all, excluded by her. Even the holiest zeal, if it sought, in any way, to crowd in upon her, could only force a nature like hers into antagonism, and check everything like quiet development. {223} With all her humility, this lady possessed the self-reliance and genuine independence of a Swiss. She sought the way of truth with such deep longing that she willingly accepted guidance; but with such severe scrutiny, that she was not to be confused, and was inaccessible to every kind of coaxing from any side. For, from the quarter of her old theological standpoint there was no lack of friendly advice, or of opinions bringing great weight with them,--supposing that mere human opinions could ever have decided such a question. Even raillery was not lacking. Platen gave his particular attention to this kind of weapon, and put himself to no little trouble to ridicule her out of her Catholic proclivities. The theological tendency she had taken since the days passed at Sorrento had become to the poet of the _Abassiden_ altogether "too romantic," and he hoped to cool her religious zeal with a cold irony. Thus, he once satirically addressed himself to her from Florence, (February 24th, 1835,) "Might one be so bold as to enquire what progress you have made in your conversion to the only saving church; or is this a secret? In case of a change of religion, I trust you will follow the advice of a friend, and turn, rather, to the Greek Church. For, if you prize Catholicism on account of its antiquity, the Greek Church is doubtless older. And is it the ceremonial which particularly attracts you; then here, too, is the Greek service far more aesthetic and imposing." Count Platen doubtless felt that in a theological controversy he was no match for his well-informed friend; and therefore, in his letters he appealed to her as an artiste. True, the barrenness of Protestantism in art he quietly admitted; but all the better success he promised himself in an attempt to belittle the merit of the church in the field of art by certain cunning sophistries. In several of his letters he stumbled upon the neither very bright nor novel idea of presenting the church as at an obsolete standpoint. "Certainly," he admonishes the artist, "Catholicity, as a thing of a former age, is highly to be esteemed, but not for the present. Her time is past, even for art. Perhaps by and by an artera may dawn upon her, but this will be of a purely aesthetic nature; for a blending of art with religion is no longer among the possibilities," etc. The thought that his friend, after all, might take some such fatal step evidently gave the poet much uneasiness; for even in his last letter to her, written but two weeks before his death, he makes another attempt at the same style of argument. It is contained in a description of Palermo, written at Naples, September 7th, 1835: "I received your welcome letter shortly after my return from Calabria. I know not how my mother could write you that Palermo did not please me; or, if so, to what extent this was the case. I simply remember saying that the location of Palermo bore no comparison with that of Naples. There are certainly lacking the islands, Vesuvius, and the coast of Sorrento; although the mountain background of Palermo is very beautiful. The Rogers chapel, there, is something that would please you--a church of the twelfth century, in perfect preservation; its style that of the old Venetian and Roman churches; and although of smaller dimensions, yet the finest of them all. It is the more interesting to attend a service there, because one sees that Catholic culture was calculated solely for the Byzantine style of architecture; for with such surroundings, only, could it be effective. Thus does Catholicity, even as to architecture, prove itself a thing of the past."

{224}

Enough of this. Such platitudes as these were not calculated to entangle a nature far too deep for them, or check the development of a work so earnestly undertaken. Emily Linder well knew that the church has already outlived many just such "obsolete standpoints," and many such prophets of evil, who have mistaken their wishes for reality, and phrases for axioms. How dignified and how welcome, in comparison with this sophistry from Naples, must have seemed to her the greeting of an old friend and art companion addressed to her from Rome, in the spring of 1833: "Be assured that I often fervently remember you to our Lord. Do you the same by me. May a holy unrest and impatience fill us to take 'by violence' the kingdom of heaven!"

This holy unrest had indeed for some time possessed her, and on many an occasion broke forth in expressions of touching and yearning expectancy. While viewing the cathedral of Cologne, in the year 1835, she ardently exclaims, "Ah! of a certainty an age whose lofty inspirations (and of no transient kind) could produce such monuments as this, deserved neither the epithet of rude nor dark. There resided in it a light which we, with our (gas!) illumination, could never produce." Again, as to the interior of the grand cathedral--"I know not why, but I cannot repress my tears. An irrepressible melancholy and yearning seizes me here." The same year, after viewing with Schubert the minster at Ulm, she makes this noteworthy observation in her journal, "It almost pained me that the old cathedral is no longer used for Catholic service, and that the choir and sanctuary are now so desolate." Already had she adopted many Catholic views. At an early period she believed in an active sympathy between this and the other world, and a purification of the soul in that world. The church's benediction was highly prized by her; for which reason, even as Protestant, she was in the habit of bearing about with her on her travels a little flask of holy water. Many of her views were as yet very undecided; but strong and irrepressible was her longing for that truth which should bring her peace. This clung by her in all her wanderings, and often drew from her a deep cry of the heart. The notes which she made during a trip to Holland, in company with Schubert, in the year 1835, closed with the following words, "These lonely days of travel have left me much time for meditation. To-day a crowd of thoughts and emotions fairly thronged upon me. I said to myself, To what purpose all this? Whither is this invisible power impelling us? Are we really advanced by it, or made the happier? Often this affluence of emotion rises to a kind of transport; then, again, it turns to pain, for I know not the why nor the whither. Is there a connectedness in all this? Is it enduring? Once more, then, why? During this journey of mine I have often prayed, O Lord, let me know thy will. Let me follow the path which is pleasing to thee. Lead me but to thyself, and in any way thou mayst choose. Let it become clear what thou really desirest of me. By this means I experienced great relief, and also the certainty that He, who with such signal fidelity had thus far led me, would clearly make known to me his will, would guide me into his paths."

{225}

As the interior movement increased, she was impelled to confer with intelligent friends in the distance concerning this most momentous interest of her life. Especially with Overbeck there ensued a correspondence which, continuing for years, was of great assistance in attaining to religious clearness. Overbeck took kindest interest in her doubts and scruples. He had formerly gone over the same ground, and could therefore confer with her about such matters "as a brother." His letters grew into a connected vindication of Catholic doctrine, and the truth and beauty of the church, expressed in the mild, clear, fervent, and touching language of one equally worthy of respect as man and artist. With a nature like Overbeck's, where the man and the artist are not two distinct individualities, but are united in a higher form --Christianity--words have a more elevated significance; and a correspondence with him must have necessarily possessed an import more than usually edifying. Emily Linder deeply felt this. We take her own testimony when we say that Overbeck's letters contributed largely toward her religious development; and, by the overwhelming conviction of his words, no less than by his own deep spirituality, she attained to a knowledge of very vital truths. She viewed the assistance he rendered her in the light of a perpetual obligation; and in later years, long after she became a Catholic, she breathed, in her letters to the admirable master, a "God reward you for it."

Meantime, however, she had to pass through many a severe struggle. The wrestling and testing which her conscientiousness imposed upon her was of long continuance. The dread of a hasty step which might afterward plunge her into the deepest unrest, caused her to advance but cautiously. Her mental vacillation continued for quite a period, during which she was filled with unsatisfied spiritual yearnings. She stood just on the portal of the church, afraid to enter. Many a prayer, far and near, ascended in her behalf to heaven. Brentano lived not to witness the conversion he so longed for. But the hope which gladdened his last days attained a realization the year after his death.

In 1842, she wrote to an artist friend in Frankfort, "I am fully satisfied that I entertain no prejudices, and honestly wish to know God's will. He has already cleared away many a spiritual obstacle, and transformed much within me. When it is his holy will to lead me into the church, I am confident that he will remove every remaining hinderance to my conviction." She thought, however, that the church did not give Protestants a very easy time. Their acceptance of the Tridentine confession of faith was a hard matter. Still, her mind had already attained to such clearness that she now desired the instruction of some competent priest. Through the instrumentality of Diepenbrock, a theological teacher was brought to her, who gained her confidence. She earnestly began her task, zealously and perseveringly devoting to it several hours a week for an entire year. The structure of Catholic faith began to open itself to her now with all its interior consistency and harmony. One scruple after another vanished, including those which finally troubled her; as, for instance, the expression, "Mother of God;" the alleged mutilation of the holy sacrament, by withdrawal of the cup from the laity, etc. In the words of her spiritual guide, she learned to distinguish that which is divine, and essential, and immutable in the church, from that which is human, and incidental, and mutable; and what had hitherto proved an insurmountable obstacle, the seemingly mechanical, and often rude devotions of the common people, as also the worldly splendor of the hierarchy--this ceased to trouble her more.

{226}

In the autumn of 1843, Miss Linder made another tour to the Tyrol and Upper Italy, and few could surmise that she was so near to the decisive step. She writes from Munich, on the 16th of October, "I have just made with the Schuberts a somewhat fatiguing trip as far as Verona, where, by the way, I had almost come to a standstill, to copy a picture there. We then remained for a couple of weeks in Botzen, where all was so quiet, and reposeful, and secluded, that it was right grateful to me." Amid this stillness and seclusion to which she abandoned herself, still more than in Munich, was finally brought to maturity "the great work of redemption."

Toward the end of November, 1843, on the approach of Advent, there burst upon her spiritual life a new era, and her long suspense and yearning resolved itself into the cry, "I will enter the church!" The final word of decision was immediately winged to heaven on a prayer. Upon the threshold of that expectant season, when the church sings, "Drop down dew, ye heavens, from above, and let the clouds rain the just," she participated, one morning, with the most ardent devotion, in a low mass celebrated in conformity with her intention. This was the decisive hour. She left the chapel with the joyous and unalterable resolve to enter into fellowship with the Catholic Church. All was overcome, aided and enlightened by the grace of God. Standing before her little house altar, she rehearsed, for the first time, the Catholic creed.

The first to whom the glad intelligence flew was a noble pair, Apollonia Diepenbrock and her brother, the latter of whom was subsequently the celebrated cardinal and bishop of Breslau, but at that time, the vicar-general of Regensburg. Both were associated with the pious artiste in a friendship of many years, and had been long familiar with the course of her religious development. Melchior von Diepenbrock, during just this last period, had been a faithful and intelligent adviser to her. The disciple of Sailers responded to the joyous intelligence with a peace-greeting befitting a shepherd of the church. He wrote on the 29th of November, 1843:

"Hindered by very unwelcome business, I was unable, either
yesterday or the day before, to express my heartfelt sympathy
and delight over the surprising intelligence of your note of
Saturday. Surprising, because I had not anticipated so sudden a
loosening of the fruit, ripe as it was. But the wind 'which
bloweth where it listeth,' stirred the tree, and the ripe,
mellow fruit fell into the lap of the true mother, where it
will now be well cared for, growing mellower and sweeter until
the coming of the Bridegroom. My hope and prayer for you now
is, that peace and rest may be yours after a suspense and
unrest which has thus loosed itself in the simple and welcome
words,'I will enter the church.' But you have every reason to
be at rest; for a church which has given birth to a Wittman, a
Sailer, a Fénélon, a Vincent de Paul, a Tauler, a Suso, a
Thérèse, a Bernard, an Augustine, an Athanasius, a Polycarp,
and so on, up to the apostles themselves, and which has nursed
them on her breast with the self-same heavenly doctrine; from
whose mouth and from whose life, in turn, this same identical
doctrine has been breathed down like a fragrant aroma, through
a course of eighteen hundred years; in such a church is there
safe and good travelling companionship for heaven. Following
their guidance, you need not fear going astray. I therefore,
from my very soul, bid you welcome to this noble company to
which you have long since, through your intense yearning, and
by anticipation, belonged, but now have identified yourself
with openly, by a grasp of the hand and a kiss of
reconciliation; with whom you will soon fully and finally be
incorporated by that most sacred seal and covenant, that
highest consecration of love, the holy Eucharist. You have had
a rough and thorny path to travel, and passed through long
years of struggle, doubt, and conflict, to arrive at this goal.
{227}
Bind, now, the olive wreath of peace coolingly around your
heated temples. Let all labor of the brain, all strain of the
intellect, now subside. Live a life of tranquillity. Open your
heart to a reception of the holy gifts which the church, as you
enter, proffers you. And above all, banish all anxiety and
doubt, for therewith you gain nothing, and spoil all. Let your
barque, wafted by the breath of God, glide peacefully down the
broad stream of the church's life. Revel in the stars, and the
flowers which mirror themselves therein, the denizens that
disport there; and, should now and then an uncouth, repulsive
creature catch your eye, reflect that the kingdom of God is
still entangled in the contradictions of developement. Think
upon that great world-net which gathers souls of every
description, and upon the angel who, upon the great day, will
separate them all. And now I commend you to God. Once more, may
peace and joy in the Holy Ghost be your morning-gift."

And soon this "morning-gift" possessed her soul. Being fully prepared, her admission, as she had wished, could be immediate. But she desired to take the step in all quietness, and only a few of her friends, like Professor Haneberg and Phillips, were informed of it the evening before, she desiring to secure for herself their prayers.

On the 4th of December, 1843, Emily Linder, accompanied by her friend Apollonia, in the Georgian Seminary chapel made solemn profession of the Catholic faith. On the day following, the papal nuncio, Viale Prelà, administered to her, in his house-chapel the sacrament of confirmation; delivering, at the same time, an eloquent address in German. The friend before mentioned was godmother, and, as one present remarked, by her faith, her love, her prayers, and her efforts, she had indeed proved her spiritual mother. In company with this friend, she went to Regensburg, in order to withdraw into retirement, and to be alone with her new-born joy.

Her letters during this period give animated testimony to what extent, and with what daily increase, this joy was experienced. A jubilant rapture pervades the letters which announce the event to distant friends, particularly those addressed to Overbeck in Rome and Steinle in Frankfort; both friends and companions in art. These and a few others had been admitted to her confidence in spiritual matters. To the latter, whom, of her younger friends, she particularly prized and respected, she thus announces the circumstance, "This time I come to you with but few words; words no longer conditional, but right conclusive. I am a Catholic. Could I have written to you, as I wished, to ask your prayers for me before the eventful hour, even then you might have been taken by surprise; but now the news has doubtless reached you from Munich, and I write this letter simply as confirmation, and because I wish that you should be informed of it by me personally. You have lately hardly thought, I suppose, that it would come so soon; and yet I was long prepared for it. After many a struggle, particularly of late, it had become to me a positive necessity, a natural and necessary development of my spiritual life. When I had once announced my determination to the clergyman who for some time had been instructing me, my desire was to take the step right quickly. My good Apollonia left Regensburg immediately for Munich, to be present at my reception into the church; and the day following this I was confirmed. I have now accompanied my friend hither to escape from all excitement and pass some days in retirement; needed opportunity of fortifying myself against much that must necescessarily come, that is hard and disagreeable. {228} Yet has God been inexpressibly kind and gentle in his dealings with me thus far."

A letter to the same friend on the 19th of January thus reads:

"My last letter was very, very brief; but the glad tidings had
to come first, and for this few words were needed. But now six
weeks have flown, and it may give you pleasure to hear that I
am daily newly bleat, newly affected by the great goodness of
God. You may not have doubted this, yet you may be glad to be
assured of it, having always taken such interest in my welfare.
Ah dear Steinle! how sweet, how sweet a thing to be in the
church! I ask myself every day, Why then, I? Why just to myself
has this grace been vouchsafed, in preference to others so much
worthier of it? How can this have come about? For no other
reason, surely, than because so many faithful souls living
close to God, have interceded, so untiringly interceded for me,
that God could not resist their importunity. How often, how
very often must I exclaim, as you have done, God be praised and
extolled for ever. Now for the first time do I understand that
deep longing and incessant yearning of the heart. Oh! would
that all, all were in God's one, great house; would that all
could experience the friendliness, the inexpressible
friendliness of the Lord, he whose mercy transcends all
understanding and conception. Ah dear friend! supplicate and
implore God for me, that this grace--I will not say may be
deserved, how could this ever be?--but that I may daily more
deeply comprehend and appreciate it, and that my life may
become one song of thankfulness and benediction. I am still
like a happy little child at rest in the lap of its mother. The
cross will yet come, and perhaps must necessarily do so; yet am
I not dismayed; for well I know where, at any hour, courage,
and strength, and consolation are to be found.

"Hitherto has God made it very easy to me. My sister--the only
one I have--was surprised and grieved at the first
intelligence; but rather, I think, from a loving dread that I
might be estranged from her. Now that she finds this is not the
case, I hear no complaint from her. My nieces and my intimate
friends at home are all unchanged. Just here, too, my friends
have remained the same; only two of my young lady acquaintances
thought it due to their religious convictions to break with me;
but lo! on New Year's day they both came and threw their arms
around my neck. ... God be with us all! May he purify and
sanctify us and help us mature to life eternal. Once again,
pray to God for me. Join me in ascribing thanks to him for his
inexpressible goodness. With heartfelt friendship,
"Emily Linder."

From this time forth Advent possessed for her a peculiarly festive significance. She celebrated each recurring anniversary with feelings of the humblest gratitude, making it a threefold festival, and greeting it with the joyousness and bliss of a child who had received on that day the costliest of gifts; for it was the anniversary of her day of final decision, her reception into the church, and her confirmation. On the 27th of December, 1844, she thus writes again to the same friend:

"Shall I attempt to depict to you the experience of my inner
life? Oh! it is ever yet to me, to use your own expression, the
pure mother-milk of inexpressible grace and goodness. Such, at
times, is the intensity of my joy, that it is as though I must
hold fast my heart with both hands. I have been celebrating of
late a great festivals of the soul; for at advent time I
entered the church, but included in my devotional intention,
also, was the celebration of my decision and confirmation; all
these were occasions of spiritual festivity. One entire year of
grace and blessedness! ... The kind Tony F---- calls me 'the
pet-child of the Lord.' This may be so; but when I enquire,
Whence this to me? oh! then I must deeply, deeply bow myself,
and with profoundest shame can only still enquire of my Lord,
Whence this to. me? ... Nor will I entertain forebodings for
the future. He who infuses such rapture into the heart,
can--yes, must--impart strength and courage, when he lays the
cross upon our shoulders. He will do it, too--benedictions on
his holy name!"

{229}

How idle, now, appeared all the fears and anxiety as to a too hasty step, which had rendered her final decision so difficult, while still standing at the diverging pathways. Not a trace more of the unrest which had so troubled her. The morning-gift of peace and joy in faith, which Diepenbrock's kind wishes bespoke her, had become indeed her assured inheritance. A song of thankfulness warbled unceasingly in her heart.

A few more expressions which escaped her, will show that the transport she experienced was not the effect of transient excitement. On one occasion she thus addresses a friend:

"You may be assured, of course, without written proof, that I
often think of you: but how often I breathe to you spiritually
my joy, my exceeding joy--do you know this? My heart often
sings like that of a little child before a Christmas-tree, over
the inexhaustible goodness of God, and knows not how it should
demean itself in the possession of such imperishable gifts. How
good, how very good has God been thus to call me into his holy
church!"

On the recurrence of advent she writes again on the 8th of December, 1845, as to the celebration of this festive period of hers:

"During the past week I have been celebrating my apparently
quiet but really great and momentous festival, the anniversary
of my reception into the church. Ah! dear Steinle, what can I
say more than, Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is
within me bless his holy name! How inexpressibly great his
mercy and grace, how past all thinking and conceiving! ... To
be safe-sheltered in the church in times like these, when no
hold and no firm footing outside of her can be found! Oh! if
our brethren but knew what peace is hers--if they could but
imagine what they are thrusting away from them! It is enough to
make one's heart bleed. But this I can assure them, that only
in the church can one really know her; only by living her life
can one understand that life. Outside of the church can one
learn much about her, of course, and to a certain extent inform
himself; but then, she is not only a something that _has_
been--an historical church--she is a present-existing, living
church, because Christ is still alive in her, and still active
in his work of reconciliation. Of such a church-life. we can
have no outside idea, just because we do not live it. How often
should I like to tell Clemens how it is with me now. But, God
willing, he surmises it and rejoices thereat. In all things be
praise to God!"

In these words there rings out, certainly, the genuine, clear tone of a heart happy in its faith. Equally evident in these passages is the fact, that her personal relations with her Protestant friends and relatives knew no change. With a certain pious fidelity of friendship, which was peculiar to her, she sought to hold fast to the old ties which had become so dear, and always met her former companions in faith with the same simple, trusting affection. Cornelius, who welcomed her conversion with heartfelt interest, after his return from Rome writes to her from Berlin, on the 4th of June, 1844:

"In Rome I learned that you had at last fully _taken
heart._ It did not surprise me. God bless you, and protect
you hereafter both from spiritual pride and indifference."

Certainly no one could less need this admonition than Emily Linder, who was a pattern of lowly humility. No one was more sweetly considerate and liberal than she; and Abbot Haneberg most justly remarked at her grave, that, after her conversion, she was scrupulous to discharge all the duties of friendship toward her former companions in faith, and never failed fully to appreciate all who proved worthy of her respect.

This unchanging fidelity induced her to make a trip, the very summer after her conversion, to her native city of Basle, and to Lucerne, where resided other relatives of hers. A personal visit just at that time seems to her then more a duty than ever, in order that her relatives might have ocular evidence "that the Catholic Church is not an estranging one, and cherishes no feeling like that of hate." {230} This sentiment regulated her conduct throughout. A longing for a universal religious reunion strongly possessed her, and she was deeply grieved to see many honest Protestants standing so near Catholicity, who did not recognize "the historic church in the existing one," mainly (judging by her own experience) from a lack of proper information and from a certain shyness, which they could not explain even to themselves. "The emergency is great; souls are hungering and thirsting; but the more sensitive of the Protestants shrink from that shock to the feelings and social relations which they fear will ensue--a great mistake; for love will experience no diminution; it will be increased. But outside of the church they know nothing of this. Alas! how much do they not know!"

This was written in 1846. Three years later she recurred again to her favorite idea in a charming letter addressed to Professor Steinle from Regensburg, on Ascension-day, May 17th, 1849:

"As I stood gazing at the people thronging up the steps and
through the grand old portals of our superb cathedral, my heart
was strangely moved. I saw in spirit the time when all people,
united again and happy, would stream with songs of hallelujah
through these portals and proclaim the wonderful works of God.
Could I but see this and then depart in peace! Such may not be
my lot, but in eternity the intelligence may yet reach me and
be a theme of thanksgiving to God."

As though from her very childhood a member of the church, she felt from the first moment entirely at home in her precincts and in the blessed activity of her communion, becoming quickly and easily wonted to all Catholic practices, to which she gave herself up with all the intelligence and abandonment of her soul. How well she now appreciated the truth of the words addressed to her on joining the church by the noble Cardinal Diepenbrock, "You press now the ground which, not only Christ's own footsteps, but his very hands, betokened as the foundation of his church; which his spirit consecrated, which, his love hallowed: the soil whence all those vines should spring, which clinging around and clambering over his cross, may literally by and on him bear fruits of love, of humility, of fidelity, to all eternity!" And following his faithful precepts, she forthwith launched her barque, and, wafted by the breath of God, it glided peacefully over the broad stream of the church-life.

Amid the deep peace which flowed in upon her, she now recommenced with fresh vigor her artistic occupations, devoting herself with more fervor than ever to religious painting. The forenoon was regularly passed at the easel. What a pleasure it must have been to her now to produce altar and other pictures for the house of the Lord! These she donated to poor churches, sending them sometimes to great distances, even to poor Catholic communities in Greece and Paris. Whenever a call for assistance reached her, according to her capacity she was ready with her offering. Her great industry in art enabled her to respond to numerous requests, and in the course of a long life she rendered many a poor parish happy, which would otherwise have been long compelled to dispense with churchly embellishment. Free from all artistic fastidiousness, she never disdained to make copies of other pictures. Thus with great interest and ability she made a copy of a picture by Overbeck, which she had in her collection, for the chapel of the Sisters of Mercy in Munich. {231} With a modest esteem for her own abilities, she always worked under the supervision of an old master, whose judgment never failed to have its weight with her. A deep and tender sensibility pervades her pictures; and if she betrays a certain timidity in the technical execution, there is evidence of great industry and attention to detail. One of her best works, perhaps, is a portrait of Brentano, an oil painting remarkable for likeness and spirituality of expression. After his death, she had this lithographed by Knauth, and copies struck off. It is given in the first volume of his complete works, and is accompanied by a verse which serves as a burthen to one of his most beautiful legends, as it might to the legend of his life, commencing,

"O star and flower, soul and clay,
Love, suffering, time, eternity."

The ancient and laudable habit among lovers of art to enrich, by special orders and purchases, their own homes--that noble privilege of educated wealth!--she practised to a lavish extent. Her collection of pictures embraced gradually works of the most eminent artists. Besides the masters already mentioned, (Overbeck, Cornelius, Eberhard,) Steinle was represented in a series of glorious creations. Several of these, like the "Manger-Festival of St. Francis," the "Legend of St. Marina," were the source of some of Brentano's beautiful inspirations and are now included in his sacred poems. In addition to these artists were Schnorr, Schraudolph, Schwind, Führich, Neher, Eberle, Ahlborn, Koch, etc. In another respect, also, she approved herself a true artist, namely, by rendering constant assistance to such pupils of the distinguished masters with whom she was friendly, as gave evidence of talent. Her helping hand alone rendered, indeed, many an artistic undertaking possible; and not a few artists had occasion, in such instances, to admire not only the liberality but delicacy with which she dispensed orders and bore with trying delays. She exhibited an extraordinary degree of patience in the friendly manner with which she would conform herself to personal circumstances and private relations which did not at all concern her, even in cases of work delayed for years and paid for in advance. She would even heap coals of fire upon their heads by surprising them with further money advances--a charity which at times was exceedingly opportune. By this and similar methods Miss Linder, without any display, accomplished much good, and constantly experienced the pure pleasure of making others happy. And in yet another manner she showed a noble liberality. With rare unselfishness she would allow copies to be made and disseminated of the most valuable drawings in her collection, her own private property. She not only encouraged efforts of this kind, but sometimes at her own expense actually initiated them. By this multiplication of fine works of art she shared prominently in that noble task undertaken by Overbeck and his companions--the establishment of a more dignified and elevated art standard.

True art seemed to assume with her, year by year, a graver aspect. In judging of a work, she deemed its intent just as important as its execution. She discerned in art a reflected radiance from the world of light: and all that did not tend upward to this she regarded as idle effort and labor lost. She observed with pain an increasing tendency to the material, particularly since the year 1850; and nothing more deeply incensed her than a demeaning of art to low and base uses. {232} Even in Munich, after Cornelius left and Louis. I. descended the throne, there existed no longer the ancient standard. What is now left of that school of sacred art, once blossoming out with such inspiriting vigor? It now leads the existence of a Cinderella. Even in the year 1850, Miss Linder remarked: "Our academy affords me no longer any very great pleasure: the period of love and inspiration has passed. Shall we ever see its return?"

The gathering clouds in the political horizon and the disturbance of social relations were not encouraging to any hope like this. But at just such a time, when outside life was forbidding, she found how grateful a definite aim and mission may be, and experienced the quiet delight of art and art-occupation more than ever. She thus writes from Pöhl, a favorite resort of hers in summer, adjacent to the Ammersee, "I shall yet make a little tour in the Tyrol and then ensconce myself in winter quarters, where I shall be happy in a work already commenced and which will immediately engross me. It is a source of the greatest happiness in these days to have a given task. How much it enables one to get rid of!" On viewing Gallait's picture of "Egmont and Horn" in the exhibition, she remarked, "I should not care to own the picture, and yet there is much to admire in it. The sphere of art is so extensive and yet so limited--after all, one cannot but feel that everything not in God's service is, to say the least, superfluous."

An evening quiet overspread her relations with the outside world. But uninterruptedly until her death she kept up, in her own home, the accustomed hospitality. Her house was always a central point of really good society. No literary or artistic celebrity could long tarry in Munich without an invitation to her table, around which every week a little circle was gathered. Privy-Counsellor von Ringseis usually acted as host, a man whose varied knowledge, ripe experience, and inexhaustible humor better befitted him than any other to blend the most opposite characteristics of the guests. With friends in the distance she maintained an extensive correspondence, and also cultivated her friendly relations with them by regular summer trips: a passion for travel and a love of nature remaining true to her into advanced old age.