"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." 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. 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."