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. 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.
A nature so profound, so true, and so enlightened was constituted for friendship, and Emily Linder served as a model in this regard. She possessed those two qualities by which it is best retained—candor and disinterestedness. What she was capable of as to the latter quality has already been sufficiently shown. An open frankness was the groundwork of her character. She possessed a kind but impartial judgment, and in the right place she knew how to assert it. The same sincerity was expected of others, and nothing with her outweighed truthfulness. Whoever offended in this point came to conclusions with her speedily and once for all. A half-and-half sincerity or prevarication could force even her dovelike mildness to resentment. When called to pass judgment upon the work of a friendly artist, there arose a noble contest between frankness and kindness. Her opinions were always to the point, and by the soundness of her judgment she gave food for reflection. But in cases of a change of opinion after more mature consideration, she was quick to acknowledge herself at fault. A single incident may illustrate this. On occasion, of a defence, by an artist, of a celebrated master, to one of whose works she had taken exceptions, she replied:
"My first judgment, then, was unquestionably hasty. But among friends I shall never like that degree of caution always insisted upon which admits of no quick and impulsive word; for thus would all open-heartedness be repressed; a thing which no amount of shrewdness or cool deliberation could ever replace. I beg for myself the privilege therefore, hereafter, just as often, and perhaps just as hastily, to express my opinion."
She reposed the same confidence in the judgment of others. All the more weighty art matters about which she concerned herself were submitted to the counsel and decision of intelligent friends of art. She took the most lively interest, also, in every important event or crisis in the families of these friends. Her thoughtful consideration loved to express itself in pleasant souvenirs and playful surprises of gifts; and her fidelity often extended even to the departed. Many a friend, after having passed to a long home, was endowed with a memorial Mass which she established for the repose of his soul. The Klee and Möhler memorial, a composition of Steinle, copies of which she caused at her own expense to be made, she intended (an intention, indeed, never realized) as an aid to the establishment of a Klee and Möhler fund; and a lasting monument it would have proved to the memory of these two noble men. For any expression of fidelity toward herself she was deeply grateful; particularly in her more advanced years, after she became more and more aware how rare a thing is disinterested attachment in this age of unprincipled selfishness. "Any instance of loyal attachment," said she, "moves me the more deeply in these times, when truly it is no fashionable virtue."
A special object of her loving thoughtfulness was her beloved Assisi, the little convent of the German sisters of St. Francis. In times of great distress, particularly during the ravages of the Revolution, it was no small consolation and delight to receive thence, after a long interval, reassuring intelligence. Particularly was this the case during the Mazzini terrorism of 1849. In the autumn of this year, she announced to a friend, with something like motherly pride: "I have received tidings lately from our German nuns at Assisi. Appalling things have happened at Rome, and indications of the same have threatened elsewhere, even at Assisi. But the good women bravely set at naught all intimidation and threat, and have come out entirely unharmed. Yes, even the gangs themselves are reported to have said: One cannot get the better of these Germans, they pray too much. May we all of us lay hands upon the same trusty weapon!" The burgher-maiden whom she took with her as candidate to Assisi on her journey to Rome in 1829, has already been, for the last twenty-four years, Superior of the German convent; it so chanced that she attained to this position the very year that Emily Linder became a Catholic. During that time, more than twenty Bavarian maidens followed her to Assisi. If the gratitude of happy people, who praise God daily that they have found "the true ark of peace," ever proved a blessing, this blessing accrued, in rich measure, to the artist from Assisi. Her name is entered in the memorial book of the convent, and, so long as this spiritual order exists, she will live there as their "best benefactress, and as their dear, good mother in Christ." Thus is she spoken of in the numerous and touching letters of the pious sisters.