Her generous watchfulness wearied not in rescuing him, at the times of his greatest need, and Eberle, with overflowing gratitude, testified to these constant proofs of her goodness, and, even more, to the great delicacy and the kindly words which accompanied every act.
Her personal intercourse at Rome seemed also to have exerted a favorable influence upon his religious sentiments. The taste for mystical writings which, encouraged by Baader, she was cultivating at that period, grew also upon him; and when, shortly after her departure, Lasaulx came to Rome, Eberle was very happy that he could continue with him this favorite and elevating study. He writes to her at Basle on the 25th of September, 1831:
"An old friend of my youth and countryman of mine, C. Lasaulx, is now my almost exclusive companion: he will probably remain the winter here and share my dwelling with me. He is, as you know, a zealous disciple of Schelling, is deeply versed in the new philosophy, and, what to me is of still more value, in the mysticism of the middle ages. I rejoice to have gained in him some compensation for the loss of your society; yet I cannot share the expectations which he bases upon the new philosophy. Although my acquaintance with him has divested me of many a former prejudice, I find myself, nevertheless, attracted only the more to the 'one thing needful,' assured that only at the fountain of living waters, Jesus Christ, can our thirst be quenched."
He adds, however, concerning his friend:
"Lasaulx has nevertheless a very substantial Christian basis, and if ever hisKnowinggoes hand in hand with hisWilling, and hisWillingwith hisKnowing, we may certainly expect something very sterling from him."
It was Lasaulx himself who communicated the news to their mutual friend, in Germany, of the sudden death of Eberle. Eberle's plan had been to pass yet a year in Rome, then return to Germany, and, seeking again the sheltering wing of his master, Cornelius, in Munich, there to close his art-wanderings. Thus he himself wrote in a letter of the 7th of March, 1832. But a month later he was no more. He succumbed to a disease of the stomach. Shortly before his death, Miss Linder had cheered the invalid by a remittance. On the 24th of April, 1832, Lasaulx thus wrote from Rome:
"Our friend Adam Eberle, at five o'clock in the afternoon of the 15th of April, after a hard death-struggle, recovered from the malady of this life. Good-Friday morning we bore him home. Three days before his death he had the great joy of receiving your last letter, and that which your love enclosed with it. He was one of the few whose souls are washed in the blood of the Lamb, offered from the beginning of the world. The Lamentations and the Miserere of the divine old masters Palestrini and Allrgri which you begged our friend to listen to for you, I have listened to for both of you."
Munich had now so grown upon the affections of the artiste that she again removed thither from Basle in 1832. After her life in Rome, a residence in the German art-metropolis could not but be a necessity to her, and the Bavarian capital was thenceforth her home. Her house became more and more the peaceful abode of the fine arts. Her fortune enabled her, by a succession of commissions, gradually to collect a wealth of pictures and drawings in which the Corypheans of Christian art were represented. Among these Overbeck took the foremost place with a series of subjects from the Evangelists, the choicest of drawings, which during a period of thirty years gradually came into her possession. A beautiful oil painting by Overbeck, which she esteemed most highly, "The death of St. Joseph," was also produced at this time, an elevated delineation of the death of the just. From Cornelius she secured three cartoons of the wall pictures in the Louis-church, ("The Creation,") in which this mighty intellect was worthily represented.In like manner an altar-piece by Conrad Eberhard, one of the most thoughtful compositions of this admirable master, and intended originally for one of the new church edifices of King Louis, took its place among the gems of this house—just as the venerable master himself, in all his purity of soul and pious simplicity, took his place high in the friendship of the hostess.
Next to painting, the two sister arts, poetry and music, were specially cultivated in the home of the artist. She had a clear perception of the true and elevated in poetry, and kept pace, even to old age, with the literary productions of the new era. Her own poetic effusions were confined to the eye of her more intimate friends; but there were some poems upon which Brentano himself placed high value. Her library was a choice one, and her knowledge of languages kept her acquainted with the best productions of the modern cultivated nations. Her aesthetic and scientific acquirements became her well, inasmuch as the cultivation of the mind and of the heart with her kept even pace.
Miss Linder applied herself to music in full earnest. She not only practised several instruments—the aeolodicon and harp were always seen in her drawing-room—but she had herself instructed by Ett in thorough-bass and the history of music. She followed his instructions in harmony with practical exercises. In musical history it was the religious department again which most appealed to her: her researches went back to the earliest times, the development of the true church style, and for the unfolding of this subject she had found in Ett the right man. Moreover, she stood in friendly exchange of views with Proske of Regensburg, a profound student of ancient church music. Sometimes musical gatherings were held, to which Ett brought singing-boys from the choir of St. Michael's Church: ancient religious cantatas, the compositions of Orlando di Lasso, Handel, Abbé Vogler's hymns, and the like, were performed. Conrad Eberhard, an enthusiastic admirer of music and of the master Ett, who with Schlotthauer regularly attended the historical lectures on music, in his ninetieth year spoke with loving recollection of these ennobling evenings at Miss Linder's.
By this varied and earnest devotion to art, as well as artistic and scientific enterprises, to which she constantly brought willing and generous offerings, her life began to assume more and more an ideal significance, and to gain that expansiveness of horizon and completeness which secured for her a position in society as peculiar as it was agreeable. If we would ask what it was that identified this quiet spirit with so distinguished a circle and made her house a rendezvous for scholars and artists, in which the most brilliant and the most profound so gladly met, the explanation would be just this—it was the awakened intelligence which she brought to all intellectual topics, the simple-hearted abandonment to the views of great minds, the readiness with which she recognized and admired the true and the beautiful in all things. It was equally the unselfish, uncalculating enthusiasm, and the perfect purity of soul, which compelled the respect of all. An unvarying geniality blended with a quiet earnestness; a clear intelligence with a golden goodness; a profound view of life in all its phases, from the very heights of a sunny existence—herein resided the gentle attractiveness with which she drew to herself the sympathies of the noblest souls and held them fast.
A character of such a type is best reflected in its friends. Her life for the most part flowed on so quietly and evenly that it rose clearly to the view of only those who were nearest to her. It seems, therefore, befitting that from among her many friends we should select a few who, like her, are now at rest, and mention some of their salient characteristics.
The foremost place is due to the painter-prince of the new art-epoch himself, Cornelius—who was a friend from her very youth, and only a few months after her, even in these latter days, closed his earthly pilgrimage. The fame of the man and the sense of his loss, still so freshly felt, will justify us in dwelling somewhat more at length on him and his letters. It was, indeed, the opinion of Emily Linder, toward the close of her life, that the letters which she had received from Cornelius might some day be of use in his biography.
At the time Miss Linder started from Munich upon her journey to Switzerland and Italy, her relations with the family of the celebrated painter had already become so intimate, that it was continued in correspondence. Ordinarily it was an Italian-German or double letter, from Carolina and Peter Cornelius, which greeted her; they both recall, with friendly warmth, her residence in Munich, and the message, "We miss you!" was repeatedly wafted after her as she remained longer away. Frau Carolina Cornelius evinced for her a very tender attachment. The genial master himself honored her with confidences from time to time, as to his artistic plans and undertakings. Particularly was this the case when he was commissioned to prepare designs for the Louis-church in Munich, whereby he saw the early realization of a long-cherished and favorite idea of his; when the history of mankind in grand outline, the creation, the redemption, the sending of the Holy Ghost to the church, the last judgment, presented itself to his mind. Then he felt impelled to open his heart to his absent friend, and the postscript, which he appended to a letter of his wife, rises into a veritable dithyrambic. He writes on the 20th of January, 1829:
"I cannot better close this letter than by communicating a thing which transports me and in which you, my dear friend, will sympathize. Fancy my good fortune! After completing theGlyptothek, I am to paint a church. It is now sixteen years that I have been going about with the idea of a Christian epic in painting—a paintedcomoedia divina—and I have had hours, and longer periods, when it seemed I had a special mission for this. And now my heavenly love comes like a bride in all her beauty to me—what mortal after this can I envy? The universe opens itself before my eyes: I see heaven, earth, and hell; I see the past, the present, and the future; I stand on Sinai and gaze upon the new Jerusalem; I am inebriated and yet composed. All my friends must pray for me, and you, my dear Emily. With brotherly love greets you CORNELIUS."
The artistic heroism of this soul—this man whose ideas grasped the world—breathes in these lines with certainly wonderful freshness. In other letters of this happy period his natural humor gains the ascendant, and he indulges in sallies of mirth, afterward begging her indulgence and a friendly remembrance of "the crazy painter Peter Cornelius." Her replies were in a simpler and graver tone, but full of that refreshing independence, which appeared to a nature like his more than aught else. She allowed his geniality full play without compromising her sincerity, or her dignity. He is thus both "charmed and edified" by her letters, and once made the remark of them, "All that your personality led me to fancy of the beautiful and the good finds more artless, more forcible and vivid expression in your letters.It becomes you uncommonly well, whenever you fairly assert yourself."
In the year 1831 the cholera threatened, for a time, to visit Munich. The preparations of the sanitary authorities to meet this uncomfortable guest were already completed. Miss Linder was in Basle, and sent thence a friendly invitation to Cornelius and his family to take refuge at her domestic hearth. The knightly response of the master, dated Munich, 15th of November 1831, is as follows:
"Your friendly suggestion from the shelter of your hospitable hearth to laugh at the cholera, and by the same opportunity, perhaps, to reproduce aDecameron, corresponding thereto, has an indescribable attraction for me, and I should have acted upon it had I not been afraid to be afraid. From sheer cowardice at the possible death of my honor, I must stand the cartridges of the cholera. From the spot where my king and so many admirable and honorable men stand their ground, must Cornelius never run away. You will take in good part the informality of this letter from your fanciful friend, yet he craves of you anindulgenza plenariawhile he ends with the bold declaration that he indescribably loves and honors you.
P. V. CORNELIUS."
At this period an idea seized Cornelius, which long occupied his attention, namely, to record the noteworthy incidents of his own eventful artist-life; a plan which certainly would have enriched literature by at least one original work and have proved of inestimable value to the history of modern art. Unfortunately, the plan was never carried out; but it affords a proof of his high esteem for his friend that Cornelius intended the memoirs to be written in the form of letters addressed to her, as will appear from the two following letters. They are written under the influence of the same exuberant spirits in which the grand conception of his "Christian epic" had placed him:
"Munich, February 12, 1832.
"Very Dear Friend: This is not meant as an answer to the welcome and beautiful letter which you sent me through H. Hauser; it is only a slight expression of my gratitude and my great delight at the kindliness and the loyal friendship which your dear letter breathes for me, unworthy. I have lately been asking myself why this letter-writing, which, as you and all the world knows, is a horror to me, since my correspondence with you has set me back into that happy period when one can write an entire library and yet not be satisfied. Had I more leisure, I would carry out an old project to write the history of my life in letter-form, after the manner of many French memoirs, and addressed to you. Although for the present this is not to be thought of, I by no means abandon the plan.
"Heroes and artists—in the most liberal way of viewing it—have their truest and clearest appreciation in the pure souls of women. Only Hebe might serve the nectar to Alcides; only Beatrice conducts the singer into Paradise; Tasso's delirium is a vague searching in a labyrinth where Ariadne's thread is broken; Michael Angelo would have been as great a painter as was Dante a poet had Beatrice opened heaven to him; Raphael's thousand-feathered Psyche bore a material maiden into the realm of the stars; her human blood enkindled his and slew him. When I write my memoirs, you will see how it has gone with me in this respect. In the mean time I allow you a peep through the keyhole of my private drawer—it is a poor poem of my youth, which as penance you must read, because you mockingly called me a poet. [Footnote 45]
[Footnote 45: It is truly a very youthful poem, addressed "To the Muse," commencing:"Confided have I alonein thee, O Muse," etc. ED.]
"I know not why I send these poor stanzas to you; it appears to me as though you exercised some charm over the spirits of my life, who must perforce appear before you. Perhaps one of these days this letter might serve for a dedication to the book in question, because, like an overture, it contains in itself the leading motive. Now farewell, and take no offence at this gay carnival-arabesque, The ladies of my family heartily greet you: we have good news from Rome. Heaven bless you, vouchsafe you cheerfulness and bliss, and bring you soon to us. Meantime, however, write soon, and often send tidings to your most devoted friend,
"P. Cornelius."
Four months later, he reverts to the same subject, on the occasion of sending to her, while at Basle, a sketch of his latest composition for the walls of the Louis-church, ("The Epiphany,") accompanying which he writes:
Munich, June 21, 1832.
"Herewith you find a little sketch of a drawing just completed for a large cartoon (the corresponding piece to the Crucifixion,) and instead of interpreting it to you, I beg your own interpretation of it; it would have such a charm for me to read in your mind my own conceptions ennobled and beautified. What coquetry! I hear you laughingly say; and yet I hope to be pardoned. If it be true that artists have many feelings in common with women, those which prompt us to try to please those we love should meet with some indulgence.
"I occupy myself often, on my lonely walks, with the plan of my intended memoirs; the material begins to assume shape; but unless you apply to it the finishing touch, it will not be presentable. I never could bring myself to entrust it to other hands. In the retrospect of my life I find the material more abundant than I had supposed. Very difficult will be the shaping of much of it. How easily does many a tie and relation in this life lose its true coloring and significance by omissions; and yet must these very often occur, if the work is to appear during my lifetime. Before beginning to write, I shall communicate to you, orally, dearest friend, some portions of the memoirs, and we can then discuss them at leisure—a welcome plan to me, for thus will the undertaking fairly ripen. With inmost respect and love, your devoted
"Peter Von Cornelius."
Finally, it may be allowable to make mention of a letter which he addresses to her from Rome, on the 12th of October, 1833, while he was working on his drawing of the Last Judgment. In this letter we recognize his playful, working humor—and does he not term these periods of creative activity his wedding time? In several remarks, however, we discern both sides of his nature.
"My Noble Friend: It is really too bad! has he not yet written? not even answered that charming letter from Salzburg? Well, I must say, I am curious to see how he will justify himself.
"Thus I hear Schlotthauer exclaim; even Schubert ominously shakes his head; but you are silent and thoughtful. I should be in despair for an excuse for myself, having already shot off my best arrows at you on similar occasions, exhausted my adroitest terms—my best rhetoric. I say I should be in despair, if that stupendous, that tremendous thing, 'The Last Judgment,' did not take me under its protecting wing. Never has a man, probably, with more sublimity asked pardon of a lady! And now, laying the universe at your feet, I await composedly my sentence. From this moment is my tongue loosed; and I can say to you that I am celebrating my blissfullest time—my wedding time—the harvest season of my holiest aspirations. How few mortals attain to such happiness! and how ill-calculated is this world to afford it!
"Gladly would I show you the work I am at present engaged upon. Yet for a nature so quiet as yours, you appear to me far too forcible and positive. Overbeck must love you a thousand fold more than I: with me you suffer indulgence to take the place of impartial justice. How I once fretted about such things!
"What a treasure is a deep, positively incurable pain! Better than the most unalloyed bliss which this poor world has to offer, it brings us near to the Holy One. It is more faithful, far less variable. It draws us into solitude, into ourselves.
"You surmise, doubtless, what I mean. Daily do I thank Heaven that through you such knowledge was to come to me. This is bitter medicine; administered, to a child, upon sweet fruit. But why do I entertain you with such trivialities? In all books of all nations we read the same thing; and yet when the poor human heart is pressed with its heavy burthen, it feels just as profoundly and acutely as in the very days of Troy itself; and the utterances of joy and of love, like those of pain, are ever new and their method inexhaustible; ever does one cast himself upon the breast of a loving, sympathetic soul.
"Accept for the moment this confused scribble and remain friendly and well-disposed toward me. Continue to peep through my fingers, and leave me just five of them. I claim to myself, however, the privilege of an unlimited love and veneration for you. My entire household and all your friends send heartfelt greeting; foremost of all, however, your
P. V. CORNELIUS."
The correspondence was interrupted when Cornelius removed to Berlin; but not the friendship, which endured to the end. Nor did the exchange of letters cease entirely; so that the ink-shy master once asserted in Berlin, that he had written to no lady so often as to her.
Among the earliest acquaintances of Emily Linder, was Father Franz von Baader; as the nine letters indicate, which were addressed to her, and published in the complete works of Baader. The first of these was dated as early as the 25th of May, 1825, therefore at the commencement of her residence in Munich; and the contents indicate the immediate cause of their mutual attraction. This letter has somewhat the nature of a memorial, in which the philosopher draws a parallel between the art of painting and the God-like art of benevolence; closing with the following words:
"Herewith commends himself to Miss Emily Linder—she who rendered her memory so dear, so imperishable to him by an act kindness performed at his request to a poor family—
Franz Baader."
The tie between them therefore lay in the admirable activity of that quality by which Emily Linder quietly accomplished so much—a high-hearted love for her neighbor.
From that time forward Baader regularly sent her his pamphlets and works, and we can appreciate to what extent he tasked her intellect when he forwarded her a copy of hisSpeculative Dogma or, Social-Philosophic Treatise. He regarded it as a pleasant duty to acquaint her from time to time with his literary labors: and she spared herself to no trouble to follow even such grave and abstruse topics. He succeeded in specially interesting her in Jacob Böhme. Her intelligent remarks on Baader's article upon the doctrine of justification led him to remark that her letter afforded him a more satisfactory proof than many a criticism that he had succeeded in reaching both the head and the heart. In the year 1831, Baader dedicated to her a philosophic paper entitledForty Propositions from a Religious Exotic," (Munich: Franz, 1831.) In the brief dedication of this "little work on great subjects" we read, "While you in ancient Rome are dedicating heart, soul, eye, and hand to art, it may not be unwelcome to you to hear over the stormy Alps a friendly voice, reminding you of that holy alliance of the three graces of a better and eternal life, Religion, Speculation, and Poetry, adding to these also, Painting." In the letter which accompanies this pamphlet he places before her the leading thoughts of the little work in a lucid manner:
"When the teachers of religion say that the whole Christian faith rests upon the knowledge and conviction that God is love; and that in this religion the love of God, of man, of nature, is made a duty; so that, in fact, a oneness of love and duty is announced, it would seem seasonable this unloving and duty-forgetful age so to present the identity of these two, love and duty, that mankind can discern the laws of religion in those of love, and those of love in religion; which, I trust, has been done in this pamphlet in a new, albeit rather a homoeopathic manner."
Next to Baader is to be named his intellectual son-in-law, Ernst von Lasaulx. He started, in the same year that Emily Linder left Rome, upon his long journey through Italy and Greece, to the Orient. They met in Florence, the 27th of July, 1831, and he promised the artist a description of his travels.In conformity with this promise ensued a series of letters recording his experiences and impressions in Greece and the promised land, fresh and warm to a degree seldom found, and full of classic beauty. By whom could antiquity be better realized to this art-enthusiast than by Lasaulx, the zealous student of Grecian art-history, and equally a master of artistic prose! Poetic sensibility and literary clearness go refreshingly hand in hand in these letters; now in a description of his rides to that "eloquent rock-architecture" of Cyclopean edifices, the Titanic walls of the Acropolis of Tiryns and Mikene; or his solitary wanderings among the prostrate, ruined glories strewn from Corinth to Magara and Athens. At the first view of distant Athens, the Acropolis and the Parthenon, the temple of Theseus and the city behind the dark olive-woods he exclaims:
"Here is Greece, all of a departed glory worthy of the name, which the noiseless waste of time and the insane fury of man has left to the after-world. Never in my experience, and in no other city, have I known such emotions. It is as though my heart were turned into an AEolian harp, and the night winds were sighing through its broken strings."
Despite all his predilections, however, for the classic land, he did not suffer himself to be deceived as to a new Greece by the occasion of the 12th of April, 1833, when he was present at the formal surrender of the Acropolis to the Bavarian troops, when Osman Effendi withdrew the Turkish forces, and the Bavarian commander, Baligand, planted the Greek flag upon the northern rampart. He remarks, in this description:
"It was a remarkable spectacle; the noisy, confused crowd of Turks, Greeks, Bavarians and whatever other inquisitive Franks had collected in the dusky colonnades of the Parthenon. As I could not bring myself to any faith in the regeneration of Greece, the rampant irony of this insane funeral wake only added to my deep depression."
Written in the year 1833, and, hardly ten years later, what confirmation!
Glorious passages does the traveller indite to his distant friend over his pilgrimage through Palestine; profound melancholy at the present condition of the holy land; devout emotions amid holy places. On entering Jerusalem, Sunday, September 15. 1833, he says:
"Burning tears and a cold shudder of the heart were the first, God grant not the only, tributes which I offered for his love and that of his Son."
His delineations inspired his friend with a holy longing, and she entertained for some time afterward the idea of a journey to the holy land. She had, indeed, made preparations (1836) for a pilgrimage thither in company with Schubert, and only considerations of health compelled her at last to abandon the plan.
Subsequently, at the close of his life, Lasaulx crowned his friendship for Miss Linder with a special literary tribute. He dedicated to her his last great work,The Philosophy of the Fine Arts, Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, Music, Poetry, Prose, (Munich, 1860.) As though from a presentiment of his death, he felt impelled to bring his esthetic studies to a close, sensible as he was that here and there were still omissions to supply. But the book is the thoughtful labor of many years, and a masterwork of style. In the dedication, which serves as preface, and which was written in the Bavarian inn, at Castle Lebenberg, in the Tyrol, on the 25th of September, 1859, after speaking of the origin of the work, he refers, in the following words, to his friend:
"That I dedicate this work particularly to you will be found natural enough on a moment's self-examination. I met you, for the first time, thirty years ago, at Munich, in a delightful circle of friendly men and women, so many of whom are constantly departing from us, that those who are still left have to move nearer and nearer to each other at your hospitable table. A few years later, I saw you in Florence again, as you came from Rome and I went thither. The death of our early-maturing friend, Adam Eberle, resulted in an association with you as a correspondent, and since then you have proved to me, my wife and daughter, both in bright and gloomy days, so dear and true a friend, that it is now a necessity with me to express my gratitude to you, even with this very work, whose subjects are so akin to your own studies, and in writing which, at this fortress of Lebenberg, I have so often thought of you and our mutual friends, dead and living, chiefest among whom should to yourself this book be a tribute."
A year and a half later, the noble and true soul of Lasaulx had passed, and his grateful friend founded for him a memorial after her own peculiar taste, the pious memorial of a stated mass for his soul.
An early friend, also, and one true till death, was Gotthilf Heinrich von Schubert, who met Miss Linder shortly after he was called to the University of Munich. The amiable personality of thissavantof child-like nature particularly appealed to her. His fundamental views of religion accorded with her own; and therefore, the elements of a spiritual harmony were already at hand. Miss Linder was associated with his family during the period of an entire human life, in the closest and purest friendship, which particularly one test safely withstood—that of her conversion. In his autobiography, Schubert alludes, in a few words, to this friend of his household; and the comparison he draws between her and the Princess Gallitzin shows how high a position he accorded her. Speaking of the circle of friends in which he chiefly moved, he mentions the names of Roth, Puchta, Schnorr, Cornelius, Ringseis, Schlotthauer, Boisseree, Schwanthaler, and then remarks:
"The gathering-point of many of these friends was the house of the noble Swiss, Emily. At all times and in all places, in larger as in smaller social circles, will each with pleasure thus recall that grand life-picture, which was similarly presented to a former generation at Münster, in the fair friend of Hamann, of Stolberg, of Claudius."
Emily Linder was certainly the first, in her deep humility, to deprecate such a comparison; but it is for both equally creditable that the venerable sage felt constrained to bear such testimony, even after her union with the Catholic Church.
Next to the testimony of scholars and artists, we will finally quote an opinion from a female writer, a literary lady of the higher walks of life. In the summer of 1841, came Emma von Niendorf to Munich. She was in friendly relation with Schubert and Brentano, and, several years later, recorded her reminiscences of those sunny days at Munich in a lively and imaginative little work. At Schubert's she formed the acquaintance of Emily Linder, and was attracted closely to her. She refers to her in glowing and expressive terms, depicting this art-loving woman in the repose of her home:
"A noble Swiss, and for this reason remarkable, that, fortified by exterior means and the most positive convictions, she presented to me an ideal existence in a ripe and unwedded old age, having achieved happiness. She lived only for science, for art, for all that is beautiful and good. But everything was illumined with the glory of a genuine Christian spirit. And how this spirit reflected itself in all her surroundings!I shall never forget it; the sitting-room, with work-basket, books, flowers, harp, drawings by Overbeck; a drawing-room separating these from a little house-chapel, which a painting of Overbeck also embellished. And, where the organ awaited the skilful fingers, a Madonna of the school of Leonardo da Vinci smiled from the wall, while the little side-altar encased a drawing of Albrecht Dürer. I found, also, in the house of this lady a portrait of Maria Mori, in the Tyrol, admirably drawn by her friend, the well-known lady artist, Ellenrieder, somewhat idealized; a profile, with folded hands; long, brown, down-flowing hair; the large, dark eye full of devotion, full of sensibility, thestigmatain the hands not to be forgotten. … This lady is a Protestant. The deepest coloring of her soul is, perhaps, shading toward Catholicism; yet she doubtless finds satisfying harmonies in the Gospel. By one of those wonderful providences which life is so full of, this earnest soul was planted between two strongly pronounced natures—two opposite polarities of friendship, both deep and sincere—Clemens Brentano and Schubert, who were on equal terms of intimacy with her."
At the very time Emma von Niendorf put her work to press, she knew not that the lady to whom these lines referred had already attained that toward which "the deepest coloring of her soul seemed to be shading." Emily Linder had sought and found "satisfying harmonies" in the faith of the one, universal, apostolic church.
Conclusion In The Next Number.
[Footnote 46]
[Footnote 46:The Life of Father de Ravignan, of the Society of Jesus. By Father de Ponlevoy, of the same Society. Translated at St. Beuno's College, North Wales. 12mo, pp. 693. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1869.]
Father De Ponlevoy's life of his friend and colleague, the celebrated orator of Notre Dame, violates many of the canons of biographical composition, and is nevertheless an admirable book. As a narrative, it lacks clearness and symmetry; but as a picture of the interior of a great and beautiful soul, it is wonderfully vivid. It could only have been written by one who sympathized completely with the subject, and understood the interior illuminations and trials, and the complete detachment from the world, which distinguished the illustrious preacher whose fame at one time filled all Catholic Europe. Father de Ponlevoy has given us therefore a valuable work. He has looked at De Ravignan's life from the right point of view—the only point in fact from which it offers any important material to the biographer. In a worldly sense, the life was not an eventful one. He came of a noble yet hardly a distinguished family, who preserved their faith in the midst of the storm of revolution, and brought up their children to love the church. Gustave Xavier was born at Bayonne on the 1st of December, 1795. As a child he was remarkable for a gravity and intelligence far beyond his years, a warm affection for his parents, and a very pious disposition. After completing his school and college education in Paris, he resolved to devote himself to the law, and at the age of eighteen entered the office of M. Goujon, a jurist of some distinction at the capital. He had scarcely begun his studies, however, when France was thrown into confusion by the return of Napoleon from Elba.The young man threw down his books, enlisted in a company of royalist volunteers, and after preparing himself for the campaign by receiving holy communion, marched with his command toward the Spanish frontier. His company belonged to that unlucky detachment under General Barbarin, which was surprised and cut to pieces at Hélette, in the Lower Pyrénées. General Barbarin fell, severely wounded, and would have fallen into the enemy's hands, when De Ravignan rushed forward through the fire and attempted to carry him off the field. It was a generous but desperate act, which would have led to the sacrifice of both. Barbarin saw the danger of the young hero, and, freeing one of his arms, shot himself through the head. Covered with the blood of his unfortunate commander, Gustave sought safety in flight, wandered afoot and alone through the Basque country, in the disguise of a peasant, and, after many hardships and escapes, rejoined the army on Spanish soil. He now received a commission as lieutenant of cavalry, and was attached to the staff of the Count de Damas, who sent him on a confidential mission to Bordeaux. Before he had any further opportunity of winning distinction, the war was over, and although tempting offers were made him to continue in the army, he determined to adhere to the law, and was soon hard at work again. The indomitable resolution, amounting even to sternness, which distinguished him in after life, was already one of his most remarkable characteristics. Whatever he did, was done with all his might. He studied with the most intense application, and, not satisfied with the reading necessary for his profession, applied himself closely to the German and English languages, and such lighter accomplishments as drawing and music. In due time he was appointed aconseiller auditeurin the royal court of Paris, then under the presidency of Séguier. The influence of the Duke d'Angoulême got him the appointment—not, however, without some difficulty—and his colleagues received him coldly. He awaited his time in patience, beginning each day by hearing Mass, and studying thoroughly, systematically, and indefatigably. At last, one day when the advocates happened to be out of court, a civil cause of a very tedious nature was unexpectedly called. The president turned, rather maliciously, to De Ravignan, and handed him the papers, saying, "Let us see for once what can be done by this young gentleman, whose acquaintance we have yet to make." On the appointed day the "young gentleman" presented a clear and logical report, and delivered it with a perfection of utterance which caused the whole court to listen with astonishment. His success at the bar was assured from that moment, and soon afterward he was appointed deputyprocureur général.
His life at this time presents a curious and instructive study. He devoted a part of each day regularly to religious exercises; he was a zealous member of a Sodality of the Blessed Virgin; he had already in fact formed the idea of entering the priesthood, if not of joining the Society of Jesus. But while he remained in the world, he never neglected his professional pursuits, he mingled freely in society, and showed himself, in the true sense of the term, an accomplished gentleman. He was a great favorite in company. "In him," says Father de Ponlevoy, "interior and exterior were in perfect harmony. It would be impossible to imagine a more perfect type of a young man: the expression of his countenance was excellent, his forehead high and full of dignity, his features fine and characteristic, his eyes deep and blue, by turns animated and affectionate, his figure slight and graceful.To this picture must be added scrupulous attention to person and dress, perfect politeness, and a nameless something, the reflection of a lofty mind, a great intellect, and a pure and affectionate heart." Many years afterward, when he visited London, to preach at the time of the World's Fair, one of the principal Protestant noblemen of England said of him, "He is the most finished gentleman I ever saw." His modesty, like many of his other virtues, leaned toward severity. At a great dinner-party one day, before he had embraced the religious life, he was placed next a young lady whose dress was rather too scanty. He sat stiff and silent until the unlucky girl ventured to ask, "M. de Ravignan, have you no appetite?" He replied in a half-whisper, "And you, Mdlle., have you no shame?"
He was twenty-six years of age when, after a retreat of eight days, he entered the Seminary of Saint Sulpice. The resolution had been gradually formed, yet it took everybody except his mother and his spiritual director by surprise. His professional friends and associates did all they could to draw him back to the world. They sought out his retreat, and went after him in crowds. "Ah!" he exclaimed, when he saw them, "I have made my escape from you."
De Ravignan remained only six months in the seminary, and then removed to the novitiate of the Society of Jesus, for which he had made no secret of his preference. The life of a novice offers little matter for the biographer. We are only told that his course here was distinguished by a devotion which approached heroism, a zeal that tended toward excess, and a strictness that was often too hard and stern. Throughout his life, severity toward himself, far more than toward others, was his principal defect; but as years went on, this rigidity of character, always more apparent than real, disappeared little by little in the sunshine of divine love. He never spared himself in anything. He surpassed all in his ambition for humiliation and suffering; the only trouble was, that he sometimes went too far in attempting to lead weaker brethren by the hard path he himself had trodden. A novice once asked somebody for advice, and was recommended to apply to Brother de Ravignan. "In that case," he rejoined, "I know beforehand what I must do: I have only to choose the most difficult course." In the scholasticate, he was known by thesobriquetof "Iron Bar." When the time came for his admission to holy orders, after nearly four years passed in the scholasticate at Paris and at Dôle, he was sent with five other candidates to the Diocesan Seminary at Orgelet, where the sacrament of ordination was to be administered. Before the party set out, Brother de Ravignan was appointed superior for the journey. His companions were seized with fear when they heard who had been placed in charge over them; but their alarm was groundless. "Nothing," said one of the company, "could exceed the kindness, the affability, the attentiveness to small wants, the simple joy of the young superior. He availed himself of his character only to claim the right of choosing the last place, and of making himself the servant of all." He was ordained priest on the 25th of July, 1828.
The war against the Jesuits in France was approaching its crisis, and the ordinance which deprived them of the liberty of teaching and shut up all their colleges was promulgated just about the time of Father de Ravignan's ordination.Cut off from the privilege of secular instruction, the society resolved to devote itself more zealously than ever to the theological training of its own members. Father de Ravignan was assigned a chair of theology at Saint Acheul, near Amiens; for he was not only a thorough scholar, but he possessed a rare talent for teaching, and according to the testimony of his pupil, Father Rubillon, fully realized "the idea of a professor of theology such as is depicted by St. Ignatius." The poor fathers, however, were not to be left here in peace. In 1829, they received notice to suspend their classes; but Father de Ravignan hastened to Paris, saw the Minister of Public Instruction, and caused the order to be set aside. The next year came the revolution of July. Late in the evening of the 29th, a mob, led by an expelled pupil, attacked the college, burst in gates, and with cries for "The King and the Charter!" "The Emperor!" "Liberty!" and "Down with the priests!" and "Death to the Jesuits!" proceeded to sack the building. While some of the fathers took refuge in the chapel, and others, expecting death, were busy hearing one another's confessions, Father de Ravignan went upon a balcony, and tried to make himself heard by the rioters. He persisted until a stone struck him on the temple, and he was led away bleeding. To what lengths the fury of the mob would have gone it is impossible to say; but fortunately, in the course of their devastation they stumbled into the wine-cellar, and all got drunk. The arrival of a troop of cavalry dispersed the reeling crowd in the twinkling of an eye, and the Jesuits were left to mourn over the ruins. The next day it seemed certain that the attack would be renewed. The college was deserted, and its inmates scattered in different directions, Father de Ravignan being sent to Brigue in Switzerland to resume his courses of theological instruction.
It was not until the close of 1834 that he came back to France. Then we find him once more at Saint Acheul, where, since classes were prohibited, a house had been opened for fathers in their third year of probation. Three years later, he was appointed superior of a new house at Bordeaux. There he remained until 1842.
In the mean time he had entered, imperceptibly, so to speak, upon the great work of his life. He had preached many retreats at different times to his own brethren, and to other religious communities, but had rarely been heard in a public pulpit until, during the Lent of 1835, while he was living at Saint Acheul, he was selected to preach a series of conferences in the cathedral of Amiens. He was forty years of age when he began this apostleship, and he had been withdrawn from the world ever since he was twenty-seven; yet he had not been forgotten. There was a lively curiosity among his old friends to hear him; the members of the bar in particular were constant in their attendance; and the impression produced in Amiens was not only deep, but rich in spiritual fruit. In Advent, he was appointed to preach a similar course at the same place; and in Lent of the next year, we find him preaching in the church of St. Thomas Aquinas, in Paris. Nothing exactly like these conferences and courses of sermons, so common in France, has ever been known to our country, and some of our readers may find it difficult to appreciate the magnitude and importance of the labor in which Father de Ravignan was now engaged.The audiences whom he had to address were not only poor, unlettered sinners, whose consciences needed arousing; to these of course he must speak, but with them came hundreds of the most cultivated and critical listeners, who studied the speaker's language and manner as they would a literary essay or an exercise in elocution. The court, the army, the learned professions, and the leaders of fashionable society crowded around the Lent and Advent pulpits. The appearance of a new preacher was the sensation of the metropolis. The newspapers criticised the performance as they would criticise a play at the theatre. To satisfy the exactions of such an audience as this, and yet to preserve that unction without which preaching is a waste of breath—to please the critical ear, and yet to move the callous heart, required qualifications which few men combined. The most famous of all the series of conferences had been those in the great cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris. Father Lacordaire had there roused an extraordinary enthusiasm, and at the height of his fame had abandoned the pulpit and gone to Rome for the purpose of restoring the Dominican order to France. He earnestly desired that Father de Ravignan should be his successor at Notre Dame, and it is interesting to know that it was partly through Lacordaire's agency, that the Jesuit was obliged in 1837 to begin that grand series of discourses, extending over ten years, by which he will be chiefly remembered. "No one could claim to be the apostle of such an assembly as met in Notre Dame," says Father de Ponlevoy,
"unless he were first of all a philosopher. The subject chosen for the first year was accordingly a kind of Catholic philosophy of history, depicting the broad outlines of the struggle between truth and error. This idea is analogous to that which inspired theCity of Godof St. Augustine; it was carried on in the station of 1838 by an explanation of fundamental doctrines, beginning with the personality and action of God, in opposition to the abstractions of the pantheists, the ill-defined forms of deism and fatalism; proceeding on to liberty, the immortality of the soul and the end of man, against materialism. For all this, it was necessary to go to first principles, to recall slumbering belief to life, and again to establish doctrines which had been corrupted by numberless errors. Some portion of the hearers were from this time forward led to embrace the last practical conclusions, and already F. de Ravignan had some consoling returns to the faith to report. At the end of the station of 1838, he wrote:
"'The attendance has been large and remarkable for the great number of distinguished persons, members of the present and former ministries, peers, deputies, academicians, well known Protestants, foreigners of rank, and a troop of young men.
"'There have been symptoms of approval, sometimes too freely manifested; conversions, a few, but not many. Moreover, no expressions of hostility, either in the newspapers or among the audience. God be praised!
"'I have been forced to have some intercourse with a great many people, and some of them persons of note. M. de Chateaubriand paid me a visit; two interviews were arranged for me with M. de Lamartine; several physicians and men of science have sought to see me; some have been to confession. How many great men there are ignorant of the faith, and sick in mind and heart.
"'God has supported me. I have felt his grace, his help to our society, and the benefit of the prayers offered for my work. I took care that none of the journals should employ short-hand writers, that my words might not be published in a distorted form.'"
From the very outset, Father de Ravignan had contemplated the establishment of an annual retreat by way of a complement to his conferences; but wishing to give his influence time to work before he carried out this plan, he waited until 1841, and then resolved to begin in the small church of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, which with great crowding holds no more than 1000 or 1200 people.Should the attendance be too large for this church, it was arranged that he should remove to St. Eustache. He describes the result of his experiment as follows:
"I gave notice of a retreat for men during Holy Week, only on Palm-Sunday at Notre Dame before the conference; an instruction every evening at eight o'clock till Holy Saturday inclusively. On the Monday evening I went to the Abbaye-aux-Bois about half-past seven. I found an extraordinary crowd, and difficulty in getting places; and there was not a single woman. I had kept them all out. For nearly two hours the whole church had been full, and already a hundred people had gone away unable to get in. I wanted to cross the bottom of the church, but I could not get along. I was recognized, and with great earnestness, but without uproar, I was asked to adjourn elsewhere. I promised to do so. From the pulpit I was struck by this throng of men, almost all young, who filled the doorways, the altars and no disturbance. After having warmly congratulated them, I appointed Saint-Eustache for the next day. Then I bade them all rise for prayer. They all rose like one man. We recited theVeni Creator, and the instruction followed on these words:Venite seorsum et requiescite pusillum—Come aside, and rest a little. I advised them all to remain for benediction. All remained.
"Next day Saint-Eustache was filled five hours before the service, and the following days they came even earlier.
"My heart is full of gratitude to God. His help has been plain. I do not know that such a churchful of men was ever seen. The iron gates at the doors, the bases of the pillars, the rails, everything, was covered with people hanging on; the nave and aisles filled and crowded beyond conception, and the deepest, most religious silence—not one disturbance, no police—3000 or 4000 men's voices singing theMiserere, theStabat Mater. The sight affected me deeply.
"I at once adopted perfect apostolic freedom of language, and, without preface, began to speak of sin, of hell, of confession, etc. I delivered my address, and appointed six hours every day which I would devote to men who might wish to see me. They have come in shoals. I have been hearing confessions all the week, six or seven hours a day, of men of all ages and positions in life—all very much behindhand. God has given me consolation. The prayers offered on all sides for this work have had a visible effect. There has been a marked movement in Paris. More Easter Communions everywhere. Our fathers have received many more confessions of men. I have not declined a single one, and I am still busy in finishing them.
"A good many came to tell me of their difficulties, and I said to them, 'Well, believe me, there is but one way; take your place there;' and all, with a single exception, made their confessions.
"On Good-Friday the Passion sermon exhausted my strength; the following day I had no voice left. I was unable to give the closing instruction of the retreat on Holy Saturday. I wrote a scrap of a note to inform the Curé of Saint-Eustache, and he bethought him of reading it from the pulpit. All went off quietly; the people waited for benediction and went home."
Lacordaire was a far more brilliant and poetical preacher than De Ravignan, but the styles of the two men were so entirely different that there can be no comparison between them. The conferences of the Jesuit orator, studied in the cold light of print, lack color and imagination; but they can only be judged fairly by those who heard them delivered. The principal characteristic of his delivery we should judge must have been force—a force which amounted to majesty. He spoke with a commanding air of authority, as one whose convictions were as fixed as the everlasting hills. His power of assertion was tremendous; with all this he was animated and impassioned, although he generally commenced with a slow and measured cadence. His style was a little rough, but nervous and striking. He did not captivate, but he conquered. His gestures were dignified and impressive; his attitude was modest but commanding; his personal presence was noble. When he entered the pulpit, he remained a long time motionless, with eyes cast down, waiting until the assemblage became perfectly still. Then he made the sign of the cross with a pomp and stateliness which became famous.A Protestant minister who witnessed this solemn exordium exclaimed, "He has preached without speaking a word!" It used to be said, "When Father de Ravignan shows himself in the pulpit, no one can tell whether he has just ascended from earth or come down from heaven." One day he had been describing the wilful misery of the unbeliever—his doubts, fears, melancholy, repinings, and despair; the picture was drawn with a terrible force; the audience sat as if paralyzed. Suddenly, want of breath compelled the orator to pause. He folded his arms, and with inimitable emphasis brought the climax to an end with these words: "And we— we are believers!" The effect was overpowering. The people forgot themselves, and a signal of applause ran through the church. The priest was indignant. With glowing countenance and arm raised in air, he cried, "Silence!" in a voice of awful reproof, and the assembly was instantly hushed.
Still more effective, though less celebrated than the conferences, were Father de Ravignan's retreats. In these he was unapproached. He followed strictly the exercises of St. Ignatius, to which he gave such unremitting study that he might well be called a man of one book. His conferences were prepared with great elaboration, but the retreats were improvisations. As years went on, he devoted himself more and more closely to these latter exercises, until they became at last his proper work in the ministry; and when sickness, and the loss of his voice had compelled him to abandon formal preaching, he continued to conduct the retreats at Notre Dame, while Lacordaire resumed his place in the pulpit.
It must not be supposed that the success of the Jesuit's oratory was any indication of a growing favor for the society in France. The opposition to its existence was still active, and the government refused to acknowledge that as a society it had any existence in the kingdom at all. The wildest stories about it were published and believed. One day, in the midst of a distinguished party assembled at the Tuileries to celebrate the king's birthday, a person of influence disclosed a horrible plot: the Jesuits had arms stored in the cellars of Saint Sulpice, and only the day before, Father de Ravignan had been there concerting measures with his accomplices. "Oh! yes," interrupted a lady of the court, "I was at that meeting. We were drawing a raffle for the poor. There were two or three hundred families so lucky as to be set up with a coffee-pot or a sauce-pan." As a general thing, however, whatever might be said of the society, Father de Ravignan was treated with respect. Guizot made no secret of his esteem for him, and Royer-Collard used to say, "Father de Ravignan is artless enough to imagine himself a Jesuit." In the little book which De Ravignan accordingly wrote about this time—On the Existence and the Institute of the Jesuits—there was a double purpose to be gained. He wished to identify himself as thoroughly and as publicly as he could with the society to which he had given his heart, and he wished to share in the gallant battle which Lacordaire was fighting for the right of the religious orders to exist in France under the protection of the laws. The opposition in the legislative chambers had been insisting that they ought not to exist; the ministry replied that they did not exist; and right in the midst of the dispute appears Father de Ravignan, like the poor prisoner who called a lawyer to get him out of jail."But this is preposterous," said the counsel; "you can't be arrested on such a charge as that!" "I don't know," said the prisoner, "but Iamarrested." "Why, I tell you, youcan'tbe: it is not legal; they have no right to put you in jail." "Well, I only know that Iamin jail, and I want you get me out." Father de Ravignan showed clearly enough that they did exist, and had a right to legal protection. If they were to be driven out of the kingdom, the government must face the responsibility, and do it openly. A few days after the appearance of the book, Lacordaire, being present at a meeting of the Catholic Club under the presidency of the Archbishop of Paris, exclaimed, "If we were in England, I should propose three cheers for Father de Ravignan." The cheers were given with a will.
We have no space to follow Father de Ravignan in the varied occupations of the next ten years. His health, always precarious, broke down completely in 1847, and for the rest of his life he was condemned to alternations of intense suffering, and of forced inaction which was worse to him than pain. He was tormented with chronic neuralgia, with dropsy on the chest, and a severe affection of the larynx, that for long periods deprived him entirely of the power of preaching. During these ten years of suffering, he wrote his history of "Clement XIII. and Clement XIV," a book which under the guise of an apology for the course of the latter pontiff in the suppression of the Jesuits was in reality an apology for the society, and a reply to the recently published work of Father Theiner on the same subject. He founded the sodality known as the Children of Mary, assisted in the establishment of the Congregation of the Oratory, and was zealously and constantly employed in the direction of souls and the guidance of converts—gathering up, as Father de Ponlevoy well expresses it, the fruit of his ten years' preaching. There is hardly a distinguished name in the history of France at that day which does not appear in connection with his. Madame Swetchine was one of his co-laborers. Madame de la Ferronnays, whose charming life has recently been told under the title ofA Sister's Story, was his devoted friend. Chateaubriand, Count Molé, Walckenaër, Camper the celebrated navigator, Marshal St. Arnaud, General Cavaignac, Prince Demidoff, Montalembert, De Falloux, and Bishop Dupanloup—these are some of the illustrious names which occur most frequently in his correspondence. A celebrity of a very different sort with whom he had some intercourse is thus alluded to in Father de Ponlevoy's Life:
"We cannot conclude this chapter without making some mention of that well-known AmericanMedium, who possessed the unfortunate talent of turning other things besides tables, and of calling up the dead for the amusement of the living. Much has been said, even in the newspapers, about his close and pious intimacy with F. de Ravignan; and it seems that an attempt has been made to use an honored name as a passport to introduce into France, and establish there, these wonderful discoveries of the new world.
"The facts, in all their simplicity, are as follows: It is quite true that, after the young foreigner had been converted in Italy, he was furnished at Rome with an introduction to F. de Ravignan; but by this time he had given up his magic at the same time that he gave up his Protestantism, and he was received with the interest which is due from a priest to every soul ransomed with the blood of Jesus Christ, and especially, perhaps, to a soul which is converted and brought back to the bosom of the church. On his arrival in Paris, he was again absolutely forbidden to return in any way to his old practices. F. de Ravignan, agreeably to the principles of the faith which proscribe all superstition, prohibited, under the severest penalties he could inflict, all participation in or presence at these dangerous and sometimes guilty proceedings.Once the unhappyMedium, beset by I know not what man or devil, was unfaithful to his promise; he was received with a severity which prostrated him; I chanced at the time to come into the room, and I saw him rolling on the ground, and writhing like a worm at the feet of the priest, so righteously indignant. The father was touched by a repentance which led to such bodily agony, raised him up, and pardoned him; but, before dismissing him, exacted a written promise confirmed by an oath. But a notorious relapse soon took place, and the servant of God, breaking off all connection with this slave of the spirits, sent him word never again to appear in his presence."
We shall not undertake, in the brief space that remains, to describe the beauty of Father de Ravignan's character—his touching humility, his rare sweetness of soul, his complete detachment from earth, his patience, his charity, and his unflagging zeal. He was once asked how he had attained such mastery over himself. "There were two of us," he replied; "I threw one out of the window, so that only I remained where I was." Father de Ponlevoy applies to him the description which St. Francis Xavier gave of St. Ignatius: "His character is made up of three elements; a humility of mind which we can scarcely understand, a force of soul superior to all opposition, and an incomparable kindness of heart."
In the spring of 1857, a severe attack of sickness obliged him to remove to Saint Acheul. He came back to Paris in the autumn, apparently restored to as good health as he had experienced of recent years, but he was already far gone in consumption. On the 3d of December, he passed a long time at the Convent of the Sacred Heart, conversing with a poor person who wanted to enter the church. Then he went into the confessional, and remained there until physically exhausted. One of his penitents on that occasion remarked that he spoke more than ever like a man who no longer belonged to this world. He got home with great difficulty. This was the last of his ministry. On the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, he celebrated mass for the last time; but it was not until the 26th of February that he passed to that blessed rest for which he had yearned so long with an eagerness that he used to call "homesickness." The account of his last days is too beautiful to be abridged. With the awe inspired by the sublime narrative, we prefer to drop our pen at the opening of this final chapter, wherein the gates of heaven seem to stand ajar, and our eyes are dazzled by the awful light which streams from the divine presence.