On the feast of Corpus Christi, 1854, a young man, an artist, stood in the streets of Dusseldorf waiting for the procession of the Blessed Sacrament to pass by. He was not there from any religious motive; indeed, he looked with a certain supercilious air upon the people around him, waiting so silently for their Lord to pass by. It was only inspiration for a painting that he sought, attracted by the pageantry, the rich colours, the myriad candles and flowers. Soon, the distant murmur of prayers was audible and the procession appeared round the bend of the road, a splash of colour and light against the sombre background. The men around him pulled off their hats and all fell upon their knees. The artist alone stood, tall and handsome, with his broad-brimmed hat planted firmly upon his fair curling hair. But it did not remain so for long! The next moment a blow from one of the men near him had sent it spinning across the street. . . . With a sudden realisation of his want of courtesy and good breeding the quick blood rushed to the young man’s cheeks and he bowed his head in shame.
The name of this young artist was Karl Schilling. He was a Norwegian, nineteen years of age and an atheist, staying in Germany for the sake of his studies; but from that day of June when he had stood in the streets of Dusseldorf waiting for the procession, dated his change of heart. After his conversion (November nth, 1854) he worked untiringly till the day of his death for the return of his beloved Norway to the true faith. Gradually he gave up his painting. More and more of his time was given to prayer and the exercise of charity. With the passage of the years the wish to become a priest was slowly formulating in his mind.
