through England to sing for the first time in the Messiah at Liverpool. It had long been the wish of her heart to sing in oratorios--the words, she said, made her feel a better beingand it was the English, she always felt, who loved and understood this music best. Then on August 21 she sailed for New York, amid a magnificent display of sympathy, and went out to win new triumphs and conquer the New World as she had conquered the Old.

།

'We send her out, then, on her American visit, with no sense that her career, in touching its final level, has less triumph in store for her than any of the steps which led to it. We shall leave her to go ever forward, still encouraged, from New York to Havanna, with the same passion of devotion, the same thrill of a unique experience, which she had evolved already in Stockholm and Berlin, in Vienna and London. But, nevertheless, one absolute change was to come upon her in that Far West. Over there, beyond the sea, the old life of the wandering musician, carrying wares from mart to mart, with its homelessness, its insecurity, its isolation-that type of life of which so often we have had to record the bitterness-was to find its end. The solitary girl was to be received into the warmth of home affections and into the happy honour of wifehood. . . . Just when the distraction and tumult of her loneliness were at their very height the release came which lifted her out of it for ever, and which laid open for her a wholly new and enduring life outside and beyond her course as an artist. We therefore leave her company at this point, parting with her just at the very summit of her career as "Jenny Lind," leaving her still moving forward into continual triumph, at the top of her force, in the fullest exercise of her powers, leaving her to pass out of sight, under the low, happy doors of home, into the quiet and the secrecy of wedded life' (ii. 417).

For at the end of May 1851 M. Otto Goldschmidt joined Mr. Barnum's company as pianist on the retirement of Sir Julius Benedict, and on December 13 of the same year 'Jenny Lind' gave her last concert in Philadelphia. A few weeks later, on February 5, 1852, she was married in Boston by the Bishop of New York, and her life was linked to that chosen companion in whom she had found all that her heart ever wanted and loved.' But her career as an artist was not to end with her marriage. We know that the famous provincial tour through England in 1856, together with many more in this country and on the Continent, still lay before her. know that it was still hers to charm millions of hearts, and to kindle enthusiasm as magical as ever, to move among men for thirty-seven years more' as a delight, a wonder, an apparition, lightening the load of sorrow, bringing good news of peace' (ii. 430). Of the blessedness of her home life, of all

the longed-for joys of domestic happiness that were so fully given her, it is not ours to speak. Enough to know that her sacrifice was not without its rewards, and that she, too, had her hundred fold in this life.

'Once an English friend found her sitting on the steps of a bathing-machine on the sands, with a Lutheran Bible open on her knee, and looking out into the glory of a sunset that was shining over the waters. They talked, and the talk drew near to the inevitable question, "Oh, Madame Goldschmidt, how was it that you ever came to abandon the stage, at the very height of your success?" "When, every day," was the quiet answer, "it made me think less of this (laying a finger on the Bible), "and nothing at all of that," pointing out to the sunset, "what else could I do?"... The Bible and the sunset! There is what she always needed! There is what she wished at all cost to preserve. Each of them is closed and barred to all who cannot bring to them a certain spiritual tone; and it was this tone which she found it impossible to preserve amid the disquieting distractions of an actress's life. And, certainly, the choice she made did justify itself by its spiritual results. By it she did retain the eyes which could look out into the sunset, and the heart that could read the Bible. . . . There are few careers which have a more fascinating tale to tell of rapid and brilliant passage out of darkness into triumph, out of poverty and harshness into a blaze of glory. But there is no career which can leave a deeper impression of the entire supremacy, over all the world can bring, of the spiritual motive. She is given everything; and yet all is as nothing if it does not leave her free to sit alone by the seashore, and to look at the sunset, and at the old Lutheran Bible, with the pure eyes that can see God' (ii. 441).

ART. IV. THE COUNCIL OF EPHESUS.

1. The Court and City of Constantinople during the Council of Ephesus. MS. Bib. Nat. Paris.

2. Mansi: Sacrorum Conciliorum nova et amplissima Collectio. Vol. v. 1-1046. (Florentiæ, 1761.)

STUDENTS of Church history who are acquainted with the pages of Mansi have probably often been struck with the large mass of material which we possess concerning many of the events in the fourth and fifth centuries. The first impression that an investigator forms is, how much we know; the second impression probably is, how much there is we do not know. We have the formal 'Acta' of Councils; we have bulky volumes of theological works illustrating the contro

versies and thought of the time; we have long official documents and letters; we are able to mark out with considerable precision the broad lines of events, and the characters of the principal actors; but when we have done this we begin to feel that, after all, there is much behind which we long, and yet perhaps dread, to discover. We have hints, and more than hints, of intrigues which we cannot altogether fathom. The acuteness of modern historians-as, for example, of Professor Gwatkin on the Arian controversy has done much to penetrate beneath the surface; but, after all, without definite information it is impossible to do more than indicate what forces were at work. We require something of the nature of the modern memoir,' which, however puerile and disproportionate it may be in its judgment of events, however much it may require caution in its employment, often lets a flood of light into the less public forces and motives which have influenced the course of history.

What we have said is especially true of the history of the third Ecumenical Council of Ephesus. We know the main points of controversy and the main features of the struggle. We have a vivid picture of the combatants. We can realize the forces they were able to marshal-Nestorius, Archbishop of Constantinople, with imperial and court influence to support him, with the prestige of his see and its memories of St. Chrysostom, with the intellectual support of the great Antiochene school of theology, with a party which included many of the leading bishops of Asia Minor and Syria; Cyril, the great Patriarch of Alexandria, the vanquisher of heathen and of Jew, the destroyer of the temples, the real ruler of the most influential and turbulent city of the empire, with all the éclat of his personal position, with a following of fifty bishops that he had brought from his own country, supported by the Bishop of Rome, who had named him his representative, by all the bishops of the West and many of the East. All this we know; we know and think we can understand the theological questions which were discussed; we have made wide generalizations concerning the underlying forces of which the controversy and the Council were the external manifestations. We know so much that we wish to learn more. We have hints of personal conflicts between different members of the Council. How far are these hints true? Who was to blame? Nestorius is accused of threats and delays. Are the accusations just? Cyril is accused of overbearing violence. Can we exculpate him? What of the duplicity of John of Antioch? What of the alleged unfairness

of the count who was responsible for good order in Ephesus and the safety of the Council? What of all that is implied in the expression 'court influence'? We have suggested subjects which will always have an unpleasant sound to a reverent student of Church history, whatever may be his views, and the answers to which, although their theological importance has perhaps been exaggerated, cannot help influencing or modifying our opinions.

We are not in a position to solve many of these problems, and probably never shall be. An account of the Council written from the side of the defeated party we have yet to seek. But we feel ourselves fortunate in being able to present to our readers a certain amount of new information, which is contained in an unpublished Coptic manuscript of the Bibliothèque Nationale at Paris. It is well known how much the study of Coptic literature has done, especially in recent years, for elucidating Church history. It has provided us with important materials for the critical study of the Old and New Testament; it has provided us with a version of portions of the Ignatian letters, with almost the only original Gnostic documents known,3 with Lives of saints throwing considerable light on the origin of monasticism and on the great Monophysite controversy. It has done much, and will probably in the next few years do considerably more. Amongst the more valuable contributions that it has to make we must undoubtedly place the document we are about to study.

This document is not, properly speaking, a history of the Council of Ephesus; it is an account of what passed in the town and city of Constantinople during the days immediately preceding and following the first session of that Council. It only contains the Acts of the Council incidentally. But it informs us merely by its existence of a fact of which we were up to the present time completely ignorant. Cyril, not content with being represented at the court of the younger Theodosius by the official representatives of the Council, had taken care

1 In addition to the older and well-known authorities see Amélineau, Fragments de la Version Thébaine de l'Ecriture, Paris, 1889, and 'Fragments Thébains inédits du Nouveau Testament,' in the Zeitschrift für Aegyptische Sprache und Alterthumskunde, 1886; and Ciasca, Fragmenta Copto-Sahidica Musei Borgiani (Roma), 1885.

2 See Lightfoot's Ignatius, i. 101, 102 (ed. i.).

In addition to the well-known Пioris σopía see Amélineau, Notice sur le Papyrus Gnostique Bruce, Paris, 1891.

4

1889.

Amélineau, Histoire de St. Pakhome et de ses Communautés, Paris,

5 Amélineau, Monuments pour servir à l'Histoire de l'Egypte Chrétienne aux IVe et Ve Siècles.

to secure the presence of a faithful and trustworthy private agent. It is the report or memoir of this agent that is contained in the document in question. Cyril had shown great skill in his choice; he had selected one of those 'cœnobites' whose lives were at that time the admiration of the whole Christian world. The Emperor himself had heard of the austerities and the wonders of the ascetics of the daywhether that of hermits or of monks living in communityand was inspired with a feeling full of reverence, even of superstition, for a life which was all the more impressive for being known only by somewhat vague and exaggerated reports. This universal respect, so great that we can hardly realize it at the present day, made the choice of Victor, archimandrite of Faou (in Coptic Pheboou)-for such was the name of the envoy Cyril chose-all that could be desired. Moreover Victor's character was such that Cyril could feel he had in his hands a strong instrument, but one well under his control; one not likely to be carried away by an excess of intemperate zeal or self-will. He was much more fitted for the work than would have been the well-known Egyptian monk Schnoudi, whom Cyril had with him at the Council. For Schnoudi, a man of real eloquence and power, was a fanatic whose habit it was to crush all the obstacles which opposed him, and was more suited by his fiery and unrestrained language for the somewhat turbulent atmosphere of the Council than for diplomatic negotiations at the Court of Constantinople.

But a question which will naturally be asked is, What guarantee is there for the genuineness of these documents? Even a cursory acquaintance with Oriental literature is sufficient to show that of the documents preserved in these languages a large number cannot for a moment resist a critical examination. There is probably not one of the Coptic Lives of the martyrs which is not almost entirely apocryphal.' Even genuine texts have suffered from extensive interpolations. However, without being unduly dogmatic, it is possible to assert that the documents before us are of a totally different character. In the first place, they are translated from Greek originals. Their style, their manner, their literary form, are not Coptic. In the next place, they bear on their face the appearance of genuineness. They are dated, and their dates harmonize with those contained in the ordinary narratives. So far as they follow known events they are consistent; so far

1 Many instances might be mentioned, amongst others Budge, The Martyrdom and Miracles of St. George of Cappadocia, London, 1888.