(868—861 B. C.)
KING PYGMALION.
THE HIGH-PRIEST ACERBAS, AND THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH.
FOUNDING OF CARTHAGE, &c.
THE DEATHS OF THE QUEEN OF CARTHAGE AND CATO
COMPARED.
HEROISM OF THE BRITISH QUEENS BOADICEA, ELIZABETH,
AND VICTORIA.
As it is the intent in these volumes to glance over the ancient world with an Eagle's far-reaching gaze, undazzled by its splendour,—and not as the mole, to wander beneath the Ruins of Empires, clouded in darkness,—the chief events only, therefore, will be brought forward; for they were the causes of action, and when they are understood, the effects will appear not only natural, but unavoidable. Thence Hiram's character was a cause,—peace and prosperity were the effects of that cause,—so mighty are the deeds of one great mind in the annals of a Nation! The Tyrant Pygmalion is a direct contrast to Hiram,—and the effects from that cause are not without their utility,—for from evil, good is to be derived.
The next event in the history of Tyrus, is the ascension of Pygmalion, who possessed every essential of a cruel and avaricious monarch,—viz., never virtuous by design, or guilty from accident. This reign brings us also to contemplate the celebrated Tyrian Princess, his Sister, whose virtuous life, heroic immolation, and the genius of Virgil, have rendered immortal!
That the Poet did not follow History, must be apparent to every classic scholar,—though the general reader's knowledge of Dido arises from her association with Æneas; yet this hero, who, at the destruction of Troy, rescued the "old Anchises," lived three hundred and twenty-five years before the Tyrian Princess, who subsequently became the foundress of Carthage. Virgil, in writing for the Romans, had selected the renowned ancestor of their race as the hero; and as the hatred between his country and that of Carthage was deadly, he flattered the citizens of Rome, by making the Queen of the former nation as the original cause of the malignant animosity. Although this may be sanctioned by that saving clause in writing verse,—viz., "a poetical licence," yet in this instance, it is at the greatest sacrifice of truth to be found in the records of History.
868 B. C.] Pygmalion ascended the throne of Tyrus 868 years before the Christian Æra, and from an after action against the life of a near relation, and that relative even closer allied by marriage,—his character must have been cruel, bloody, and treacherous.
Acerbas the near kinsman of the Monarch, was not only a Royal Prince, but also High Priest of the Religion of the Country, and consequently of superior knowledge and accomplishments. In addition to his station by birth and intellect (for he was regarded as the wisest man of Tyrus) he was, also, the richest person in the kingdom, and in default of issue from the reigning family, was heir to the throne. These circumstances combined were causes of jealousy to Pygmalion while Acerbas was yet unmarried. His immense wealth may have been augmented by the then novel and favourable results of Commerce; for, according to the Prophet Isaiah, the Tyrian "traffickers were the honourable of the earth," and in "the crowning city" her "merchants were Princes."
The sister of the King was the renowned Princess, known in poetry and general history as Dido; but whose name, while yet in Tyrus, was Eliza,—or Elizabeth,—which name translated from the original language means an Oath,—and as applied to its possessor may be defined—an Oath-taker. It is therefore probable that the attachment and devotion of the Princess for Acerbas must have commenced in her earliest days,—because her death (as will be shewn) arose from an irrevocable oath taken by her of fidelity and widowhood to Acerbas, should she in the course of nature survive her betrothed. She, therefore, upon taking the Oath probably received the name of Elizabeth, and from that circumstance, its definition, and final consummation completely illustrate our supposition.
There was no Princess of antiquity endowed with more enlarged attributes of the mind than the Tyrian Elizabeth:—her resolution, active courage, intellect, and womanly devotion were alike conspicuous, and consequently she was worthy of being allied to a Prince possessing the exalted virtue and character of Acerbas. That the Oath was taken before the marriage is apparent; for the Tyrant did not prevent the union, but actually promoted it,—and from this deceitful acquiescence on the part of the King, their nuptials must have been solemnized amid the rejoicings of the Nation and of the Throne. [861 B. C.]
The happy bride and bridegroom, in the consummation of their devoted union, were blinded to the deep scheme revolving in the traitorous brain of their King and brother.
The honourable, yet fatal Oath taken by the Bride, was to be continued as the Wife,—but its sacredness could only be proved by the Widow. Upon the death of the Husband, it was easy for the King to seize upon the enviable riches of the Prince and Priest; if this death should occur before the Princess was blessed by the name of Mother, the absence of an heir would place, by constructive law, all the wealth (except the widow's dower) in the quiet possession of the avaricious Tyrant. His Sister's oath formed a barrier against the existence of any future heir,—and consequently the death of her first and only Husband must be accomplished with expedition, otherwise Nature might claim her prerogative and adorn the Wife with the title of Parent, and thus place before the Nation, not only an heir to the Father's riches, but to the Throne itself. In the foregone manner most probably the envious King reasoned and reflected; and like the usurper of ancient Scotia when contemplating the acquisition of wealth and power, and when the virtuous means whereby they could only be accomplished, were about to leave the citadel of conscience, his resolution was—
"If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly."
Thus resolved, the Royal assassin instantly carried into effect, the demoniac murder of his Sister's newly married Husband. [B. C. 861.] It is in trials of adversity that our natures are proved,—and Woman at such a time stands pre-eminent,—she treads the steps of the fiery ordeal triumphantly:—though blinded by the blow of fate, still her after-resolution illumines her path, and proves to wondering Man, that the ploughshares of cruelty have been heated in vain! Never was this proved to a greater degree than by the Tyrian Princess. Scarcely had Acerbas been thus basely deprived of life, when secret intelligence of the deed was conveyed to the Wife,—as, also, the cause which led to it, and by whose authority the murder was committed. Terrible indeed must have been the triple-tongued intelligence that conveyed to her the maddening truth, that one act had made her a widowed bride,—a fond Husband murdered, and her Sovereign and Brother that cruel Assassin! In the whole range of fiction, or poetry, there is not to be found a tragic incident, equal to this fact from the romance of History.
Rising superior to her fate, her resolution was instantly formed to defeat the deep-laid scheme of her unnatural Brother: she felt that the base mind which could encompass her Husband's death,—and in that Husband the triune character of Prince, Brother, and High Priest of their ancient Gods,—would not scruple to sacrifice the Wife and Sister, but would rather accomplish it, if Nature had already ordained that she should become a posthumous Mother:—for Avarice being the motive which led to the murder, it would naturally lead to a further and a greater crime,—therefore, in self-defence, and to preserve her Brother from an increase of Sin, she resolved upon instant flight,—and for that purpose a Galley was forthwith furnished, and manned by her Countrymen. The faithful Tyrians, by her directions, succeeded in placing on board the entire treasure of her murdered Consort, together with her own wealth and jewels,—the Galley cleared the harbour in safety, and gained the open Sea without detection,—thus defeating the entire Scheme of the Tyrant, who had for his present punishment, the assured conviction of his crime, the execration of his Country, and the loss of the very object for which the murder was accomplished. The perfection of retributive justice was here accomplished.
This royal assassination, and the flight of the Tyrian Princess, occurred in the seventh year of the Tyrant's reign. [B. C. 861.] These events were the immediate cause of the founding of the Kingdom of Carthage, which took place in the same year.
Upon the successful escape of the Royal and youthful Widow, she coasted along the Asiatic Shores, and reached those of Africa, and landed at Utica. There are several reasons for believing that Tyrians had already reached this spot, as some Historians have suggested. The following are the arguments here offered for such a conclusion: 1st. That the general name given to the country at this time was Cadmeia (i. e. Eastern), evidently derived from the word Cadmus, a name borne only (as stated in the previous pages) by the ancient Tyrian Chiefs. 2dly. The city, or town at which she first landed was Utica [i. e. ancient], and she named the Capital of her own founding, Carthage (i. e. new city) apparently merely in contradistinction to the previous, or "ancient" city built by Tyrians. And 3dly. The fact of going at once to Utica, seems to indicate that her reception would be certain, and from no people could her sorrows meet with such sympathy as from her own countrymen. Upon her arrival, and her misfortunes being made known, it can easily be imagined that every Tyrian would swear fealty,—while her immense riches, that had been fatal in one respect,—now enabled her to purchase lands, and build a citadel and walls for future defence;—her own judgment, and the skill of her companions, instantly laid the plans for an enlarged and successful commercial intercourse, which should outrival (as it did eventually) that enjoyed by her cruel Brother at Tyrus. In addition to these plans, she formed a scheme of Political action, which, as applied to the perfect government of a Nation, and which was consolidated at her death, Aristotle boldly stated to be, the most triumphant, and perfect, that had ever emanated from the human mind!
Thus the Tyrian Elizabeth founded the kingdom of Carthage, of which she was at once created Queen:—from this period she is generally named by Poets and Historians as Dido;—and Virgil, more than any other writer, has for ages led the student into error in regard to her true history.
So far as the chief events of Tyrus, or of founding Ancient America, may be concerned, the future fate of the Queen of Carthage has no connexion: but, it may be permitted for the pleasure of the writer (and he dare hope the reader also) to follow this devoted woman to her death.
It can readily be imagined that the Queen of Carthage, in her present position, both as regards her regality and widowhood would not be without suitors for her hand in a second marriage. Many surrounding Princes approached her court to obtain that honour, but all were respectfully rejected, not only in fulfilment of her oath, but from her idolatrous devotion to the memory of her murdered bridegroom. These Royal suitors received the refusal with the respect due to her station, and without any desire to inquire into the cause, or motive of her negative. There was one, however, who would not be satisfied with the simple denial,—but resolved that if she could not be won by the terms of peace, she should be conquered by the deeds of war;—even if, as at a later period, that war should be carried into Africa,—though the Catonian sentence "Delenda est Carthago" should be the motto of his advancing banners.
This bold suitor was Jarbas, the powerful King of Getulia, who threatened to declare war against her new nation, if she persisted in refusing his solicitation of her widowed hand in marriage.
To violate her oath was impossible,—it would have been a double perjury,—to the Gods and to the Dead: to have married in disregard of her oath, would have merged her own kingdom into that of her proposed husband's: if she suffered war to be made upon Carthage, her capital might be entirely destroyed,—her people enslaved,—and herself the violated victim of the Conqueror. In this dire extremity, she desired time from Jarbas for full consideration of the alternative; and, also, that the manes of her departed husband might be appeased by a necessary sacrifice! The King of Getulia at once was softened, and instantly yielded to her reasonable request. The Queen, however, before she made the proposal, had formed her resolution. There was but one way to save her name and people,—to keep her oath inviolate,—and to prove the heroism of Woman's devotion:—it was indeed by a Sacrifice to her Husband's departed Spirit,—but Death was to be the Priest,—her Country the Altar,—and her own Life the Offering!
With this resolution she commanded a funeral pyre to be erected as for a sacrifice: she then gathered the Ministers of State and her People around her; and attired in her robes of Royalty, she ascended the newly-erected Altar of her Nation's freedom! The surrounding multitude, unconscious of her motives, listened with breathless attention to her fervent and patriotic eloquence: she urged them to perpetuate her laws,—to renew their energies for peace or war;—upon her death to place the reins of government in the firm grasp of wise men only, whether they now wielded a priestly sceptre or a peasant's distaff;—as she had no child,—the offspring of her brain they must receive as her successor! To these points of National glory she demanded their oath. The vast assembly, gazing from their elevated Queen to the azure Dome,—and, with one voice, called Apollo, and all his host, to bear witness, and accept their united and sacred Oath;—while Echo caught the sound, and bore it even to the surrounding shores and walls of Carthage, and the People's eyes were raised to Heaven,—the Queen,—sudden as the flash,—stabbed herself to the heart! The high-reared Altar became the funeral pyre of surrounding danger and desolation, for her heroic sacrifice appeased the claims of the warlike king.
This act of the Queen of Carthage would be viewed in modern days as madness; but to estimate it correctly, the mind must retire into the Temples of antiquity, when self-immolation was regarded as the highest test of pure and disinterested virtue! As without a similitude, there can be no comparison, either of Institutions or Nations,—therefore we can only contrast our own with ancient days. This difference in language—the mere instrument of truth properly applied—has been the cause of great injustice to events and personages of antiquity. We have no just right to compare ourselves with the ancients, or to measure their morals or virtues by the standard of our own supposed perfections; and our posterity would be equally as unjust to themselves as to us, were they, twenty centuries hence, to record our actions and institutions by their then received ideas of increased and (truly so) advanced civilization. To be just, they will in mercy to the faults and sins of their ancestors (i. e. ourselves) contrast, not compare us.
The suicide—or rather in ancient phrase—self-immolation of the Queen, was then regarded as the highest virtue; and Cato, the Man of Rome, in after ages (and at the same Utica where the Princess first landed), but imitated the act of Woman at Carthage. A comparison between these two acts can be instituted, because, at the time of their being committed, the ancient world regarded them both in similitude of virtue. The same as the suicidal deaths of the Patriots—Brutus and Cassius,—after the fall of Freedom at Philippi.
The Queen of Carthage, and Cato of Utica, both died by their own hands, in full possession of their minds and faculties,—both sacrifices to the highest principles of national virtue; but how much nobler was the Queen's than the Senator's! The former, by her death, saved her People—the latter died uselessly, and his sword pierced other bosoms than his own. Cato ceased to live, because he would not survive the downfall of his country; but by his death did he save his native land, or even wrench a link asunder from the enslaving chain of Tyranny? No! but had he lived and returned to Rome upon Cæsar's invitation, he might—he must—have rendered service to his groaning country, and by his high character and talents have saved her from suffering,—but by his falsely conceived destruction, they were both lost to Rome and to posterity! The Queen, on the contrary, by her death, rescued her young nation from a war of slavery—gave it additional power by her farewell wisdom, pronounced from the Altar destined to receive her ashes,—bound her tried and faithful Tyrians to elect their Rulers from the scrolls of Intellect only,—the fulness of patriotism was accomplished,—and as the steel pierced her heart, Nature never received a last sigh from a nobler victim! Honoured in life, she was idolized in death,—her last words were as from her tomb, and consequently upon the fall of the Queen, ceased the Kingdom of Carthage; but from those Royal ashes arose, with Phœnix power, the Tyrian and giant Republic, which, in after ages, sent its victorious army across the Seas and snow-crowned Alps, even to the Gates of Rome!
The Queen of Carthage died for her People—the over-applauded Cato for himself alone; the former cast her far-reaching gaze along the deep vista of posterity; the latter only looked within the narrow circle of his own death-chamber. The former died to embrace the Public good—the latter to avoid a selfish evil! Mankind have applauded man, because, in so doing, they praise themselves. Thence Cato's immolation has received undying praise from the pens of Poets and Historians; and even the Tragic Toga has moved in mimic life to infold his death amid Man's applause; but Woman, when she is heroic as the Queen of Carthage, she falls from man's envy, upon her own Altar, never to rise again; or, if she does, it is only to falsely move through the brain of a sycophantic Virgil; or, for her true death to be given to adorn the final fate of the Foundling youth of Argos, who, as Ion, is to be shrouded in a Grecian mantle, and for that people, and not the Tyrian, received the wild applause of an enraptured audience!
Woman does not ask Man to be generous, but to be just,—the latter will secure the former.
Every good or brave deed traced by the pen of History, should be for the purpose of Justice to the original party, and for the effect of virtuous example to posterity. Thence the self-sacrifice of the Queen of Carthage was not without its effect (in the same land) upon the mind of Cato, who, though he but imitated the Tyrian Elizabeth, and failed to reach her high motive, still her example inspired him, and secured his fame!
In like manner the glorious heroism of the first British Queen,—Boadicea,—when she opposed at Battle-bridge the Roman army under Paulianus, was not without its effect upon England's Elizabeth, when she addressed her assembled knights upon the threatened Invasion from the then haughty Spain. Elizabeth but imitated Boadicea: but in our own time it has been the peculiar felicity of England to witness an original act of heroism, by the present and beloved British Queen: for when Regicide, like a wild demon, stalked abroad unsecured,—and when the Sovereign was within the arena of assassination, then it was she threw aside the mantle of her own protection, to shelter those faithful and dear to her; and to enjoy that personal freedom, of which as Sovereign she is the chief champion,—and companioned by her Royal and noble Consort alone,—unguarded,—except by her GOD and People, she braved the demon efforts of the assassin! The Almighty in His mercy cast His mantle over both! This noble act,—this self-sacrifice of Queen Victoria to the interest and dignity of her Nation, will live on to all ages, as a patriotic example to all Sovereigns and Rulers; and for its true Courage and Patriotism,—Religious dependence,—pure Heroism, and her royal Mercy to the convicted regicide,—will bear a triumphant comparison with any renowned record in the Annals of Antiquity!