THE SHEVIRI TAKE THE FIELD AGAINST THE PHELATAHS--REALMAH IS MADE PRISONER.

It was not to be expected that the Sheviri would tamely submit to the base and insulting treatment they had experienced from the Phelatahs. They immediately prepared a warlike expedition to go and attack Abinamanche, the chief town of the Phelatahs. In this expedition Realmah had an honourable place.

The campaign was long and varied, and was not crowned with any great success on either side.

It is to be remarked, as very fortunate for these southern people, that the northern tribes did not invade them at this juncture; and that the approach of the northern people, which had been firmly believed in by the Phelatahs when they sent their ambassador to Abibah, was not so imminent as they had supposed.

Throughout the campaign Realmah displayed great skill and bravery; too much bravery, however, for one whose physical powers were so weak. In an obscure skirmish that took place nearly at the end of the campaign, Realmah was separated from his followers, and was captured by the Phelatahs.

The Sheviri had to return to their city, and to carry home the unwelcome news to the Chief of the East that his nephew was a prisoner in the hands of the enemy.

Great efforts were made to ransom Realmah, or to obtain his release by an exchange of prisoners; but these efforts were unavailing. The Phelatahs were well aware what an important person Realmah was, both as a man of counsel and as a man of action, and they revengefully remembered how he had thwarted them in their great scheme of treachery which was the occasion of the war.

For month after month the captive languished in a prison in Abinamanche.

The populace clamoured for his death; and the chiefs of the Phelatahs were obliged so far to give way to the wishes of their people as to promise that on a certain day during the festival of the New Moon, the prisoner should be sacrificed in honour of that deity.

Realmah, who had become a great favourite with those who guarded him, and with some of those who visited him (of one of whom more will be said hereafter), soon perceived, by the increase of their kindness towards him, that his end was approaching. He felt it bitterly. It seemed hard to him that one who like himself was devoted chiefly to great ends should perish thus immaturely, and without having given any convincing proof of the worth that he felt was in him.

There are few things more touching than to see one who has played a great part no longer able to play it--but still going on playing it. To witness, for instance, the efforts of a great singer who remains too long upon the stage, and who has all the graceful ways and manners which accompanied and evolved his past successes; but now they are unproductive, and the result rather resembles a pantomime. The audience, having tender recollections of the man’s past greatness, endeavours affectionately to fill up gaps, and to consider as done, and even well done, that which is but vaguely intimated; and there is an applause, genuine in its way, but which is only the result of loving memories.

Still the great actor on the stage of life, or on the mimic stage, _has_ played his part, and the remembrance of past triumphs soothes and supports the man; renders, both to himself and to those who hear him, the failure less conspicuous; and fills up, both for him and for them, what is now, alas! but a sadly incomplete representation.

But to die early with a sense of power, unused power, and to have executed nothing; this was the burden upon Realmah’s soul during the long days he remained in his prison.

Metastasio makes his Themistocles, when in exile, grandly exclaim, “Future ages will envy me, perhaps, more for my misfortunes than for my triumphs.”[15]

Footnote 15:

“Invidieranno Forse l’ età future, Più che i trionfi miei, le mie sventure.”

But then there must have been triumphs to make the misfortunes effective and memorable. The world does not interest itself much in the career of a man who is uniformly unfortunate. Now Realmah, in the depressed state in which his imprisonment had left him, did not even give himself credit for the sagacity which had originally baffled the designs of the Phelatahs.

So far as regards his thoughts about the past: with regard to the future, it was not an over-proud thought in him to think that his life, if spared, would have been a useful one, and that his premature death would be a loss to his country. Of private friends he had but few, for his was a reserved nature, and being very different from most of the young men of his nation, greatly inferior to them in personal prowess, greatly superior to them in power of thought, he had never had much companionship with any of them. He thought, as was natural, of those who would mourn especially for him. There was the good old chief, his uncle, who would miss the prop to his greatness that Realmah was becoming. There was his aged nurse, who, he felt, would die of grief when she should hear the sad tidings of his death. There was his foster-brother, who understood him little, but loved him much. There were his wives, Talora, the Varnah, and the Ainah. He felt that they, too, would mourn for him; but not for very long; and he calmly made up his mind to die, and began to look with some little interest to the life beyond the grave.

The greatest of sentimental writers has brought before us the miseries of imprisonment by representing vividly the wretchedness of one single prisoner; but it is to be recollected that there have been periods of the world when the numbers of imprisoned individuals would have amounted to a large army, each of the private soldiers in this army of sufferers being sodden with misery, languishing with little hope, and expecting by way of change, torture or death.