REALMAH’S FAILURE.

No doubt the Romans were a great people. Their tombs, temples, columns, roads, bridges, and aqueducts attest that. The world (as far as it was then known) conquered by them attests that; nor less the splendid reconquest of the barbarians by Roman laws, manners, and customs; and of the barbarian tongues by the Latin language.

But, though masters of the world, they were not perfect men of the world, else, amid the innumerable divinities they worshipped, they would not have omitted the great god Stupidity. They could worship a goddess, the protectress of sewers; they had even a goddess who took charge of such humble things as lime-kilns; but to him who rules the world, and before whom Fortune herself gives way, they raised no altars and burnt no incense.

There are people, even in modern times, who are as remiss as the Romans were in appreciating the power of this great authority amongst the sons of men. But the anxious father, if wise, and the fond mother, if foreseeing, would not pray that their child should be clever; but that all the loveliness and strength of stupidity might encircle him, like a halo, from his cradle to his grave.

A better word than stupidity might be found. It is not so much the stupid man as the limited man, the man of routine, the man who does not indulge in ideas, who does not believe much in anything or anybody, who will have an easy and a happy life. For want, however, of a better word, we must accept the word stupidity; and I say again, it derogates much from the sagacity of the Romans to find that they had no god, the lord and patron of Stupidity. The only way of accounting for this oversight is, that the Romans, finding that all men favoured what was stupid, thought that they need not have any particular goddess to protect a thing like stupidity, which is as strong, as universal, and as prevailing as the circumambient air.

It cannot be said that all modern men have been as unobservant as the Romans in this respect. Did not the first Napoleon cherish a just dislike of ideologists, as he called them, the men whom stupidity would least have favoured? And did Schiller ever write anything with more force and wisdom in it, than when he said--

“Against stupidity, the gods themselves are powerless?”

Our poor hero, Realmah, possessed by an idea, was now to learn what potency there is in that great divinity whose claims we have been advocating.

The people of the town of Abibah were much disappointed at the conduct of Realmah after his escape from Abinamanche. They expected that he would be a frequent speaker in their public assemblies; that he would take a leading part in the conduct of the war which was to be waged against the Phelatahs; and, in short, that he would be an active, energetic, public man. He was nothing of the kind. All they heard of him was, that he lived a life in the woods, accompanied by one of his foster-brothers, by some of his personal followers, and by fishermen belonging to the tribe of his Ainah.

But never since their life as a nation began had there been a man who worked so devotedly for them as Realmah was working at this present time.

It is necessary to go back a little in the narrative, in order to understand what was the nature of Realmah’s work. While he was in prison in the town of Abinamanche, there was one visitor who passed a great deal of time with the young man; and, strange to say, it was the ambassador whose projects he had defeated, and who might have been expected to be his bitterest enemy. But this ambassador, whose name was Koorali, appreciated thoroughly the subtle intellect that had vanquished him. Almost in the words of Ossian, he said to himself, “I love a foe so great. His soul is bright. His arm is strong. His battles are full of fame. But the little soul is a vapour that hovers round the marshy lake. It never rises on the green hill, lest the winds should meet it there.”

It will be remembered that, in the account of Realmah’s escape, it was mentioned that he was always bound at night. Koorali generally paid a visit to Realmah at that time in the morning when these bonds were taken off. Sometimes he anticipated that time; and, by his own authority, caused the bonds to be taken off earlier than they otherwise would have been. A similar kindness he showed in providing that Realmah should be well cared for, and kindly treated by his guards. In fact, Koorali did everything that he could to oblige and gratify the prisoner.

Realmah, however, for a long time distrusted him. The conversations between Koorali and Realmah were mainly directed by the former to one topic, namely, the apprehended invasion of the Northmen; and Realmah at last perceived that this was the subject which Koorali had most at heart, and that he came to him for present sympathy, and possibly for future aid.

One day that Koorali had been more than usually communicative, he conveyed to Realmah in a few words the whole extent of his fears and projects.

He said, “We are all slaves, your people as well as mine, if these people of the North come down upon us. They have swords which cut through ours as ours do through our children’s, and javelins against which it is useless to hold up our puny shields.

“I never believed in allies. There was the alliance we made with the Maranahs against the Koolmen. What happened? We conquered the Koolmen; and the very next summer, it was over the country of the Koolmen that the Maranahs, fearing no resistance, marched to attack us. Honest and useful alliances are almost impossible things with us. I own I sought to subjugate you for a time, in order to save us all from the otherwise irresistible enemy. It might have been better to confide in you; but who readily makes confidences after he has seen three and twenty harvests grow ripe, and whiten in the sun?”

Such was the substance of Koorali’s conversation with the prisoner. Realmah, left in solitude, had little else to think of but these strange discourses. “What are these weapons of the men of the North?” he said to himself. “Can wood be hardened? No. Can earth be hardened? No; we bake this earth, but it only becomes brittle.” He pondered over these ideas night after night.

The confinement of a prison creates sleeplessness. His guards, to while away the time, sang songs. One of the songs they sang was a drinking song, and ran thus--

“All joys to enhance, With song and with dance The flower-dew we cull.”

The air reminded him of another song which he had known as a child:--

“Your heart’s desire By stone and fire Will surely beam brightly upon you; By fire and stone The victory’s won, And your foes lie bleeding beneath you.”

This poor doggrel had been the song of some furious old woman of the tribe of the Sheviri, who had lost her only son in battle, and whose fury had always been held by her tribe to be prophetic.

Amongst all nations, and during all periods of the world’s history, there have been tacit agreements in regard to certain things which, it is universally held, are not right to be done in war. At the present time we do not think it right to poison wells: we should think it very base to endeavour to introduce disease into the enemy’s camp. Now among these dwellers in lake cities, which, for the most part, were built of wood, it was a point of honour in warfare not to make use of fire as a means of destroying the enemy’s habitations. I cannot but conjecture that the words of the prophetess meant that no reserve of this kind was to be maintained, but that all means of destruction were to be employed against those wicked people who had slain her son.

But see the irony of life--those few frantic words may have been the means of altering the condition of nations in that period of the earth’s history. Realmah, as by a sort of inspiration, said at once to himself, “That is it--the prophetess is right. Have I not noticed masses of stone, or metal, or whatever they may be, which I am sure must have been burnt? Nor I alone. What do we call them but heavenly missiles, things which we suppose have been hurled from the upper air by beings superior to ourselves, in their dread wars? and have I not noticed, too, that there are stones which seem half-burnt to me? A melted stone it is which gives the North its power.”

It is a dreadful thing to be driven by a great idea. The man who is so driven is never alone. The image of his goading thought sits beside him; walks hand-in-hand with him; leans over him to remind him of his presence, in the hours of his utmost joy; and, even in his slumbers, takes care that he shall not forget its august and overpowering companionship. Better be the swineherd who, after his day’s toil, eats his meal in peace, and goes to rest unthinkingly, than the man over whom broods the ever-present image of a great idea; who is impatient of all thought, of all joy, of all sorrow, of all rest, that may interfere with the embodiment of that idea, which will for ever haunt him like a ghost until it is laid and quieted by being brought into action, and thus transformed into a living creature, to do its destined work henceforth amongst the sons of men.

It needs but little more to say why Realmah withdrew himself from the haunts of his fellow-men. Day after day he and his followers collected stones of various kinds, which they placed together in heaps, putting like with like, and choosing only those of which the properties were unknown to them. Of course they were well acquainted with every kind of stone that could be worked into stone implements.

The inhabitants of Abibah were subject not only to the spiritual influence of their priests but to those earlier spiritual influences which take the form of wizardry and witchcraft. As may be imagined, there was a constant feud between the priests and the wizards--some such feud as exists in all ages between the established person in any art or science and the interloper. The common people, however, preferred to have dealings with the wizards and the witches rather than with the priests.

Now there was a wise woman in Abibah of great renown, whose name was Potochee; and when Realmah found that the spirits of his followers were flagging, as they soon did, he resolved to have recourse to Potochee, thinking that by judicious gifts he would be sure to command her influence in his favour.

To the dismay of the Varnah he took away some of their household treasures and presented them to Potochee, taking care at the same time to say that he might have occasion shortly to consult her wisdom in regard to a difficult enterprise, of the good results of which he himself had no doubt whatever.

It is the business of people who pretend to supernatural wisdom to make themselves very well acquainted with the affairs of this world; and, for many weeks past, there was not a person in Abibah, except the Ainah, who was so thoroughly acquainted with Realmah’s hopes and prospects as the Potochee. And she hated him.

With that keen instinct that belongs to women, she knew as well as possible that Realmah despised her arts and her pretensions; that he was merely seeking to make use of her for a purpose; and that the general enlightenment which this young man would develop, if he could, was essentially hostile to witches and to wizards. She resolved that he should have a killing answer to his inquiry. When, therefore, in the presence of his foster-brother and some of his principal workmen, Realmah demanded of Potochee whether the enterprise he had in hand would be successful, she said, that of late the moon and the stars, and the ripples on the waters, had all given forth significant omens of a malignant nature. She would, however, make further inquiries. Did his enterprise relate to any one of the principal elements? Was it an enterprise of air, of water, or of earth? Realmah replied, of earth. Then Potochee made her incantations, and burnt her sweet-smelling herbs, and sat silent for a time wrapped in profound meditation. At last she spoke, and said it was not for her to say sweet and pleasant things when superior powers spoke otherwise. If it was an enterprise of earth that he was engaged in, it was her duty to tell him that she could hear, though he could not, the mocking laugh of the demons of the earth, who sought to bring him and his deluded followers down to them. Had they not noticed the blue flame which the incense had sent forth; and was it ever known that good fortune followed that fatal colour? “Abstain, abstain,” she exclaimed; “fly, while yet you may, from the delusions that beset you.”

And Realmah withdrew from her presence--his followers dismayed and terrified, and he himself mortified to the uttermost, and regretting that he had not been more profuse in his gifts.

Thus Realmah remained alone in the world, supported only by his own profound conviction of the truth, by his own determined tenacity of purpose, and by the unbounded belief in him, and ineffable affection for him, of his slave-wife, the Ainah.

The malicious prophecy of Potochee did not fail to exercise the evil influence that might have been expected over the followers of Realmah. The day after the utterance of her prophecy Realmah went with a heavy heart to the scene of his daily labours. His forebodings were verified. Not one of his followers was to be seen. He wandered disconsolately hither and thither; but no one made his appearance. Realmah was standing at the side of a pit in which had been placed the stones that he had thought most likely to yield metal. The other stones had been collected in heaps; but these, as most precious, had been buried in a pit; and at the end of each day’s labours had been covered with leaves. These leaves he had removed, and he was gazing into the pit when the Ainah arrived, bringing his usual mid-day meal. She stood opposite to him, looking up into his face, and was glad to perceive--for she knew every shade in that countenance full well--that he was more angry than sorrowful. Now anger, as the Ainah knew, was a thing much easier to deal with than sorrow, especially in such a nature as Realmah’s, which was inclined to humorousness--he being one of those persons whom you can generally cause to perceive the absurdity of their passions.

“The boundless idiots!” he exclaimed.

“The unwise man who trusted to a witch,” said the Ainah, smiling.

“The abominable hag!” exclaimed Realmah.

“The poor dear Varnah and her pipkins,” replied the Ainah.

“And her fan of feathers,” said Realmah.

“And her red cloth.”

“And her jade knife.”

“And her two mats which,” replied the Ainah, “we were kept so many weary winter hours to work at.”

And then they burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, making the wood re-echo with their merriment.

Both Realmah and the Ainah were attached to the Varnah, and fully recognised her merits; but it struck them as a thing unspeakably ludicrous, if the Varnah could but know that her cherished possessions, which she loved so dearly, had been used in vain to propitiate a witch, and to induce her to give a favourable prophecy as regarded the result of endeavouring to melt what the Varnah would have called some useless stones. The poor Varnah had thought, when this property was carried away from her by Realmah, that it was for some politic reason, for she had great faith in his policy, though not in his common-sense, and that they had been taken from her--only to return, as she hoped, in the shape of more magnificent presents.

After they had indulged in their laughter, the Ainah drew Realmah away, and, sitting down not far from their much-prized pit, said many things to him cheering and encouraging.

They talked over their plans for recovering the services of their followers, and afterwards spoke upon higher and happier themes--of their great love for one another, and their confidence in each other.

I am afraid that the Ainah was not so unhappy as she should have been at the temporary check to Realmah’s enterprise, for it gave her one more day to be alone with him--the last she ever had.

In the course of that evening, and early the next morning, she was very busy with her tribe. She could tell them in how many cases Potochee’s forebodings had failed; she pointed out that Realmah’s answer to the witch had not been quite correct, for was it not an enterprise in which flame was more concerned than earth? She held out to them what great things Realmah could do for their tribe, if he became a powerful chief; and that whether he failed or not in this enterprise he would be equally grateful to them. It might be a young man’s folly, she said; but he would never be satisfied until it was proved to be a folly. And then he would be himself again wise in council, dexterous in war, and, above all things, a lover of the poor and despised tribe of fishermen.

She did not prevail with all those who had hitherto been employed; but she did with some of them, and she enlisted new recruits.

Realmah, too, was not idle. He was one of those men whose personal influence is very great. No man was quite the same, after having had an earnest conversation with Realmah, as he had been before.

Realmah’s foster-brother, Omki, was a timid, superstitious man; but, after being well talked to by the young chief, he was prepared to endure whatever evil fate the demons of the earth were ready to inflict upon him. Besides, whatever happened to him, it would be in company with his dear Realmah; and to be with Realmah was the greatest happiness of this faithful friend and follower.

On the morrow there was as numerous a band of workmen as there had been before; and they worked apparently with good-will. This, however, did not last. The malign influence of Potochee was always hovering over these superstitious men. A general carelessness pervaded the work. The stones were not kept distinct. Great effort was not made to find them in distant places. The firewood was chosen carelessly. Indeed, throughout the whole work, that spirit of indifference prevailed which is the sure consequence of anticipated failure. Still the work, though done in a very slovenly manner, was not abruptly broken off by any further desertion on the part of Realmah’s followers.

The Ainah continued to meet Realmah almost daily in the woods. She was commissioned by the Varnah to bring him his food, and she assisted him in giving directions to his people to collect the mast from the locasta-tree, and the firewood, which made an excuse in his home for their wanderings. There, too, they gave utterance to their fervid love. There she heard, day by day, of his disappointments, and, notwithstanding these, of his undaunted hope.

Each day her wanderings became more difficult to her, for the sufferings and privations she had undergone during her escape with him had implanted the seeds of fatal disease; and the Ainah, though Realmah knew it not, was dying. Ever intent upon his object, and exerting himself more and more to counteract the lukewarmness of his followers, Realmah did not notice the ravages which disease was making in his Ainah, or, if he did notice them, thought that she, like himself, was growing pale and thin from anxiety as to the success of their enterprise. At last, with great labour, he and his men had brought together huge heaps of stones, and large quantities of wood for their fire; and they awaited now, with anxious hearts, the trial and result of their grand experiment.

It was a lovely day on which that experiment was first tried. Can there be anything more beautiful than a wood, teeming as it does with infinite forms of sheltered life, and yet so quiet, so grave, so solemn? The creatures of the wood had become accustomed to Realmah and his men. It was one of the deep superstitions of Realmah that, if he would succeed, no form of life should be hostile to him. He carefully avoided all quarrels with his fellow-creatures of whatever degree. He laid it down as a rule not to injure even the smallest creature that makes pretence to life. The _maralah_, a larger kind of squirrel, with a nascent wing, played about in the trees above his head. The _poolmens_, a sort of rabbit that existed at that period of the world, and had a sharp claw, frisked to and fro. Occasionally a harmless snake glided hither and thither, not far from those silently working men, with whose doings one might almost fancy it had become amused and interested. There was a tame dog (one of those that do not bark, like the prairie dogs of modern times) which accompanied the Ainah in her wanderings, and looked on at the proceedings of the men with even more than the usual canine gravity, as if it fully understood the whole drift and purpose of Realmah and his band of followers.

The experiment was tried, and it was not successful. The whole day long they plied the fire, and left it burning late in the evening. The next morning the wood had burnt away; but the ironstones (if ironstones they were) remained unconsumed and unchanged.

Realmah’s followers had been very true to him, and had kept his secret well, as long as there was a hope of success; but now that there was failure, they could not restrain their gossiping; and all that Realmah had been attempting of late, was noised throughout the city on the very evening of the day that had witnessed his failure.