THE DEATH OF THE KING.

Even during the days of his last illness, Realmah’s exertions for the good of the kingdom were unremitting. The heir to the throne, Andarvi-Milcar, who loved the King fervently, and who, perhaps, of all the men in the city least desired his death, was constantly with him, receiving his last instructions. And here the exceeding sagacity of Realmah may be noticed; for though he spoke much of what had been his designs for the future, he spoke more of the men who were to carry them out, giving to Andarvi, even in the minutest particulars, his opinion of the characters, not only of the principal officers of the kingdom, but even of those lesser magistrates who had considerable power in distant settlements.

It was a curious thing, as illustrating the King’s mechanical skill and love of science, that while he was ill he had invented an ingenious arrangement by which the sponges containing nutritious liquid could be conveyed to his lips by his slightly moving a particular string or wire.

During his last illness he saw much of his wives. Realmah had really been very good to the Varnah. On ordinary occasions, and when his mind was full of business, he could not pretend to sympathise with her in her petty cares and hopes, but every now and then he made a great effort to please her. He would send for some rare product or some rare work of art to a distant part of his dominions, and would then confide to the Varnah what he had done, pretending all the while that he was doubtful whether he should get it, though he knew full well that no one ever refused the great King anything he asked for. Then he would charm the Varnah by talking about the expected present, as if he were deeply interested in it, and he would contrive that it should come upon some festal day, especially upon the birthday of her departed mother; for the mother’s birthday was always held in great reverence. Realmah really liked the Varnah, admired her skill in household management, was pleased with her orderliness (though he had none of that quality himself), never forgot the aid he had received from her during the siege, and believed that in her way she was attached to him. Indeed, to the court jester, the only man whom he allowed a glimpse into his inmost soul, he would say, “I am the Varnah’s choicest possession, and she will mourn for me, poor thing, when I am gone, as no one else will mourn. In truth I am afraid lest then all the other possessions should lose favour in her sight.” And when she came into his presence, as he was dying, he would take her hand, and speak kindly to her, and tell her how to guide her household and her wealth. And the poor Varnah was astonished to find that even in those matters in which she had thought her husband but a good-natured child, he was her master--a wise and sagacious man, full of foresight.

To the beautiful Talora, too, though less loving, he was kind; and she was astonished to find that he read the utmost depths of her soul, counselling her, notwithstanding her protests, as to whom she might marry hereafter, and what alliance she might with least loss of royal dignity advantageously contract; and Talora wept bitterly, discerning, perhaps for the first time, what a great man she had married, and what a small part of her heart she had given to him. The intensity of this feeling on her part may best be shown by the fact that it was three long years before Athlah could win the still beautiful Talora to be his bride, and that Realmah was never mentioned but that Talora blushed and sighed and looked sad, when she thought how great a soul had nearly been her own, and what she might have made of the love of a man who had so large a capacity for loving.

But, poor woman, she was somewhat mistaken, for it was not in her nature to comprehend the love that the Ainah had called forth in Realmah, and what immeasurable regrets and infinite longings of his had been buried in her tomb.

On the ninth day after the festival, at three in the morning, when the air was coldest, a deep groan from the King summoned his drowsy attendants. He started up in bed. In a loud voice he said, “Preserve my kingdom; be faithful to Andarvi-Milcar. I go to meet her for ever--for ever; light, more, more light.” And saying this, the great King sank back upon his couch, and with a sigh poured forth his spirit.

The next morning there was sorrow and lamentation in almost every house in Abibah; and they mourned for him as for a father.

His funeral was magnificent. They raised a great mound for him, which, amidst the changes of the earth’s surface, is still visible in the wood that lies adjacent to those waters which were once a great lake, and are now but a small one, and which mound still puzzles the learned amongst the antiquarians.

What a strange memorial is that round, coarse, undescriptive thing, a mound, to tell of heroic deeds, grand thoughts, and unbounded suffering! And yet how often in the world’s history is it all that does remain to commemorate these deeds, these thoughts, and this suffering. Perhaps, too, all that will remain of us in after-ages, and of our intricate civilization, will be a few such mounds, and some collected heaps of rubbish, to be pored over by the learned men of a new generation, occupying a little portion of that surface of the earth which is, after all, but one vast unrecorded burial-ground.

_Ellesmere._ And so poor Realmah is dead! You all think me a very hard man, but if there is anything in this world that I have a horror of, it is my friends dying, whether in real life, or even in fiction.

I have become quite accustomed to Milverton’s droning on about Realmah, and thought that it was to last for the greater part of my natural life. I must not say that he is a friend in fiction, and not an entire reality. As for Mrs. Milverton, Lady Ellesmere, Sandy, and even Milverton himself, they have the firmest belief in their Realmah. You could not offer them a greater insult than to suppose for a moment that such a being as Realmah had not existed, and that he had not done all these fine things. They get together in the study, and I hear them in my room overhead buzzing away, and I know that it is all talk about Realmah. I have very little doubt that Blanche and Mildred had a good sisterly cry together (nothing comforts a woman so much as having a good cry) over “poor dear Realmah’s death.”

_Sir Arthur._ I agree with Ellesmere, it is hateful to come to the end of anything, or anybody.

There is one thing I am very curious to know; and that is, whether Andarvi-Milcar, Realmah’s successor, fulfilled Realmah’s wish, and gave up, or demolished, the fortress of Ravala-Mamee.

_Milverton._ He did; but whether he was successful or not in so doing, I do not know. I suppose that in some succeeding age the Northmen did come down again, and make an end of the Lake-cities.

I feel, now that it is all written, that I have omitted to dwell upon many things and persons that I ought to have described, but I did not like to worry you with details. For instance, I should like to have told you about the King’s jester, whom I have alluded to, but never described.

He was a very clever man, but excessively indolent. He never cared to take much interest in public affairs. He had the right of accompanying the King everywhere, and being near him whether at a council or a feast. Sometimes at a council he said very shrewd things, and was really of use. At other times he took no interest in the business in hand, but all the time played a game with himself called _kinwee_, which was played with fishes’ bones. He was very fond of Realmah, and followed him about like a dog. He delighted in witnessing so much energy and activity, and felt almost as if he himself was energetic and active. He kept the King’s secrets well, and that endeared him to Realmah. His mischievous propensities plagued the good Varnah a great deal, and he delighted to tease her, but she bore with him most kindly for the King’s sake.

_Ellesmere._ Just as Mrs. Milverton tolerates me for Milverton’s sake.

_Milverton._ It was very comical sometimes to see the jester at a council, when he was in one of his queer moods. He would throw down a large number of these fishes’ bones on the table, close to Realmah, then make a grab at them, shutting his eyes; then say, “Odd or even?” and retire into a corner to count the bones, nobody of course paying any attention to him. At last he would get tired of playing by himself, and would resolve to bring Realmah into the game. The poor jester did not dare to go near anybody else, so he would whisper persuasively in the King’s ear, “Loftiness, my dear, do let us have a bet, it’s so dull.”

_Ellesmere._ I thoroughly sympathise with this poor man. Everybody does so over-explain everything to me. I am so tired sometimes of everybody.

_Milverton._ And the King would return the whisper, “Go into the corner, throw ten times,--even bet of two shells there are more odds than evens. Play fair, don’t cheat your poor King, he has always enough to do with his shells.” And so the jester was kept quiet for a time.

The jester might have served the new King, but he would not do so. After the funeral of Realmah, the poor jester sadly followed the Varnah home to the house which had been Realmah’s in his earliest days, and where the Varnah meant to dwell for the remainder of her life. He (the jester) had never asked leave to live with Her Loftiness, nor had she made the offer to him to do so, but she would have taken care of a dog (though she disliked dogs) which Realmah had loved, and she was secretly delighted that the jester had elected to live with her.

Two more uncongenial souls could not have been imagined than Her Loftiness and the poor jester. She could not understand his wit (he was really very witty), and she detested his coarse fun and his practical jokes, but had endured them most kindly for Realmah’s sake. Realmah, too, was not the man to be amused by practical jokes, but he liked to see the people about him laugh, and be amused with anything, for he said, “Then they do not busy themselves too much with the affairs of my government.”

_Ellesmere._ The poor jester! I pity him from the bottom of my heart. I know full well what it is to live with people who do not quite understand one. None of you, except perhaps Milverton, quite understand me--not even always Lady Ellesmere.

_Milverton._ Be comforted, Ellesmere. It was not long before the jester had a companion.

The faithful Omki had, in obedience to Realmah’s dying command, attached himself to the new King. But he could not take any real interest in public affairs, or in the new King. He became utterly listless and depressed, so, at the end of a year, he went to Andarvi-Milcar, and said, “My lord and king, Omki’s heart is not a big heart, and it has not room for more than one love. I am the man who was in the same cradle with the great King, and I cannot love anybody else. Let thy servant go, for he is stupid and useless.” Andarvi-Milcar consented; and Omki, also, went and took up his abode with the Varnah. Her Loftiness rejoiced that she had now two feckless, listless, human beings to look after, who had loved her Realmah.

See what a dangerous thing it is to come within the influence of a very great man, or of a very admirable woman. If you have not a great capacity for loving, they take all the love out of you at once, and make the rest of the world uninteresting to you.

These two, the jester and Omki, would sit in the porch before the house of Her Loftiness, the jester playing his game of odd-and-even by himself, while Omki sat silent, full of sad memories of Realmah; and then an old man would join them, and pass the sunny hours of the day in their company.

This old man was Condore. His chief happiness consisted in talking with the jester and with Omki about the late King; and there was a great deal of talk, in which you could hear the words, “and he said to me,” and “I said to him;” and then they went through the strange scenes which had occurred on Realmah’s coming to the throne, and on the defeat of the Northmen, and on the sham fight, and on the last days of Realmah’s public appearance.

Thus these three men passed the remainder of their lives. Condore lived to a great age, for the daily exercise of criticism is not a thing which rapidly exhausts the vital powers.

_Ellesmere._ I am glad at least to find that, according to Milverton, I am to have a long life.

_Milverton._ There was a councillor whom I forgot to mention at the time when I described to you the rest of Realmah’s councillors. I thought of this omission afterwards, but imagined you would not care to have it remedied. However, I should like to describe him to you now, for his was a very peculiar form of mind, but one not unknown in modern times.

His name was Pimmenee. Like the other councillors, he was a very clever man. He was the most observant person amongst the Sheviri of natural phenomena; and, in general, knew more facts than anybody else. He would make a statement very boldly, and apparently well founded upon facts. But then there would come such a string of exceptions that the original statement would seem to be broken down by them, and at last you felt as if you had nothing to rely upon.

Realmah would try and bring him back to his original statement by repeating it; but Pimmenee would never admit that the repetition was correct. He had not said quite this. That was not the exact word he had used; or, if he had, it would not quite bear out his meaning.

For instance, a question would arise where the summer camp should be placed, and Pimmenee would at first pronounce very decidedly against a particular spot as being near a morass. Then there would come a host of exceptions to the statement--there were morasses and morasses. It might even be an advantage to be near a morass. And so he would go on, fining down his original statement till at last hardly anything remained of it.

_Ellesmere._ Is he not a little like two of the other fellows, namely, Lariska and Delaimah-Daree?

_Milverton._ No: there is where you are so often deluded in estimating men, and fail to get the most out of them--summing them up under some one general form of condemnation: saying, for instance, that they are not _practical_.

Now, Lariska was simply too argumentative: Delaimah-Daree too resourceful, and therefore too inconclusive; while this man, Pimmenee, was too exceptive. To get the good that was really to be got out of these men, you must have mastered the peculiar bent of each of their minds, which prevented each one of them, taken by himself, from becoming a perfect councillor; but which did not prevent their being of great use as individual members of a council.

I should like to give you some of the proverbs of the Sheviri. These were, in after-ages, all attributed to Realmah; and some of them, I really think, were his.

_Sir Arthur._ I should like to hear them. There is nothing in all literature more interesting to me than proverbs, and the fact that they are no man’s children makes them more interesting. I do not know a single instance, except in the Bible, where you can say for certain that such a proverb was made by such a man.

_Milverton._ Well then, here are some of them:--

_The viper will stand upon the tip of his tail to make himself agreeable in good company._

_The crane stands upon one leg, in heavenly meditation; but all the while he is looking sharply after his fish._

_When the eyes and the lips lie, look to the hands and the feet._

_The prudent man_ (literally, the man who has eyes in the back of his head) _cares more whom he is with, than even what he does._

_Four fishes smelt at the bait and turned their tails to it; one fish came by and swallowed it._ (The advantage of a council.)

_Before the journey is over, the dog has run twice the distance._ (Applied to a man who does not go directly to the point; but wanders hither and thither like a dog.)

_Make the four salutations to a friend every day._ (This alludes to the four bows that were made to foreign ambassadors by all who met them; and the proverb means this,--Keep up always the highest forms of courtesy with your friends.)

_Jealousy kisses its left hand, because the right hand caught the fish._

_The man you hate cannot carry his food to his mouth, but you hate him more for his way of doing so._

_The ghosts of snails get into their shells_ (money) _by night, and go, for company, where there are most shells._ (_i.e._ Money makes money.)

_Eukee! Eukee! Eukee! but, wife, the salt fish will do._ (“Eukee” is a solemn word addressed to the gods; and the proverb alludes to the hypocrite, who addresses the gods fervently, but sacrifices to them only salt fish.)

_The tears of a chief cause sore eyes to all other chiefs._

_The water sends you back_ (reflects you), _so do all men and women._

_Better be quite blind than see one side only of everything._

_If you will do the thing that has not been done before, first hide all the stones that are in the streets of the city._

_To the tiger his claws; to the serpent her venom; to the eagle his talons; to the rat his teeth; and to men and women calumny:--the good God gives weapons to all._

_The Sheviri cursed the rain; but the patient rain went on raining, and the earth became green._

_Say it often; men, as well as parrots, will say it too._

_If you slay your adversary, are you sure you have done him any harm?_

_The ants march in one line, and overrun kingdoms._ (An argument for unity and order.)

_The echo says nothing of itself; so, the people._

_The clever lizard leaves its tail in your hand._ (This was a favourite saying of the King when he was urging compromises on his councillors.)

_A lie lasts for a day: but it may be the day._ (This, in the original language, is really a most effective proverb. The articles “a” and “the” are not expressed directly, but are included in the substantives. A day, _i.e._ an ordinary day, is _Tala_. _The_ day, _i.e._ the day upon which some important decision is arrived at, is _Talammah_; and so the proverb runs in the original language, _Strag_ (a lie) _marlt Tala; pol kree Talammah._)

_When you want to sell the blunt hatchet, be the first to say that it is blunt._

_How wise the clever men would be if they could understand the foolish!_

_All make the four bows to yesterday._ (Meaning, I suppose, that all must submit to what we call now “the logic of facts.”)

_One wise man knew the secret way into the city; but all said, “Why should we follow one man?”_

_The king had a friend before he was king._

_Only the quite deaf hear praises always of themselves._

_If the spider barked like a dog, would he catch flies?_

_He who looks down, gathers shells_ (_i.e._ money); _he who looks up, sighs for stars, but they do not come to him._

_The tiger that you look at will not give you the death-stroke._

_A wise man said a word too much: that word was the word of a fool._

_While the lightning lasted, two bad men were friends._

_Ellesmere._ Some of the proverbs are not bad. I like “the clever lizard” one, and “the dog that runs twice the distance.”

There, again though, how hard men are upon dogs. Why, men, metaphorically speaking, run ten times the distance! Then I like “the four fishes” one. I have myself observed that it is much easier to delude fish when they come singly, than when they come three or four together, and are fishes in council.

There are several of the other proverbs, Milverton, that are far too modern in their substance, and that you could never persuade me were uttered by any savage, however much you may try to make him out a Solomon.

_Sir Arthur._ _I_ like all of them very much.

_Ellesmere._ Of course you do. As I have said before, one never gets an author to speak disrespectfully of another author--in his presence. Now I’ll give you a proverb which shall be worth something. _Never believe a man when he talks about anything which he thoroughly understands._

_Mauleverer._ That is the most impudent proverb I have ever heard.

_Ellesmere._ Impudent it may be; but true, it undoubtedly is.

When a man understands anything very well, he generally has an especial repute for it, and he speaks with an eye to that repute of his. Sir Arthur being an eminent man of letters, his _public_ opinion of other men of letters is not worth that [snapping his fingers].

_Sir Arthur._ I shall respond to Ellesmere by giving him a proverb, or rather a saying, which I met with the other day, and which has delighted me beyond measure. It was in that recent work of Sir Henry Bulwer. Some Frenchman said, “_C’est un avantage terrible de n’avoir rien fait; mais il ne faut pas en abuser._” What a wonderful lesson that is for some critics! Eh, Ellesmere?

_Ellesmere._ I don’t seem to feel it personally, but it certainly is not bad. It is indeed a tremendous advantage to have done nothing, when one is oneself the subject of criticism.

_Milverton._ Well, now that “Realmah” is ended, all that I have got to say to you is, whether you have done anything or whether you have not done anything (in which latter case you will certainly be in the best position for criticism), do not trouble yourselves with criticising, but do consider whether we may not draw some lesson from this savage chief as to the management of our own political affairs. Only promise me that, and I shall be amply rewarded for any pains that I have taken in telling you the truthful story of his life.

[Here the conversation ended, and we went our separate ways.]