As soon as they were perceived by our guard, the leader raised his hand, and we waited for their ophidian majesties to satisfy their curiosity, and pass on, which they did, swaying the cropped grass on the wayside and vanishing into one of the neighboring pounds over its loosened dejected blocks. It was quite clear that the city of Radiumopolis—so we came to distinguish it later—might prove unpleasantly full of these creatures, for whom the citizens maintained a most disagreeably pious regard. It reminded the Professor of the great center of Serpent Worship at Epidaurus, where stood the famous temple to Aesculapius and the grove attached to it in which serpents were kept and fed, down to the time of Pausanius.
Once over the peripheral plain we began the ascent of the mound at its center. There was a simple stateliness about this terraced rise of steps, formed of a red tile or brick, from its very gradual recession and its extreme width. Here our eyes measured and studied the astonishing house, or temple, or Capitol, which was to be for us doubtless a “house of detention” also.
It was a square composite, with openings on three sides—those we could see—and pierced by window embrasures, sensibly regular in their spacing. Porches extended outward from the openings and on these a little rather unsuccessful decorative construction had been expended. Over each porch entrance was the literal reproduction in gold and in stucco of the local deity, in addition to the upraised images—careening and expanded like hippogriffs—at the four corners of the building. These latter were made entirely of gold, and represented thousands and thousands of dollars. It was indeed stupifying to estimate their probable value.
The gold surface of the Capitol proved to be a plastering of gold plates, not so well or so carefully executed as to preclude the constant exposure of the underlying adobe. But this prodigious prodigality of gold was again most incredible.
We were conducted at once into the Acropolis so the Professor styled it—noting before we entered a serviceable courtyard around it, which secured a little dignity from a wall of bricks interrupted by higher pillars, and also rimmed with gold. Entering a broad hallway we were overcome by the pervasive softly emitted radiance from lamps of mineral on clumsy stands, and held on round gold saucers or servers.
“Radium,” said the Professor. “It is exactly as I have been suspecting. These people have gained access to some vast deposit of this miracle-working element. It not unreasonably may be supposed that it is exposed in some chasm in the crust of the earth, entering to great depths, and perhaps impinging on such central masses as have been interpolated in some recent physical speculations, as giving rise to the static heat of the earth. Here we probably have an explanation of the abundance of gold—transmutation! And here too some adequate explanation of the stationary sun rays converted by reflection into light and heat—Astounding! Astounding!! Astounding!!!”
To me the fascination, in a way, of all this mixture of wonders and horrors (the snake and later discoveries and episodes) and primal simplicity, was just that incalculable oddness or mystery of the conjunction of some almost superhuman power with the weird religion and the archaic habits. I cannot describe how perversely it affected me, sometimes raising my interest to a fever heat, and again filling me with a tormenting fury of desire to make my escape.
We passed through the hall, our guard, at some gesture from the captain, closing around, and as we emerged at its further end, again upon the outside court, I, looking back, saw attendants cover the radium masses with opaque caps. We were now in a somewhat contrasted entourage. On this side of the Capitol the city seemed excluded, and a rather thick wood and an untamed undergrowth, through which however stretched a broad highway, monopolized the ground westward. We had entered both the city and the Capitol from the east. In an adjoining yard at the foot of another symmetrically disposed terrace of steps was a closed tenement, and into this we were led.
Imagine our delight to find it occupied by an immense basin or pool, into which two conduits poured hot and cold water. The immense bath was even then gently steaming; the outer air had grown increasingly colder. Rough masonry couches, covered with rugs, had been built against the walls, and on the edge of the huge tank were scattered white chunks which, at first conceived to be soap, turned out to be an indifferent substitute, in the shape of an unctuous and gritty clay.
This delightful prospect almost brought shouts to our lips, and Hopkins raising his hands in mock homage and gratitude, exclaimed: