Then came the reaction of release from incertitude, and the assemblage caught the sound— Nay, the word, and from side to side, to and fro, hither, thither, the cry doubled and redoubled, until it almost seemed as if the convulsed nation would start some riotous stampede in favor of that darling, red-headed, heaven-sent, death-dealing sovereign. And the Professor, animated by I know not what elan of conquest, seized his rifle in both hands, and holding it horizontally before him, stepped forward against the heterogeneous throng of courtiers, officials, and Areopagites that crammed every inch of space in front of the Capitol, as if he were the Demiurge of Destruction. In a fright they gave way, and in the path thus made we followed. There was nothing else to do, although this demonstration to me seemed unaccountable and dangerous, as it might lead to some unexpected disaster and an anticlimax of ridicule and repulsion. With the Professor it was just an involuntary spasm of stage play, with no clear purpose outlined or even seen in it. Behind us in the regurgitant host I could hear the stentorian roars of Oogalah. This unexpected and vociferous ally after all had a grudge to gratify; he had not altogether forgotten his inviscerated mother. His appeals were quite in favor of the new allegiance. You see, sir, it was an orgulous moment for the Professor, and I don’t think he knew exactly what he was about.
But Luck, which after all favors a good many more people than fools, intervened. We had gotten rather tightly entrapped in the brigades about the Capitol, when we were met by a huddle of the patriarchs, themselves somewhat violently jostled by the pushing citizens. Here were Javan, and Put, and Hul, Peleg, Hadad, the head men, and they presented a very sorry and despoiled appearance. Their nervous white hands ran over their straggling beards in piteous perplexity, and, lacking the surplusage of their state regalia, they appeared even more contemptible than depressed.
Knowing me best and perhaps too dismayed by the flaming presence of the Pretender himself, Javan literally flew to my arms and urged clemency. It was complete capitulation. I knew it. But the victory must be more crushing. The last struggle of the victim must be squelched. It had occurred to me before that an epic seriousness, if not majesty, might be given to our high-handed pretensions by shooting down the Crocodilo-Python effigies at the corners of the palace. The risk might be considerable, and then again it might be very little, with tremendous compensating benefits if the dice fell the right way. How would the people take it? I did not know. This moment of irresolution permitted something to happen which gave us the upper hand most beautifully, eliminated violence, and struck the keynote of a perfect CONCILIATION.
Ziliah, ardent, arrayed superbly, with her copious dark hair bound up, as was the fashion of the upper-class women, with the little gold serpents, wearing the gold caps on her knees, her ankles encased in gold filagree that rose half way up the naked leg, her feet in golden sandals, and swathed somehow in a soft delicate blue tunic covering her thighs and body, but falling away from the pillar-like neck and firmly moulded breasts, a vision of picturesque loveliness, sprang amongst us. Her face was flushed by excitement but radiant in smiles. And of course she wore the golden belt with its serpent buckle.
She flung her arms around the Professor, kissed him on both cheeks, salaamed, bending her knees to the ground with a wonderful, unstudied grace. Then she took her astonished father’s hand and led that little gentleman forward, and then Put, and Hul, Peleg and Hadad—the remaining elders, arrived, but had shrunk from the presentation. Then Ziliah spoke. Her voice was high keyed, but musical, and had a soaring quality in it that carried far. Silence fell and the intensity of the psychological moment made me wonder at the girl’s prescience.
“Father, make peace with these men. They bring us a New Wisdom. We shall be happy with them. Let the Son of Thunder (my eyes at that instant fell on Hopkins; he was visibly squirming in an agony of suppressed mirth at the designation, but the Professor retained a most noble immobility) be your guide, your companion. These men will all be brothers to us, and this man (she knelt again at the feet of Hopkins, who seized her in his arms, and lifted her to his face) will be my husband.” Javan’s astonishment then was a study.
I was transported, and I rushed in to the rapprochement, as she ended, with fresh promises of friendship.
Nothing would be disturbed, nothing changed. We came to them strangers from the clouds, we would bless them with new powers. The Great Serpent still should reign.
At all this there was a great shouting, a tempest of approving comment, and the landslide of public endorsement overwhelmed the council. The retreating or abashed or cowardly members of “the Syndicate of Old Toddlers,” as Hopkins said, issued from their niches in the crowd, and Javan, caught in an enjambment from which he could not extricate his party, surrendered. He came forward, and after him came Put, Hul, Peleg, Hadad; and the Professor, with a fine urbanity that capped the climax and swept away all traces of resentment or repugnance, fell on their necks, so to speak, though the act had to be rather sedately done for he would incontinently have knocked them down. It had a delightfully funny and picaresque effect and I again felt, as I had felt hundreds of times before, that it all was a dream and unreal. The string as it lengthened embraced the whole Areopagus, and this fraternal ceremony evidently, as Hopkins noted, “tickled the little old fellow to death.”
They were all there: Riphath, Kittim, Cush, Pathrusim, Lud, Hul, Joktan, Naphish, Jeush, Jaalam, Shammah, Shobal, Homan, Uz, Samlah, Bela, Zephi, Zerah, Ebal, Manahath, Anah, Amram Mibsam, Gomer, Magog, Anamim, Ludim. I am sure I did not know their identity; I counted them, thirty in all. That consummated matters and set Professor Hlmath Bjornsen of Christiania on the throne of Radiumopolis in KROCKER LAND.