The Persian statesmen and chieftains who formed the cabinet at this time, whether because they perceived the gleaming, naked steel behind Russia’s threats more clearly than their legislative compatriots of the Parliament or Medjlis, or whether they suffered from that abandon and tired feeling which comes from playing an unequal and always losing game, quickly decided that they would accept this second ultimatum with all its future oppression and cruelty for their people.

On December 1st, therefore, shortly before the time limit of forty-eight hours fixed by Russia for the acceptance of the terms had expired, the cabinet filed into the chamber of deputies to secure legislative approval of their intended course.

It was an hour before noon, and the Parliament grounds and buildings were filled with eager, excited throngs, while the galleries of the Medjlis chamber were packed with Persian notables of all ranks and with the representatives of many of the foreign legations.  At noon the fate of Persia as a nation was to be known.

The cabinet, having made up its mind to yield, overlooked no point that would increase their chances of securing the approval of the Medjlis.  Believing, evidently, that the ridiculously short time to elapse before the stroke of noon announced the expiration of the forty-eight-hour period would effectually prevent any mature consideration or discussion of their proposals, the premier, Samsamu’s-Saltana, caused to be presented to the deputies a resolution authorizing the cabinet to accept Russia’s demands.

The proposal was read amid a deep silence.  At its conclusion, a hush fell upon the gathering.  Seventy-six deputies, old men and young, priests, lawyers, doctors, merchants, and princes, sat tense in their seats.

A venerable priest of Islam arose.  Time was slipping away and at noon the question would be beyond their vote to decide.  This servant of God spoke briefly and to the point:  “It may be the will of Allah that our liberty and our sovereignty shall be taken from us by force, but let us not sign them away with our own hands!” One gesture of appeal with his trembling hands, and he resumed his seat.

Simple words, these, yet winged ones.  Easy to utter in academic discussions; hard, bitterly hard, to say under the eye of a cruel and overpowering tyrant whose emissaries watched the speaker from the galleries and mentally marked him down for future imprisonment, torture, exile, or worse.

Other deputies followed.  In dignified appeals, brief because the time was short, they upheld their country’s honor and proclaimed their hard-earned right to live and govern themselves.

A few minutes before noon the public vote was taken; one or two faint-hearted members sought a craven’s refuge and slunk quietly from the chamber.  As each name was called, the deputy rose in his place and gave his vote, there was no secret ballot here.