A Young Turkish Catastrophe

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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The Minister for Fine Arts (to whose Department had been latelyadded the new sub-section of Electoral Engineering) paid a businessvisit to the Grand Vizier. According to Eastern etiquette theydiscoursed for a while on indifferent subjects. The minister onlychecked himself in time from making a passing reference to theMarathon Race, remembering that the Vizier had a Persian grandmotherand might consider any allusion to Marathon as somewhat tactless.Presently the Minister broached the subject of his interview."Under the new Constitution are women to have votes?" he askedsuddenly."To have votes? Women?" exclaimed the Vizier in some astonishment."My dear Pasha, the New Departure has a flavour of the absurd as itis; don't let's try and make it altogether ridiculous. Women haveno souls and no intelligence; why on earth should they have votes?""I know it sounds absurd," said the Minister, "but they areseriously considering the idea in the West.""Then they must have a larger equipment of seriousness than I gavethem credit for. After a lifetime of specialised effort inmaintaining my gravity I can scarcely restrain an inclination tosmile at the suggestion. Why, out womenfolk in most cases don'tknow how to read or write. How could they perform the operation ofvoting?""They could be shown the names of the candidates and where to maketheir cross.""I beg your pardon?" interrupted the Vizier."Their crescent, I mean," corrected the Minister. "It would be tothe liking of the Young Turkish Party," he added."Oh, well," said the Vizier, "if we are to do the thing at all wemay as well go the whole h- " he pulled up just as he was utteringthe name of an unclean animal, and continued, "the complete camel.I will issue instructions that womenfolk are to have votes."* * *The poll was drawing to a close in the Lakoumistan division. Thecandidate of the Young Turkish Party was known to be three or fourhundred votes ahead, and he was already drafting his address,returning thanks to the electors. His victory had been almost aforegone conclusion, for he had set in motion all the approvedelectioneering machinery of the West. He had even employedmotorcars. Few of his supporters had gone to the poll in thesevehicles, but, thanks to the intelligent driving of his chauffeurs,many of his opponents had gone to their graves or to the localhospitals, or otherwise abstained from voting. And then somethingunlooked-for happened. The rival candidate, Ali the Blest, arrivedon the scene with his wives and womenfolk, who numbered, roughly,six hundred. Ali had wasted little effort on election literature,but had been heard to remark that every vote given to his opponentmeant another sack thrown into the Bosphorus. The Young Turkishcandidate, who had conformed to the Western custom of one wife andhardly any mistresses, stood by helplessly while his adversary'spoll swelled to a triumphant majority."Cristabel Columbus!" he exclaimed, invoking in some confusion thename of a distinguished pioneer; "who would have thought it?""Strange," mused Ali, "that one who harangued so clamorously aboutthe Secret Ballot should have overlooked the Veiled Vote."And, walking homeward with his constituents, he murmured in hisbeard an improvisation on the heretic poet of Persia:"One, rich in metaphors, his Cause contrivesTo urge with edged words, like Kabul knives;And I, who worst him in this sorry game,Was never rich in anything but--wives."

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