Hermann The Irascible

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　The Story of the Great Weep

　　It was in the second decade of the Twentieth Century, after the Great Plague haddevastated England, that Hermann the Irascible, nicknamed also the Wise, sat onthe British throne. The Mortal Sickness had swept away the entire Royal Family,unto the third and fourth generations, and thus it came to pass that Hermann theFourteenth of Saxe-Drachsen-Wachtelstein, who had stood thirtieth in the orderof succession, found himself one day ruler of the British dominions within andbeyond the seas. He was one of the unexpected things that happen in politics,and he happened with great thoroughness. In many ways he was the mostprogressive monarch who had sat on an important throne; before people knew wherethey were, they were somewhere else. Even his Ministers, progressive though theywere by tradition, found it difficult to keep pace with his legislativesuggestions.

　　"As a matter of fact," admitted the Prime Minister, "we are hampered by thesevotes-for-women creatures; they disturb our meetings throughout the country, andthey try to turn Downing Street into a sort of political picnic-ground."

　　"They must be dealt with" said Hermann.

　　"Dealt with," said the Prime Minister; "exactly, just so; but how?"

　　"I will draft you a Bill," said the King, sitting down at his type-writingmachine, "enacting that women shall vote at all future elections. Shall vote,you observe; or, to put it plainer, must. Voting will remain optional, asbefore, for male electors; but every woman between the ages of twenty-one andseventy will be obliged to vote, not only at elections for Parliament, countycouncils, district boards, parish-councils, and municipalities, but forcoroners, school inspectors, churchwardens, curators of museums, sanitaryauthorities, police-court interpreters, swimming-bath instructors, contractors,choir-masters, market superintendents, art-school teachers, cathedral vergers,and other local functionaries whose names I will add as they occur to me. Allthese offices will become elective, and failure to vote at any election fallingwithin her area of residence will involve the female elector in a penalty of 10pounds. Absence, unsupported by an adequate medical certificate, will not beaccepted as an excuse. Pass this Bill through the two Houses of Parliament andbring it to me for signature the day after tomorrow."

　　From the very outset the Compulsory Female Franchise produced little or noelation even in circles which had been loudest in demanding the vote. The bulkof the women of the country had been indifferent or hostile to the franchiseagitation, and the most fanatical Suffragettes began to wonder what they hadfound so attractive in the prospect of putting ballot-papers into a box. In thecountry districts the task of carrying out the provisions of the new Act wasirksome enough; in the towns and cities it became an incubus. There seemed noend to the elections. Laundresses and seamstresses had to hurry away from theirwork to vote, often for a candidate whose name they hadn't heard before, andwhom they selected at haphazard; female clerks and waitresses got up extra earlyto get their voting done before starting off to their places of business.Society women found their arrangements impeded and upset by the continualnecessity for attending the polling stations, and week-end parties and summerholidays became gradually a masculine luxury. As for Cairo and the Riviera, theywere possible only for genuine invalids or people of enormous wealth, for theaccumulation of 10 pound fines during a prolonged absence was a contingency thateven ordinarily wealthy folk could hardly afford to risk.

　　It was not wonderful that the female disfranchisement agitation became aformidable movement. The No-Votes-for-Women League numbered its feminineadherents by the million; its colours, citron and old Dutch-madder, wereflaunted everywhere, and its battle hymn, "We Don't Want to Vote," became apopular refrain. As the Government showed no signs of being impressed bypeaceful persuasion, more violent methods came into vogue. Meetings weredisturbed, Ministers were mobbed, policemen were bitten, and ordinary prisonfare rejected, and on the eve of the anniversary of Trafalgar women boundthemselves in tiers up the entire length of the Nelson column so that itscustomary floral decoration had to be abandoned. Still the Governmentobstinately adhered to its conviction that women ought to have the vote.

　　Then, as a last resort, some woman wit hit upon an expedient which it wasstrange that no one had thought of before. The Great Weep was organized. Relaysof women, ten thousand at a time, wept continuously in the public places of theMetropolis. They wept in railway stations, in tubes and omnibuses, in theNational Gallery, at the Army and Navy Stores, in St. James's Park, at balladconcerts, at Prince's and in the Burlington Arcade. The hitherto unbrokensuccess of the brilliant farcical comedy "Henry's Rabbit" was imperilled by thepresence of drearily weeping women in stalls and circle and gallery, and one ofthe brightest divorce cases that had been tried for many years was robbed ofmuch of its sparkle by the lachrymose behaviour of a section of the audience.

　　"What are we to do?" asked the Prime Minister, whose cook had wept into all thebreakfast dishes and whose nursemaid had gone out, crying quietly and miserably,to take the children for a walk in the Park.

　　"There is a time for everything," said the King; "there is a time to yield. Passa measure through the two Houses depriving women of the right to vote, and bringit to me for the Royal assent the day after tomorrow."

　　As the Minister withdrew, Hermann the Irascible, who was also nicknamed theWise, gave a profound chuckle.

　　"There are more ways of killing a cat than by choking it with cream," he quoted,"but I'm not sure," he added "that it's not the best way."