hermann the irascible contd...
From the very outset the Compulsory Female Franchise produced
little or no elation even in circles which had been loudest in demanding
the vote. The bulk of the women of the country had been indifferent
or hostile to the franchise agitation, and the most fanatical Suffragettes
began to wonder what they had found so attractive in the prospect
of putting ballot-papers into a box. In the country districts the
task of carrying out the provisions of the new Act was irksome enough;
in the towns and cities it became an incubus. There seemed no end
to the elections. Laundresses and seamstresses had to hurry away
from their work to vote, often for a candidate whose name they hadn't
heard before, and whom they selected at haphazard; female clerks
and waitresses got up extra early to get their voting done before
starting off to their places of business. Society women found their
arrangements impeded and upset by the continual necessity for attending
the polling stations, and week-end parties and summer holidays became
gradually a masculine luxury. As for Cairo and the Riviera, they
were possible only for genuine invalids or people of enormous wealth,
for the accumulation of 10 pound fines during a prolonged absence
was a contingency that even ordinarily wealthy folk could hardly
afford to risk.
It was not wonderful that the female disfranchisement agitation
became a formidable movement. The No-Votes-for-Women League numbered
its feminine adherents by the million; its colours, citron and old
Dutch-madder, were flaunted everywhere, and its battle hymn, "We
Don't Want to Vote," became a popular refrain. As the Government
showed no signs of being impressed by peaceful persuasion, more
violent methods came into vogue. Meetings were disturbed, Ministers
were mobbed, policemen were bitten, and ordinary prison fare rejected,
and on the eve of the anniversary of Trafalgar women bound themselves
in tiers up the entire length of the Nelson column so that its customary
floral decoration had to be abandoned. Still the Government obstinately
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 was strange that no one had thought of before. The Great Weep
was organized. Relays of women, ten thousand at a time, wept continuously
in the public places of the Metropolis. They wept in railway stations,
in tubes and omnibuses, in the National Gallery, at the Army and
Navy Stores, in St. James's Park, at ballad concerts, at Prince's
and in the Burlington Arcade. The hitherto unbroken success of the
brilliant farcical comedy "Henry's Rabbit" was imperilled
by the presence of drearily weeping women in stalls and circle and
gallery, and one of the brightest divorce cases that had been tried
for many years was robbed of much 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 the breakfast 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. Pass a measure through the two Houses depriving
women of the right to vote, and bring it to me for the Royal assent
the day after tomorrow."
As the Minister withdrew, Hermann the Irascible, who was also nicknamed
the Wise, 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."
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