I grew feverish with excitement at this terrible arraignment of the “gentler sex.”

“But why are they so cruel?  Why do they do this wicked thing?” I asked.

“For the sake of Fashion,” said my mother.

“Fashion, what is that?”

My mother was very patient with me, so when I asked questions she did not put me off by telling me she didn’t know, or advise me to fly away and play, or tell me she was busy and couldn’t be bothered just then, therefore she now took pains to make me understand.

“You ask me what is Fashion,” she began.  “Well, Fashion is an exacting ruler, a great, tyrannical god who has many, many worshipers, and these he rules with an iron hand.  His followers cannot be induced to do anything contrary to his wishes.  He sits on a high throne from which he dictates to his slaves what they must do.  Often they do the most outrageous things, not because they like to, but because he demands it.  He is constantly laying down new laws for their guidance, and some of these laws are so unreasonable and absurd that a part of his followers frequently threaten to rebel.  They do not hold out against him long, for he manages to make it quite unpleasant for those who disobey him or refuse to come under his yoke.”

“Has he any men slaves?” asked my brother.

“Yes, he has some slaves among men, but the larger number of those who wear his most galling fetters are women.  If he but crooks his little finger these bond-women rush pell-mell in the direction he points.  They are thus keen to do his bidding, because each woman who is the first to carry out his rules in her own particular town or neighborhood acquires great distinction in the eyes of the other worshipers.”

“His slaves are nearly always rich women, aren’t they?” asked my brother.

“By no means.  Many of them are poor working women who have to labor hard for a living.  But they will rob themselves of necessities and needed rest to get the means to follow his demands.  Often it takes them a long time to do this, and perhaps just as they have accomplished the weary task he suddenly proclaims a new law, and all this toiling and drudging and stinting must begin over again.  In this way the unhappy creatures have never a breathing spell.  It is utterly impossible for them to conform to the new law when it is first proclaimed by the god, and so they are always struggling to keep up.  Their chains are never lifted or lightened a particle.”

“If the chain is so heavy why don’t they break it?” I asked impatiently.

“Because they are afraid,” she replied.

“Afraid of the god?”

“No, no, child, they are afraid of each other.  They are afraid the richer slaves, who are able to comply with the demands will laugh at them and ridicule them, and that is why they strain every nerve to follow the god’s wishes.  A slave, whether she is rich or poor, grows more cringing year by year, until at last she loses all her individuality, and becomes a mere echo of the god.”