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Page 8
"Oh, how can they do such dreadful, such wicked things!" I moaned. My
mother heard my lament and signaled for us to come up where she was
perching.
"You see now who are our worst enemies," said she. "The cat preys on
us to satisfy his bodily hunger, but women have no such excuse. We are
not slaughtered to sustain their lives but to minister to their vanity.
For years the women of Christian lands have waged their unholy war
against us. We have been driven from our old haunts and forced to seek
new places. We have been shot down by thousands every season until now
many species are destroyed from the face of the earth. There is no
security for us in any place. The hunter with his gun penetrates into
the deepest forests, he perils his life in scaling the most dangerous
cliffs, he wades through bog and marsh and mud and tracks us to our
feeding grounds to surprise us with the deadly shot, and kills the
mother hovering over the nest of her helpless offspring with as little
compunction as if she were a poisonous reptile instead of a melodious
joy-giver. And all this horrible slaughter is for women."
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."
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