"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.
Pages:
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34