“For a woman!” repeated Mrs. Tallboys. “Let a human being do or be what she will, it is disposed of in a moment by that one verdict, ‘Very well for a woman!’”
“How is it with the decision of posterity?” said Jenny. “Can you show any work of woman of equal honour and permanence with that of men?”
“Because her training has been sedulously inferior.”
“Not always,” said Jenny; “not in Italy in the cinque cento, nor in England under Elizabeth.”
“Yes, and there were names—!”
“Names, yes, but that is all. The lady’s name is remembered for the curiosity of her having equalled the ordinary poet or artist of her time, but her performances either are lost or only known to curious scholars. They have not the quality which makes things permanent.”
“What do you say to Sappho?”
“There is nothing of her but a name, and fragments that curious scholars read.”
“Worse luck to her if she invented Sapphics,” added Herbert.
“One of womankind’s torments for mankind, eh?” said his neighbour.