assumption. For creative men turn to any one of the half-dozen forms of
art, and are not monopolized by literature; there is no reason, mental
or physical, why the female genius should be capable of traveling only
along one line. The problem is a problem of direction, a problem of
medium.

My potential opponents will probably deny that there have been, and are,
no women painters. They will quote the names of Angelica Kaufmann, of
Vigee-Lebrun, of Rosa Bonheur, of Berthe Morisot, of Elizabeth Butler;
the more modern will mention Ella Bedford, Lucy Kemp-Welch; the most
modern will put forward Anne Estelle Rice; and one or two may shyly
whisper Maude Goodman. But, honestly, does this amount to anything? I do
not suppose that Lady Elizabeth Butler's "Inkermann" or "Floreat Etona"
will outlive the works of Detaille or of Meissonier, however doubtful be
the value of these men; the fame of Angelica Kaufmann, though enhanced
by the patronage of kings, has not been perpetuated by Bartolozzi, in
spite of that etcher's inflated reputation. Rosa Bonheur's "Horse Fair"
hangs in the National Gallery, and another of her works in the
Luxembourg, but merits which balance those of Landseer are not enough;
and Berthe Morisot walked, it is true, in the footprints of Manet, but
did her feet fill them? The truth of the matter is that there has not
been a woman Velasquez, a woman Rembrandt.

Now, as some of my readers may know, I do not make a habit of belittling
woman and her work. My writings show that I am one of the most extreme
feminists of the day, and I am well aware that woman must not be judged
upon her past, that it is perhaps not enough to judge her on her present
position, and that imagination, the only spirit with which criticism
should be informed if it is to have any creative value, should take note
of the potentialities of woman. But still, though we may write off much
of the past and flout the record of insult and outrage which is the
history of woman under the government of man, we cannot entirely ignore
the present: the present may not be the father of the future, but it is
certainly one of its ancestors. We have to-day a number of women who
paint--the great majority, such as Mrs. Von Glehn, Ella Bedford, Lucy
Kemp-Welch, and others who are hung a little higher over the line, are
rendering Nature and persons with inspired and photographic zeal;
others, such as Anne Estelle Rice, Jessie Dismorr, Georges Banks, are
incline