Ancient or modern, nothing in any of these discussions is so valuable as the fact of the discussion itself.  There is no discussion where there is no wrong.  Nothing so indicates wrong as this morbid self-inspection.  The complaints are a perpetual protest, the defences a perpetual confession.  It is too late to ignore the question; and, once opened, it can be settled only on absolute and permanent principles.  There is a wrong; but where?  Does woman already know too much, or too little?  Was she created for man’s subject, or his equal?  Shall she have the alphabet, or not?

Ancient mythology, which undertook to explain everything, easily accounted for the social and political disabilities of woman.  Goguet quotes the story from Saint Augustine, who got it from Varro.  Cecrops, building Athens, saw starting from the earth an olive-plant and a fountain, side by side.  The Delphic oracle said that this indicated a strife between Minerva and Neptune for the honor of giving a name to the city, and that the people must decide between them.  Cecrops thereupon assembled the men, and the women also, who then had a right to vote; and the result was that Minerva carried the election by a glorious majority of one.  Then Attica was overflowed and laid waste:  of course the citizens attributed the calamity to Neptune, and resolved to punish the women.  It was therefore determined that in future they should not vote, nor should any child bear the name of its mother.

Thus easily did mythology explain all troublesome inconsistencies; but it is much that it should even have recognized them as needing explanation.  The real solution is, however, more simple.  The obstacle to the woman’s sharing the alphabet, or indeed any other privilege, has been thought by some to be the fear of impairing her delicacy, or of destroying her domesticity, or of confounding the distinction between the sexes.  These may have been plausible excuses.  They have even been genuine, though minor, anxieties.  But the whole thing, I take it, had always one simple, intelligible basis,—­sheer contempt for the supposed intellectual inferiority of woman.  She was not to be taught, because she was not worth teaching.  The learned Acidalius aforesaid was in the majority.  According to Aristotle and the Peripatetics, woman was animal occasionatum, as if a sort of monster and accidental production.  Mediaeval councils, charitably asserting her claims to the rank of humanity, still pronounced her unfit for instruction.  In the Hindoo dramas she did not even speak the same language with her master, but used the dialect of slaves.  When, in the sixteenth century, Francoise de Saintonges wished to establish girls’ schools in France, she was hooted in the streets; and her father called together four doctors, learned in the law, to decide whether she was not possessed by demons, to think of educating women,—­pour s’assurer qu’instruire des femmes n’etait pas un oeuvre du demon.