Letter from Edward Thomas to his wife, Helen Thomas. Archival reference: 424/1/1/1/1/117
But enough, neither you nor I, or even Morgan can settle it.

[illegible] [illegible] books, you might send me the price list
or some prices when ready - The bookshelf-no; unless it is
very cheap.

The letter you posted contained £7 from Literature, of which I
will send you £5 when I know from father if he expects me to
pay tips etc. You will of course bank this.

What about your essay? You must have been busy with that,
not to have finished the mantle cover, I suppose.

Still no writing done and less and less reading. Yesterday I
simply worked hard (even in the afternoon, for it rained), and
then drank myself quite comfortably to sleep - the wine
being Moselle, a light amber wine that does not hurt the
stomach. I fear I was completely

NEW PAGE
27.x.99.
My dearest friend,
You are unjust to Morgan and other men, if you think their
opinion of the other sex is the result of conceit. It is the result
of at least an attempt to reason [illegible] on the matter, and
whatever the conclusion it is never contempt; for a low
opinion of them as compared with men, may be
accompanied by admiration for the peculiarly feminine traits
in the character of women. There is really no comparison
between the two. Women are lovelier, less clever. Men are
stronger, more capable of thought and action. I made a
great point of woman's beauty, and said I thought beauty
always expressed something, tho of course the number of
tigresses, serpents and mere fools that have beauty is very
great. I thought that the “something” was there
but men misread women and so thought there was nothing
there. Morgan retorted that no poet or artist ever was happy
with his wife or mistress: when he came to live with her, he
saw her feebleness; If Dante had married Beatrice he would
never have written the Divine Comedy. I thought that spirit
and body were often in [illegible] perfect harmony in women
than in men. But, said Morgan, what is the result? Nothing.
the greatest moments of a woman's life are surrenders,
whereas the true aim of life is assertion of one individuality in
ones environment. Besides from the very beginning, as law
and all other things testify, man was superior, and woman of
no account, and descent is always traced through the father.
Of course you may say that man is a brute and has always
neglected the ethereal qualities of women. That may be so,
but woman is the passive part of the world, essential but
passive. She lies under the man, she is inactive, yielding. She
seems often but an instrument. Man wants an heir and he
conquers the woman's body, deposits a [illegible] theirin she
is forced to bring it forth in agony, and if the child is a boy he
lives to be stronger and abler than she. You can't deny that
she seems made for the use of God and of man. She supplies
the material, but man supplies the motive energy.....Of course
some may be greater than reason, but in this imperfect world
reason is something definite and calculable, some is not; and
since man - Homer Plato Caesar Cicero Charlemagne Dante
Shakespeare - is greater in reason, he seems
superior...However we seem to be reaching an age where the
incalculable, the soulful part, is more and more respected: in
such an age woman will have her due. But as it is the woman
that bears children is at a disadvantage. If she does not bear
them and remains she virgin she unsexes herself. If she
lives a loose life she is a feebler thing than ever, and a
woman is carried away by the sexual passion far more than
man: a man calculates on the very bosom of his mistress: yes!
sweet heart, women do love better, but that is no proof of
superiority, and it is certainly a weakness; the reason.
intoxicated, but still in excellent spirits and none the worse for it this morning. Nevertheless, work as I will, my prospect is still alarming.

Yes Morgan and I did have a good time only [illegible]. He says I
make him feel a child of Nature and not of the town - which
is a great concession for him. I felt a boy again as I stooped
away the fern to pick up chestnuts which tasted delicious in the fresh air: and he [illegible] me.

May you keep well and happy. Dearest I must now say
goodbye. I am, my own sweet little one, ever and wholly Yours
Edwy
Adieu