Page 395 - sons-and-lovers

would be much better for you.’
He frowned. His mother caught him on the raw of his
wound of Miriam. He pushed the tumbled hair off his fore-
head, his eyes full of pain and fire.
‘You mean easy, mother,’ he cried. ‘That’s a woman’s
whole doctrine for life—ease of soul and physical comfort.
And I do despise it.’
‘Oh, do you!’ replied his mother. ‘And do you call yours
a divine discontent?’
‘Yes. I don’t care about its divinity. But damn your hap-
piness! So long as life’s full, it doesn’t matter whether it’s
happy or not. I’m afraid your happiness would bore me.’
‘You never give it a chance,’ she said. Then suddenly all
her passion of grief over him broke out. ‘But it does matter!’
she cried. ‘And you OUGHT to be happy, you ought to try
to be happy, to live to be happy. How could I bear to think
your life wouldn’t be a happy one!’
‘Your own’s been bad enough, mater, but it hasn’t left
you so much worse off than the folk who’ve been happier.
I reckon you’ve done well. And I am the same. Aren’t I well
enough off?’
‘You’re not, my son. Battle—battle—and suffer. It’s about
all you do, as far as I can see.’
‘But why not, my dear? I tell you it’s the best—-‘
‘It isn’t. And one OUGHT to be happy, one OUGHT.’
By this time Mrs. Morel was trembling violently. Strug-
gles of this kind often took place between her and her son,
when she seemed to fight for his very life against his own
will to die. He took her in his arms. She was ill and pitiful.

Sons and Lovers