Sons and Lovers By D.H.

Lawrence
THE STORY Mrs. Morel already has two children, Annie and William, when she becomes pregnant for a third time. Her marriage to Walter has slowly deteriorated into an endless series of drunken rows and she is less than happy at the prospect of ha ing another baby, !aul, to bring up Howe er, when William dies she channels her emotional attention and needs into !aul to such an e"tent that his relationship with other women is #eopardised. When Mrs. Morel dies of cancer, !aul is tempted to commit suicide, but finds the strength to carry on li ing. I Will Call Him Paul
Mrs. Morel is holding her newly-born third child in her arms in the company of a neighbour, Mrs. Kirk, and is wondering what the future holds for both of them.

Chapter II -The

irth o! Paul" and another

attle

$he sun was going down. % ery open e ening, the hills of Derbyshire were bla&ed o er with red sunset. Mrs. Morel watched the sun sink from the glistening sky, lea ing a soft flower'blue o erhead, while the western space went red, as if all the fire had swum down there, lea ing the bell cast flawless blue. $he mountain'ash berries across the field stood fierily out from the dark lea es, for a moment. A few shocks of corn in a comer of the fallow stood up as if ali e( she imagined them bowing( perhaps her son would be a )oseph. *n the east, a mirrored sunset floated pink opposite the west+s scarlet. $he big haystacks on the hillside, that butted into the glare, went cold. With Mrs. Morel it was one of those still moments when the small frets anish, and the beauty of things stands out, and she had the peace and the strength to see herself. ,ow and again, a swallow-- cut close to her. ,ow and again, Annie carne up with a handful of alder'currants. $he baby was restless on his mother+s knee, clambering with his hands at the light. Mrs. Morel looked down at him. .he had dreaded this baby like a catastrophe, because of

her feeling for her husband. And now she felt strangely towards the infant. Her heart was hea y because of the child, almost as if it were unhealthy, or malformed. /et it seemed 0uite well. But she noticed the peculiar knitting of the baby+s brows, and the peculiar hea iness of its eyes, as if it were trying to understand something that was pain. .he felt, when she looked at her child+s dark, brooding pupils as if a burden were on her heart. He looks as if he was thinking about something' 0uite sorrowful, said Mrs. 1irk. .uddenly, looking at him, the hea y feeling at the mother+s heart melted into passionate grief. .he bowed o er him, and a few tears shook swiftly out of her ery heart. $he baby lifted his fingers. 2My lamb34 she cried softly. And at that moment she felt, in some far inner place of her soul, that she and her husband were guilty. $he baby was looking up at her. *t had blue eyes like her own, but its look was hea y, steady, as if it had realised something that had stunned- some point of its soul. *n her arms lay the delicate baby. *ts deep blue eyes, always looking up at her unblinking, seemed to draw her innermost thoughts out of her. .he no longer lo ed her husband( she had not wanted this child to come, and there it lay in her arms and pulled at her heart. .he felt as if the na el string that had connected its frail little body with hers had not been broken. A wa e of hot lo e went o er her to the infant. .he held it close to her face and breast. With all her force, with all her soul she would make up to it for ha ing brought it into the world unlo ed. .he would lo e it all the more now it was here( carry it in her lo e. *ts clear, knowing eyes ga e her pain and fear. Did it know all about her5 When it lay under her heart, had it been listening then5 Was there a reproach in the look5 .he felt the marrow melt in her bones, with fear and pain. 6nce more she was aware of the sun lying red on the rim of the hill opposite. .he suddenly held up the child in her hands. 2Look34 she said. +Look, my pretty3+

.he thrust the infant forward to the crimson throbbing sun, almost with relief. .he saw him

lift his little fist. $hen she put him to her bosom again, ashamed almost of her impulse to gi e him back again whence he came.

#You#re Old" $other#

Paul is planning to go to a local town, Selby, with his girlfriend, Miriam. His mother reveals that she is ealous of the younger woman. !aul sat pretending to read. He knew his mother wanted to upbraid him. He also wanted to know what had made her ill, for he was troubled. .o, instead of running away to bed, as he would ha e liked to do, he sat and waited. $here was a tense silence. $he clock ticked loudly.

+/ou7d better go to bed before your father comes in,+ said the mother harshly. +And if you+re
going to ha e anything to eat, you+d better get it.+ +* don7t want anything. *t was his mother+s custom to bring him some trifle for supper on 8riday night, the night of lu"ury for the colliers. He was too angry to go and find it in the pantry this night. $his insulted her. +*f * wanted you to go to .elby on 8riday night, * can imagine the scene,+ said Mrs. Morel. +But you+re ne er too tired to go if she will come for you. ,ay, you neither want to eat nor drink then.+ +* can7t let her go alone.+ +9an7t you5 And why does she come5+ +,ot because * ask her.+ +.he doesn+t come without you want her '+ +Well, what if * do want her'+ he replied. +Why, nothing, if it was sensible or reasonable. But to go trapseing up there miles and miles in the mud, coming home at midnight, and got to go to ,ottingham in the morning'+ +*f * hadn+t, you+d be #ust the same.+ +/es, * should, because there+s no sense in it. *s she so fascinating that you must follow her all that way5+ Mrs. Morel was bitterly sarcastic. .he sat still, with a erted face, stroking with a rhythmic, #erked mo ement, the black sateen of her apron. *t was a mo ement that hurt !aul to see.

+* do like her,+ he said, +but :::::+

+Like her3+ said Mrs. Morel, in the same biting tones. +*t seems to me you like nothing and nobody else. $here+s neither Annie, nor me, nor anyone now for you.+ +What nonsense, mother' you know * don+t lo e her ' * ' * tell you * don+t lo e her ;she doesn+t e en walk with my arm, because * don+t want her to.+ +$hen why do you fly to her so often5+ +* do like to talk to her ' * ne er said * didn<t. But * don+t lo e her.+ +*s there nobody else to talk to5+ +,ot about the things we talk of. $here+s a lot of things that you+re not in, that '+ +What things5+ ' +Why' painting ' and books. /ou don+t care about Herbert .pencer.+ +,o,+ was the sad reply. +And you won+t at my age.+ +Well, but * do now ' and Miriam does'+ +And how do you know,+ Mrs. Morel flashed defiantly, +that * shouldn+t. Do you e er try me3+ +But you don+t, mother, you know you don+t care whether a picture+s decorati e or not( you don+t care what manner it is in.+ +How do you know * don+t care5 Do you e er try me5 Do you e er talk to me about these things, to try5+ +But it+s not that that matters to you, mother, you know it+s not.+ +What is it, then ' what is it, then, that matters to me5+ she flashed. He knitted his brows with pain. +/ou+re old, mother, and we+re young.+ He only meant that the interests of her age were not the interests of his. But he realised the moment he had spoken that he had said the wrong thing. Mrs. Morel was so intense that !aul began to pant.

+/es, * know it well' * am old. And therefore * may stand aside( * ha e nothing more to do with you. /ou only want me to wait on you 'the rest is for Miriam.+ He could not bear it. *nstincti ely he realised that he was life to her. And, after all, she was the chief thing to him, the only supreme thing. +/ou know it isn+t, mother, you know it isn+t3+ .he was mo ed to pity by his cry. +*t looks a great deal like it,+ she said, half putting aside her despair. +,o, mother' * really don+t lo e her. * talk to her, but * want to come home to you.+ He had taken off his collar and tie, and rose, bare'throated, to go to bed. As he stooped to kiss his mother, she threw her arms round his neck, hid her face on his shoulder, and cried, in a whimpering-= oice, so unlike her own that he writhed in agony> +* can+t bear it. * could let another woman' but not her. .he+d lea e me no room, not a bit of room '+ And immediately he hated Miriam bitterly. +And *+ e ne er' you know, !aul' *+ e ne er had a husband' not really'+ He stroked his mother+s hair, and his mouth was on her throat. +And she e"ults so in taking you from me' she+s not like ordinary girls.+ +Well, * don+t lo e her, mother,+ he murmured, bowing his head and hiding his eyes on her shoulder in misery. His mother kissed him a long, fer ent kiss. +My boy3+ she said, in a oice trembling with passionate lo e. Without knowing, he gently stroked her face. +$here,+ said his mother, +now go to bed. /ou+ll be so tired in the morning.+ As she was speaking she heard her husband coming. +$here+s your father now go+.