XI + 

No Way Out + 

The fairy palaces burst into illumination, before pale morning showed the monstrous serpents of smoke trailing themselves over Coketown. A clattering of clogs upon the pavement; a rapid ringing of bells; and all the melancholy mad elephants, polished and oiled up for the dayтАЩs monotony, were at their heavy exercise again. + 

Stephen bent over his loom, quiet, watchful, and steady. A special contrast, as every man was in the forest of looms where Stephen worked, to the crashing, smashing, tearing piece of mechanism at which he laboured. Never fear, good people of an anxious turn of mind, that Art will consign Nature to oblivion. Set anywhere, side by side, the work of God and the work of man; and the former, even though it be a troop of hands of very small account, will gain in dignity from the comparison. + 

So many hundred hands in this mill; so many hundred horse steam power. It is known, to the force of a single pound weight, what the engine will do; but, not all the calculators of the National Debt can tell me the capacity for good or evil, for love or hatred, for patriotism or discontent, for the decomposition of virtue into vice, or the reverse, at any single moment in the soul of one of these its quiet servants, with the composed faces and the regulated actions. There is no mystery in it; there is an unfathomable mystery in the meanest of them, forever.тБатАФSupposing we were to reverse our arithmetic for material objects, and to govern these awful unknown quantities by other means! + 

The day grew strong, and showed itself outside, even against the flaming lights within. The lights were turned out, and the work went on. The rain fell, and the smoke-serpents, submissive to the curse of all that tribe, trailed themselves upon the earth. In the waste-yard outside, the steam from the escape pipe, the litter of barrels and old iron, the shining heaps of coals, the ashes everywhere, were shrouded in a veil of mist and rain. + 

The work went on, until the noon-bell rang. More clattering upon the pavements. The looms, and wheels, and hands all out of gear for an hour. + 

Stephen came out of the hot mill into the damp wind and cold wet streets, haggard and worn. He turned from his own class and his own quarter, taking nothing but a little bread as he walked along, towards the hill on which his principal employer lived, in a red house with black outside shutters, green inside blinds, a black street door, up two white steps, Bounderby (in letters very like himself) upon a brazen plate, and a round brazen door-handle underneath it, like a brazen full-stop. + 

Mr.┬аBounderby was at his lunch. So Stephen had expected. Would his servant say that one of the hands begged leave to speak to him? Message in return, requiring name of such hand. Stephen Blackpool. There was nothing troublesome against Stephen Blackpool; yes, he might come in. + 

Stephen Blackpool in the parlour. Mr.┬аBounderby (whom he just knew by sight), at lunch on chop and sherry. Mrs.┬аSparsit netting at the fireside, in a sidesaddle attitude, with one foot in a cotton stirrup. It was a part, at once of Mrs.┬аSparsitтАЩs dignity and service, not to lunch. She supervised the meal officially, but implied that in her own stately person she considered lunch a weakness. + 

тАЬNow, Stephen,тАЭ said Mr.┬аBounderby, тАЬwhatтАЩs the matter with you?тАЭ + 

Stephen made a bow. Not a servile oneтБатАФthese hands will never do that! Lord bless you, sir, youтАЩll never catch them at that, if they have been with you twenty years!тБатАФand, as a complimentary toilet for Mrs.┬аSparsit, tucked his neckerchief ends into his waistcoat. + 

тАЬNow, you know,тАЭ said Mr.┬аBounderby, taking some sherry, тАЬwe have never had any difficulty with you, and you have never been one of the unreasonable ones. You donтАЩt expect to be set up in a coach and six, and to be fed on turtle soup and venison, with a gold spoon, as a good many of тАЩem do!тАЭ Mr.┬аBounderby always represented this to be the sole, immediate, and direct object of any hand who was not entirely satisfied; тАЬand therefore I know already that you have not come here to make a complaint. Now, you know, I am certain of that, beforehand.тАЭ + 

тАЬNo, sir, sure I haтАЩ not coom for nowt oтАЩ thтАЩ kind.тАЭ + 

Mr.┬аBounderby seemed agreeably surprised, notwithstanding his previous strong conviction. тАЬVery well,тАЭ he returned. тАЬYouтАЩre a steady hand, and I was not mistaken. Now, let me hear what itтАЩs all about. As itтАЩs not that, let me hear what it is. What have you got to say? Out with it, lad!тАЭ + 

Stephen happened to glance towards Mrs.┬аSparsit. тАЬI can go, Mr.┬аBounderby, if you wish it,тАЭ said that self-sacrificing lady, making a feint of taking her foot out of the stirrup. + 

Mr.┬аBounderby stayed her, by holding a mouthful of chop in suspension before swallowing it, and putting out his left hand. Then, withdrawing his hand and swallowing his mouthful of chop, he said to Stephen: + 

тАЬNow you know, this good lady is a born lady, a high lady. You are not to suppose because she keeps my house for me, that she hasnтАЩt been very high up the treeтБатАФah, up at the top of the tree! Now, if you have got anything to say that canтАЩt be said before a born lady, this lady will leave the room. If what you have got to say can be said before a born lady, this lady will stay where she is.тАЭ + 

тАЬSir, I hope I never had nowt to say, not fitten for a born lady to year, sinтАЩ I were born mysenтАЩ,тАЭ was the reply, accompanied with a slight flush. + 

тАЬVery well,тАЭ said Mr.┬аBounderby, pushing away his plate, and leaning back. тАЬFire away!тАЭ + 

тАЬI haтАЩ coom,тАЭ Stephen began, raising his eyes from the floor, after a momentтАЩs consideration, тАЬto ask yo yor advice. I need тАЩt overmuch. I were married on EasтАЩr Monday nineteen year sin, long and dree. She were a young lassтБатАФpretty enowтБатАФwiтАЩ good accounts of herseln. Well! She went badтБатАФsoon. Not along of me. Gonnows I were not a unkind husband to her.тАЭ + 

тАЬI have heard all this before,тАЭ said Mr.┬аBounderby. тАЬShe took to drinking, left off working, sold the furniture, pawned the clothes, and played old Gooseberry.тАЭ + 

тАЬI were patient wiтАЩ her.тАЭ + 

(тАЬThe more fool you, I think,тАЭ said Mr.┬аBounderby, in confidence to his wineglass.) + 

тАЬI were very patient wiтАЩ her. I tried to wean her fra тАЩt ower and ower agen. I tried this, I tried that, I tried tтАЩother. I haтАЩ gone home, manyтАЩs the time, and found all vanished as I had in the world, and her without a sense left to bless herseln lying on bare ground. I haтАЩ dun тАЩt not once, not twiceтБатАФtwenty time!тАЭ + 

Every line in his face deepened as he said it, and put in its affecting evidence of the suffering he had undergone. + 

тАЬFrom bad to worse, from worse to worsen. She left me. She disgraced herseln everyways, bitter and bad. She coom back, she coom back, she coom back. What could I do tтАЩ hinder her? I haтАЩ walked the streets nights long, ere ever IтАЩd go home. I haтАЩ gone tтАЩ thтАЩ brigg, minded to fling myseln ower, and haтАЩ no more onтАЩt. I haтАЩ bore that much, that I were owd when I were young.тАЭ + 

Mrs.┬аSparsit, easily ambling along with her netting-needles, raised the Coriolanian eyebrows and shook her head, as much as to say, тАЬThe great know trouble as well as the small. Please to turn your humble eye in my direction.тАЭ + 

тАЬI haтАЩ paid her to keep awaтАЩ fraтАЩ me. These five year I haтАЩ paid her. I haтАЩ gotten decent fewtrils about me agen. I haтАЩ lived hard and sad, but not ashamed and fearfoтАЩ aтАЩ the minnits oтАЩ my life. Last night, I went home. There she lay upon my har-stone! There she is!тАЭ + 

In the strength of his misfortune, and the energy of his distress, he fired for the moment like a proud man. In another moment, he stood as he had stood all the timeтБатАФhis usual stoop upon him; his pondering face addressed to Mr.┬аBounderby, with a curious expression on it, half shrewd, half perplexed, as if his mind were set upon unravelling something very difficult; his hat held tight in his left hand, which rested on his hip; his right arm, with a rugged propriety and force of action, very earnestly emphasizing what he said: not least so when it always paused, a little bent, but not withdrawn, as he paused. + 

тАЬI was acquainted with all this, you know,тАЭ said Mr.┬аBounderby, тАЬexcept the last clause, long ago. ItтАЩs a bad job; thatтАЩs what it is. You had better have been satisfied as you were, and not have got married. However, itтАЩs too late to say that.тАЭ + 

тАЬWas it an unequal marriage, sir, in point of years?тАЭ asked Mrs.┬аSparsit. + 

тАЬYou hear what this lady asks. Was it an unequal marriage in point of years, this unlucky job of yours?тАЭ said Mr.┬аBounderby. + 

тАЬNot eтАЩen so. I were one-and-twenty myseln; she were twenty nighbut.тАЭ + 

тАЬIndeed, sir?тАЭ said Mrs.┬аSparsit to her chief, with great placidity. тАЬI inferred, from its being so miserable a marriage, that it was probably an unequal one in point of years.тАЭ + 

Mr.┬аBounderby looked very hard at the good lady in a sidelong way that had an odd sheepishness about it. He fortified himself with a little more sherry. + 

тАЬWell? Why donтАЩt you go on?тАЭ he then asked, turning rather irritably on Stephen Blackpool. + 

тАЬI haтАЩ coom to ask yo, sir, how I am to be ridded oтАЩ this woman.тАЭ Stephen infused a yet deeper gravity into the mixed expression of his attentive face. Mrs.┬аSparsit uttered a gentle ejaculation, as having received a moral shock. + 

тАЬWhat do you mean?тАЭ said Bounderby, getting up to lean his back against the chimneypiece. тАЬWhat are you talking about? You took her for better for worse.тАЭ + 

тАЬI munтАЩ be ridden oтАЩ her. I cannot bear тАЩt nommore. I haтАЩ lived under тАЩt so long, for that I haтАЩ hadтАЩn the pity and comforting words oтАЩ thтАЩ best lass living or dead. Haply, but for her, I should haтАЩ gone battering mad.тАЭ + 

тАЬHe wishes to be free, to marry the female of whom he speaks, I fear, sir,тАЭ observed Mrs.┬аSparsit in an undertone, and much dejected by the immorality of the people. + 

тАЬI do. The lady says whatтАЩs right. I do. I were a coming to тАЩt. I haтАЩ read iтАЩ thтАЩ papers that great folk (fair faw тАЩem aтАЩ! I wishes тАЩem no hurt!) are not bonded together for better for worst so fast, but that they can be set free froтАЩ their misfortnet marriages, anтАЩ marry ower agen. When they dunnot agree, for that their tempers is ill-sorted, they has rooms oтАЩ one kind anтАЩ another in their houses, above a bit, and they can live asunders. We fok haтАЩ only one room, and we canтАЩt. When that wonтАЩt do, they haтАЩ gowd anтАЩ other cash, anтАЩ they can say тАШThis for yoтАЩ anтАЩ that for me,тАЩ anтАЩ they can go their separate ways. We canтАЩt. Spite oтАЩ all that, they can be set free for smaller wrongs than mine. So, I mun be ridden oтАЩ this woman, and I want tтАЩ know how?тАЭ + 

тАЬNo how,тАЭ returned Mr.┬аBounderby. + 

тАЬIf I do her any hurt, sir, thereтАЩs a law to punish me?тАЭ + 

тАЬOf course there is.тАЭ + 

тАЬIf I flee from her, thereтАЩs a law to punish me?тАЭ + 

тАЬOf course there is.тАЭ + 

тАЬIf I marry tтАЩoother dear lass, thereтАЩs a law to punish me?тАЭ + 

тАЬOf course there is.тАЭ + 

тАЬIf I was to live wiтАЩ her anтАЩ not marry herтБатАФsaying such a thing could be, which it never could or would, anтАЩ her so goodтБатАФthereтАЩs a law to punish me, in every innocent child belonging to me?тАЭ + 

тАЬOf course there is.тАЭ + 

тАЬNow, aтАЩ GodтАЩs name,тАЭ said Stephen Blackpool, тАЬshow me the law to help me!тАЭ + 

тАЬHem! ThereтАЩs a sanctity in this relation of life,тАЭ said Mr.┬аBounderby, тАЬandтБатАФandтБатАФit must be kept up.тАЭ + 

тАЬNo no, dunnot say that, sir. тАЩTanтАЩt kepтАЩ up that way. Not that way. тАЩTis kepтАЩ down that way. IтАЩm a weaver, I were in a factтАЩry when a chilt, but I haтАЩ gotten een to see wiтАЩ and eern to year wiтАЩ. I read in thтАЩ papers every тАЩSizes, every SessionsтБатАФand you read tooтБатАФI know it!тБатАФwith dismayтБатАФhow thтАЩ supposed unpossibility oтАЩ ever getting unchained from one another, at any price, on any terms, brings blood upon this land, and brings many common married fok to battle, murder, and sudden death. Let us haтАЩ this, right understood. MineтАЩs a grievous case, anтАЩ I wantтБатАФif yo will be so goodтБатАФtтАЩ know the law that helps me.тАЭ + 

тАЬNow, I tell you what!тАЭ said Mr.┬аBounderby, putting his hands in his pockets. тАЬThere is such a law.тАЭ + 

Stephen, subsiding into his quiet manner, and never wandering in his attention, gave a nod. + 

тАЬBut itтАЩs not for you at all. It costs money. It costs a mint of money.тАЭ + 

тАЬHow much might that be?тАЭ Stephen calmly asked. + 

тАЬWhy, youтАЩd have to go to DoctorsтАЩ Commons with a suit, and youтАЩd have to go to a court of Common Law with a suit, and youтАЩd have to go to the House of Lords with a suit, and youтАЩd have to get an Act of Parliament to enable you to marry again, and it would cost you (if it was a case of very plain sailing), I suppose from a thousand to fifteen hundred pound,тАЭ said Mr.┬аBounderby. тАЬPerhaps twice the money.тАЭ + 

тАЬThereтАЩs no other law?тАЭ + 

тАЬCertainly not.тАЭ + 

тАЬWhy then, sir,тАЭ said Stephen, turning white, and motioning with that right hand of his, as if he gave everything to the four winds, тАЬтАКтАЩtis a muddle. тАЩTis just a muddle aтАЩtoogether, anтАЩ the sooner I am dead, the better.тАЭ + 

(Mrs.┬аSparsit again dejected by the impiety of the people.) + 

тАЬPooh, pooh! DonтАЩt you talk nonsense, my good fellow,тАЭ said Mr.┬аBounderby, тАЬabout things you donтАЩt understand; and donтАЩt you call the institutions of your country a muddle, or youтАЩll get yourself into a real muddle one of these fine mornings. The institutions of your country are not your piecework, and the only thing you have got to do, is, to mind your piecework. You didnтАЩt take your wife for fast and for loose; but for better for worse. If she has turned out worseтБатАФwhy, all we have got to say is, she might have turned out better.тАЭ + 

тАЬтАКтАЩTis a muddle,тАЭ said Stephen, shaking his head as he moved to the door. тАЬтАКтАЩTis aтАЩ a muddle!тАЭ + 

тАЬNow, IтАЩll tell you what!тАЭ Mr.┬аBounderby resumed, as a valedictory address. тАЬWith what I shall call your unhallowed opinions, you have been quite shocking this lady: who, as I have already told you, is a born lady, and who, as I have not already told you, has had her own marriage misfortunes to the tune of tens of thousands of poundsтБатАФtens of thousands of pounds!тАЭ (he repeated it with great relish). тАЬNow, you have always been a steady hand hitherto; but my opinion is, and so I tell you plainly, that you are turning into the wrong road. You have been listening to some mischievous stranger or otherтБатАФtheyтАЩre always aboutтБатАФand the best thing you can do is, to come out of that. Now you know;тАЭ here his countenance expressed marvellous acuteness; тАЬI can see as far into a grindstone as another man; farther than a good many, perhaps, because I had my nose well kept to it when I was young. I see traces of the turtle soup, and venison, and gold spoon in this. Yes, I do!тАЭ cried Mr.┬аBounderby, shaking his head with obstinate cunning. тАЬBy the Lord Harry, I do!тАЭ + 

With a very different shake of the head and deep sigh, Stephen said, тАЬThank you, sir, I wish you good day.тАЭ So he left Mr.┬аBounderby swelling at his own portrait on the wall, as if he were going to explode himself into it; and Mrs.┬аSparsit still ambling on with her foot in her stirrup, looking quite cast down by the popular vices. + 