night and day。 And all around was the country； green with two
winding streams； ragged with gorse； and heath； the darker woods
in the distance。
The whole place was just unreal； just unreal。 Even now； when
he had been there for two years； Tom Brangwen did not believe in
the actuality of the place。 It was like some gruesome dream；
some ugly； dead； amorphous mood bee concrete。
Ursula and Winifred were met by the motor…car at the raw
little station； and drove through what seemed to them like the
horrible raw beginnings of something。 The place was a moment of
chaos perpetuated； persisting； chaos fixed and rigid。 Ursula was
fascinated by the many men who were there……groups of men
standing in the streets； four or five men walking in a gang
together； their dogs running behind or before。 They were all
decently dressed； and most of them rather gaunt。 The terrible
gaunt repose of their bearing fascinated her。 Like creatures
with no more hope； but which still live and have passionate
being； within some utterly unliving shell； they passed
meaninglessly along； with strange； isolated dignity。 It was as
if a hard； horny shell enclosed them all。
Shocked and startled； Ursula was carried to her Uncle Tom's
house。 He was not yet at home。 His house was simply； but well
furnished。 He had taken out a dividing wall； and made the whole
front of the house into a large library； with one end devoted to
his science。 It was a handsome room； appointed as a laboratory
and reading room； but giving the same sense of hard； mechanical
activity； activity mechanical yet inchoate； and looking out on
the hideous abstraction of the town； and at the green meadows
and rough country beyond； and at the great； mathematical
colliery on the other side。
They saw Tom Brangwen walking up the curved drive。 He was
getting stouter； but with his bowler hat worn well set down on
his brows； he looked manly； handsome； curiously like any other
man of action。 His colour was as fresh； his health as perfect as
ever； he walked like a man rather absorbed。
Winifred Inger was startled when he entered the library； his
coat fastened and correct； his head bald to the crown； but not
shiny； rather like something naked that one is accustomed to see
covered； and his dark eyes liquid and formless。 He seemed to
stand in the shadow； like a thing ashamed。 And the clasp of his
hand was so soft and yet so forceful； that it chilled the heart。
She was afraid of him； repelled by him； and yet attracted。
He looked at the athletic； seemingly fearless girl； and he
detected in her a kinship with his own dark corruption。
Immediately； he knew they were akin。
His manner was polite； almost foreign； and rather cold。 He
still laughed in his curious； animal fashion； suddenly wrinkling
up his wide nose； and showing his sharp teeth。 The fine beauty
of his skin and his plexion； some almost waxen quality； hid
the strange； repellent grossness of him； the slight sense of
putrescence； the monness which revealed itself in his rather
fat thighs and loins。
Winifred saw at once the deferential； slightly servile；
slightly cunning regard he had for Ursula； which made the girl
at once so proud and so perplexed。
〃But is this place as awful as it looks？〃 the young girl
asked； a strain in her eyes。
〃It is just what it looks；〃 he said。 〃It hides nothing。〃
〃Why are the men so sad？〃
〃Are they sad？〃 he replied。
〃They seem unutterably； unutterably sad；〃 said Ursula； out of
a passionate throat。
〃I don't think they are that。 They just take it for
granted。〃
〃What do they take for granted？〃
〃This……the pits and the place altogether。〃
〃Why don't they alter it？〃 she passionately protested。
〃They believe they must alter themselves to fit the pits and
the place； rather than alter the pits and the place to fit
themselves。 It is easier；〃 he said。
〃And you agree with them；〃 burst out his niece； unable to
bear it。 〃You think like they do……that living human beings
must be taken and adapted to all kinds of horrors。 We could
easily do without the pits。〃
He smiled； unfortably； cynically。 Ursula felt again the
revolt of hatred from him。
〃I suppose their lives are not really so bad；〃 said Winifred
Inger； superior to the Zolaesque tragedy。
He turned with his polite； distant attention。
〃Yes； they are pretty bad。 The pits are very deep； and hot；
and in some places wet。 The men die of consumption fairly often。
But they earn good wages。〃
〃How gruesome！〃 said Winifred Inger。
〃Yes；〃 he replied gravely。 It was his grave； solid；
self…contained manner which made him so much respected as a
colliery manager。
The servant came in to ask where they would have tea。
〃Put it in the summer…house； Mrs。 Smith；〃 he said。
The fair…haired； good…looking young woman went out。
〃Is she married and in service？〃 asked Ursula。
〃She is a widow。 Her husband died of consumption a little
while ago。〃 Brangwen gave a sinister little laugh。 〃He lay there
in the house…place at her mother's； and five or six other people
in the house； and died very gradually。 I asked her if his death
wasn't a great trouble to her。 'Well；' she said； 'he was very
fretful towards the last； never satisfied； never easy； always
fret…fretting； an' never knowing what would satisfy him。 So in
one way it was a relief when it was over……for him and for
everybody。' They had only been married two years； and she has
one boy。 I asked her if she hadn't been very happy。 'Oh； yes；
sir； we was very fortable at first； till he took
bad……oh； we was very fortable……oh； yes……but；
you see； you get used to it。 I've had my father and two brothers
go off just the same。 You get used to it'。〃
〃It's a horrible thing to get used to；〃 said Winifred Inger；
with a shudder。
〃Yes；〃 he said； still smiling。 〃But that's how they are。
She'll be getting married again directly。 One man or
another……it does not matter very much。 They're all
colliers。〃
〃What do you mean？〃 asked Ursula。 〃They're all colliers？〃
〃It is with the women as with us；〃 he replied。 〃Her husband
was John Smith； loader。 We reckoned him as a loader； he reckoned
himself as a loader； and so she knew he represented his job。
Marriage and home is a little side…show。
〃The women know it right enough； and take it for what it's
worth。 One man or another； it doesn't matter all the world。 The
pit matters。 Round the pit there will always be the sideshows；
plenty of 'em。〃
He looked round at the red chaos； the rigid； amorphous
confusion of Wiggiston。
〃Every man his own little side…show； his home； but the pit
owns every man。 The women have what is left。 What's left of this
man； or what is left of that……it doesn't matter altogether。
The pit takes all that really matters。〃
〃It is the same everywhere；〃 burst out Winifred。 〃It is the
office； or the shop； or the business that gets the man； the
woman gets the bit the shop can't digest。 What is he at home； a
man？ He is a meaningless lump……a standing machine； a
machine out of work。〃
〃They know they are sold；〃 said Tom Brangwen。 〃That's where
it is。 They know they are sold to their job。 If a woman talks
her throat out； what difference can it make？ The man's sold to
his job。 So the women don't bother。 They take what they can
catch……and vogue la galere。〃
〃Aren't they very strict here？〃 asked Miss Inger。
〃Oh； no。 Mrs。 Smith has two sisters who have just changed
husbands。 They're not very particular……neither are they
very interested。 They go dragging along what is left from the
pits。 They're not interested enough to be very immoral……it
all amounts to the same thing； moral or immoral……just a
question of pit…wages。 The most moral duke in England makes two
hundred thousand a year out of these pits。 He keeps the morality
end up。〃
Ursula sat black…souled and very bitter； hearing the two of
them talk。 There seemed something ghoulish even in their very
deploring of the state of things。 They seemed to take a ghoulish
satisfaction in it。 The pit was the great mistress。 Ursula
looked out of the window and saw the proud； demonlike colliery
with her wheels twinkling in the heavens； the formless； squalid
mass of the town lying aside。 It was the squalid heap of
side…shows。 The pit was the main show； the raison d'etre
of all。
How terrible it was！ There was a horrible fascination
in it……human bodies and lives subjected in slavery to that
symmetric monster of the colliery。 There was a swooning；
perverse satisfaction in it。 For a moment she was dizzy。
Then she recovered； felt herself in a great loneliness；
where…in she was sad but free。 She had departed。 No more would
she subscribe to the great colliery； to the great machine which
has taken us all captives。 In her soul； she was against it； she
disowned even its power。 It had only to be forsaken to be inane；
meaningless。 And she knew it was meaningless。 But it needed a
great； passionate effort of will on her part； seeing the
colliery； still to maintain her knowledge that it was
meaningless。
But her Uncle Tom and her mistress remained there among the
horde； cynically reviling the monstrous state and yet adhering
to it； like a man who reviles his mistress； yet who is in love
with her。 She knew her Uncle Tom perceived what was going on。
But she knew moreover that in spite of his criticism and
condemnation； he still wanted the great machine。 His only happy
moments； his only moments of pure freedom were when he was
serving the machine。 Then； and then only； when the machine
caught him up； was he free from the hatred of himself； could he
act wholely； without cynicism and unreality。
His real mistress was the machine； and the real mistress of
Winifred was the machine。 She too； Winifred； worshipped the
impure abstraction； the mechanisms of matter。 There； there； in
the machine； in service of the machine； was she free from the
clog and degradation of human feeling。 There； in the monstrous
mechanism that held all matter； living or dead； in its service；
did she achieve her consummation and her perfect unison； her
immortality。
Hatred sprang up in Ursula's heart。 If she could she would
smash the machine。 Her soul's action should be the smashing of
the great machine。 If she could destroy the colli