Eustace and Hilda (108 page)

He drifted towards sleep. He was sitting for an examination, and of course he had not prepared for it; he had written a book instead, but that did not count, they told him, because he didn't know the publisher's name. A great deal, everything, depended on the examination. He sat at a long table covered with a green baize cloth and furnished with ink, pens, even quill pens, and enough blotting-paper to blot a thousand pages. How well he knew this dream; he knew some of the candidates too: there was Antony, his face agonised with thought; Stephen, enigmatic and expressionless, already making notes; Jasper, screwing his face up, disgusted. When Hilda came in they all rose and stood at attention till she motioned them to be seated; but when Lady Nelly appeared on the steps of the daïs, under the portraits of former masters of the College, looking to right and left, the invigilator bowed and conducted her right down the hall and out through the door into the sunshine. ‘She doesn't have to do the examination,' someone said. ‘She is exempt.'

By now everyone was writing busily, but Eustace had not even dared to look at his paper. At last, with a sinking heart, he pulled it towards him. To his astonishment there was only one question, very brief and black, in the middle of the thin white sheet. An essay, I expect, he thought, and his spirits rose a little, for this was general knowledge, and he had a great deal of general knowledge.

‘What do you know about the souls of the righteous?' the paper asked.

So it was not the History School at all, but the School of Theology. What a swindle. At any rate no one could blame him when he failed. But yes, they could, for everyone seemed able to answer the question: they were writing reams. Stephen had reached point No. 10, and put a neat circle round it; Dick Staveley, with his elbows out, and a bandaged hand, was scratching away with a quill pen; even that raffish Captain Alberic, who couldn't know much about the souls of the righteous, had found a good deal to say, and Nancy's golden head drooped over a full first page. They all looked thoughtful but confident.

Only Eustace could not answer the question.

With mounting hysteria he watched the flying pens while his own sheet of foolscap remained untouched. In desperation he began to make squiggles on the paper, spiders' webs that might catch a thought. Some of the candidates had laid their watches beside them. Eustace took out his, but it was a Venetian watch and did not go. If he tried to peep at someone else's watch the invigilator would think he was cribbing. To ease his mind he copied out the question and even that he could not do correctly, for a ‘but' had wedged itself between the words, making nonsense of them. The ‘but' was a thought-proof weight leaning against his mind and the harder he pushed the heavier it grew; then suddenly it seemed to roll aside, and through the bright gap, racing like a wind, came the knowledge of what he meant to say.

‘But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and there shall no torment touch them. In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die: and their departure is taken for misery, and their going from us to be utter destruction: but they are in peace. For though they be punished in the sight of men, yet is their hope full of immortality. And having been a little chastised, they shall be greatly rewarded: for God proved them, and found them worthy for Himself.'

Eustace's pen ran on, for this was his favourite passage in all the Scriptures; he knew it by heart and did not have to wait for the words. As he wrote his mind swelled with happiness to think of the righteous after their trials being greatly rewarded: Antony rewarded, Stephen rewarded, Hilda rewarded, Dick rewarded; everyone at the table, even Captain Alberic, going up to the daïs to receive a golden crown. But no call came for Eustace, because he hadn't answered the question properly: he had only written down a few verses of the Apocrypha which, all told, did not reach to the middle of the page; and in any case a quotation from the Bible could never be the answer to an examination. He searched his mind for something to add, but nothing came; and a voice said, ‘Only five minutes more.'

Now the candidates were sitting back on the bench re-reading their answers, looking critical but satisfied, putting in a word here and there, rustling the sheets. Then he heard behind him a familiar voice.

‘You have not dotted all the I's,' it said inexorably. ‘And you have not crossed all the T's. Hurry up, there's only just time.'

Eustace obeyed.

‘And now you must put your name in the top right-hand corner.... No, not Eustace, they won't be interested in your Christian name. E. Cherrington.' Eustace began to wriggle with irritation, ‘But what's the use, Hilda?' he argued. ‘The answer's all wrong, anyhow.'

‘That's not for you to say,' said Hilda. ‘I happen to know better. I have heard on the highest authority that your answer is right.' Her voice sank to a whisper. ‘God told me.'

Suddenly there was a shout, ‘Eustace has passed! Three cheers for Eustace!' and the ancient rafters rang with acclamations.

They were alone together on the sands, children once more; but Eustace knew that it was the visit he had been denying himself for so long, and he knew also that never in actuality or in memory had the pang of pleasure been as keen as this. For his sense of union with Hilda was absolute; he tasted the pure essence of the experience, and as they began to dig, every association the sands possessed seemed to run up his spade and tingle through his body. Inexhaustible, the confluent streams descended from the pools above; unbreakable, the thick retaining walls received their offering; unruffled, the rock-girt pond gave back the cloudless sky. They did not speak, for they knew each other's thoughts and wishes; they did not hurry, for time had ceased to count; they did not look at each other, for each had an assurance of the other's presence beyond the power of sight to amplify. Indeed, they must not look or speak, it was a law, for fear of losing each other.

How long this went on for Eustace could not tell, but suddenly he forgot, and spoke to Hilda. She did not answer. He looked up, but she was not there; he was alone on the sands.

‘She must have gone home,' he thought, and at once he knew that it was very late and the air was darkening round him. So he set off towards the cliffs, which now seemed extraordinarily high and dangerous, too high to climb, too dangerous to approach. He stopped and called ‘Hilda!'—and this time he thought she answered him in the cry of a sea-mew, and he followed in the direction of the cry. ‘Where are you?' he called, and the answer came back, ‘Here!' But when he looked he only saw a seaweed-coated rock standing in a pool. But he recognised the rock, and knew what he should find there.

The white plumose anemone was stroking the water with its feelers.

The same anemone as before, without a doubt, but there was no shrimp in its mouth. ‘It will die of hunger,' thought Eustace. ‘I must find it something to eat,' and he bent down and scanned the pool. Shrimps were disporting themselves in the shallows; but they slipped out of his cupped hands, and fled away into the dark recesses under the eaves of the rock, where the crabs lurked. Then he knew what he must do. Taking off his shoes and socks, he waded into the water. The water was bitterly cold; but colder still were the lips of the anemone as they closed around his finger. ‘I shall wake up now,' thought Eustace, who had wakened from many dreams.

But the cold crept onwards and he did not wake.

To
OSBERT SITWELL

and

to the dear memory of
K.A.L.

THIS IS A NEW YORK REVIEW BOOK

PUBLISHED BY THE NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS

435 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014

www.nyrb.com

Copyright © 1944, 1946, 1947, 1958 by The Estate of L. P. Hartley

Introduction copyright © 2001 by Anita Brookner

All rights reserved.

Cover image courtesy of FMR/Giovanni Ricci

Cover design by Katy Homans

The Library of Congress has cataloged the earlier printing as follows:

Hartley, L. P. (Leslie Poles), 1895–1972.

  Eustace and Hilda : a trilogy / L.P. Hartley ; introduction by Anita Brookner.

p. cm.

  ISBN 0-940322-80-3 (pbk. : alk. paper)

  1. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 2. Domestic fiction, English. I. Title.

  PR6015.A6723 E9 2001

  823'.912—dc21

2001003218

eISBN 978-1-59017-535-4
v1.0

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