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The Scapegoat-Part34_Hall Caine(1853-1931)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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Still the old eagerness betrayed itself in Israel's weary manner

as often as the door opened and fresh prisoners arrived.



Once it happened that before he uttered his usual question he saw

that the newcomers were from Tetuan, and then his restlessness



was feverish. "When--were you--have you been of late--" he stammered,

and seemed unable to go farther.



But the Tetawanis knew and understood him. "No," said one in answer

to the unspoken question; "Nor I," said another; "Nor I," said a third,



"Nor I neither," said a fourth, as Israel's rapid eyes passed

down the line of them.



He turned away without a word more, sat down by the pillar

and looked vacantly before him while the new prisoners told their story.



Ben Aboo was a villain. The people of Tetuan had found him out.

His wife was a harlot whose heart was a deep pit. Between them



they were demoralising the entire bashalic. The town was worse than Sodom.

Hardly a child in the streets was safe, and no woman, whether wife



or daughter, whom God had made comely, dare show herself on the roofs.

Their own women had been carried off to the palace at the Kasbah.



That was why they themselves were there in prison.

This was about a month after the coming of Israel to Shawan.



Then his reason began to unsettle. It was pitiful to see

that he was conscious of the change that was befalling him.



He wrestled with madness with all the strength of a strong man.

If it should fall upon him, where then would be his hope and outlook?



His day would be done, his night would be closed in, he would be

no more than a helpless log, rolling in an ice-bound sea,



and when the thaw came--if it ever came--he would be only a broken,

rudderless, sailless wreck. Sometimes he would swear at nothing



and fling out his arms wildly, and then with a look of shame

hang down his head and mutter, "No, no, Israel; no, no, no!"



Other prisoners arrived from Tetuan, and all told the same story.

Israel listened to them with a stupid look, seeming hardly to hear



the tale they told him. But one morning, as life began again

for the day in that slimy eddy of life's ocean, every one became aware



that an awful change had come to pass. Israel's face had been worn

and tired before, but now it looked very old and faded.



His black hair had been sprinkled with grey, and now it was white;

and white also was his dark beard, which had grown long and ragged.



But his eye glistened, and his teeth were aglitter in his open mouth.

He was laughing at everything, yet not wildly, not recklessly,



not without meaning or intention, but with the cheer of a happy

and contented man.



Israel was mad, and his madness was a moving thing to look upon.

He thought he was back at home and a rich man still, as he had been



in earlier days, but a generous man also, as he was in later ones.

With liberal hand he was dispensing his charities.



"Take what you need; eat, drink, do not stint; there is more

where this has come from; it is not mine; God has lent it me



for the good of all."

With such words, graciouslyspoken, he served out the provisions



according to his habit, and only departed from his daily custom

in piling the measures higher, and in saluting the people by titles--Sid,



Sidi, Mulai, and the like--in degree as their clothes were poor

and ragged. It was a mad heart that spoke so, but also



it was a big one.

From that time forward he looked upon the prisoners as his guests,



and when fresh prisoners came to the prison he always welcomed them

as if he were host there and they were friends who visited him.



"Welcome!" he would say; "you are very welcome. The place is your own.

Take all. What you don't see, believe we have not got it.



A thousand thousand welcomes home!" It was grim and painful irony.

Israel's comrades began to lose sense of their own suffering



in observing the depth of his, and they laid their heads together

to discover the cause of his madness. The most part of them concluded



that he was repining for the loss of his former state.

And when one day another prisoner came from Tetuan with further tales



of the Basha's tyranny, and of the people's shame at thought

of how they had dealt by Israel, the prisoners led the man back



to where Israel was standing in the accustomed act of dispensing bounty,

that he might tell his story into the rightful ears.



"They're always crying for you," said the Tetawani; "'Israel ben Oliel!

Israel ben Oliel!' that's what you hear in the mosques



and the streets everywhere.' Shame on us for casting him out,

shame on us! He was our father!' Jews and Muslimeen, they're all



saying so."

It was useless. The glad tidings could not find their way.



That black page of Israel's life which told of the people's ingratitude




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