Naguib Mahfouz - Before the Throne

“You are an ardently patriotic lad,” proclaimed Abnum, “you were lucky enough to live your life in the fragrant atmosphere of the throne, the caliphate, and French civilization, without smelling the odor of sweaty labor, nor suffering the pains of true struggle. Nor do you refrain from defaming a true revolutionary.”

“He is a son that awoke nationalist zeal and enthusiasm,” said Isis, “when the occupation had nearly snuffed them out.”

Osiris then faced him.

“It was not in your power to do more than you did, and we shall not forget the favor in your words,” he assured Mustafa Kamil. “Go to your final trial with our heartfelt regards.”

HORUS HERALDED, “Muhammad Farid!”

A medium-built man with a plump face walked in, wearing nothing on his head or his feet, until he stood before the throne.

“Coming from an ancient, aristocratic family,” said Muhammad Farid, “I shared Mustafa Kamil’s nationalist stance from the start. For this reason, I resigned from the government to devote myself to the patriotic cause above all else. My bond with Mustafa Kamil grew so strong that he named me as his successor to lead our party. I followed his ideology, his way of speaking to crowds and of writing, until I was arrested and tossed into prison. There they tried to persuade me to soften my position in exchange for a pardon, but I rejected any deal. After I got out, I was even more stubborn and refractory than before.

“I traveled throughout the country, making the case for nationalism, and they conspired to send me to prison with the leaders of the party. I decided to emigrate in order to carry on agitating from abroad. We crafted our escape at the right time and successfully got away. And as much as we were able to accomplish some things outside the country, the party was also subject to weakness and fragmentation within. We bore the bitterness of longing for Egypt and our families, and many people spurned us. Then the 1919 Revolution broke out back home, a totally unexpected revolt, one that never had occurred to my mind. It happened while I was forgotten in exile, while others sat on the leader’s chair instead of me.

“We proclaimed our satisfaction with the movement’s bosses without believing that most of them were sincere, congratulating the masses for their courage. We cheered the memory of their martyrs and urged them to hold steadfast until the end. My life ended while I was yet banned from returning to Egypt.”

“A satisfactory leadership indeed, given what it faced in suppression,” said Psamtek III.

“You could well have savored a voluptuous life,” said the Sage Ptahhotep, “and high rank common to men of your wealthy class. But you left all that entirely and chose struggle and agony for the sake of Egypt. You are a great man indeed …”

“Tell me how a leader abandons his country in a time of disaster, to fight for it in a foreign land?” demanded Abnum.

“They planned to put us in prison,” said Muhammad Farid.

“But the leader of the just cause knows that he is made for imprisonment or death,” insisted Abnum, “not for waging his jihad abroad.”

“Jihad outside the homeland had been a part of our nationalist strategy since the days of Mustafa Kamil.”

“That was accepted as an auxiliary element to help complete the original mission inside the country,” Abnum corrected him. “But for you and the rest of the leadership to leave your party with no actual leaders in your absence was anything but brave or wise behavior. The fact is, you were notables that I would have put to death in my own revolution without any mercy. You loved being patriotic leaders as well as the respect and position that this had brought you. Yet you couldn’t deal with real struggle — and the detention, torture, or death that comes along with it. Instead, you ditched your duty when things got rough, in order to conduct a nice, safe holy war abroad. Doing so, you became responsible for the weakness and division that afflicted the nationalist movement.

“And so I was staggered by your surprise that a revolution had flared up among the people, though at the same time amazed at your lofty feelings of victimhood when they chose a leader other than you. You seem to have viewed the leadership as an inherited birthright that passes within your class like money and land — even after you’ve fled the field of battle.”

“You’re repeating what our enemies used to say!” exclaimed Muhammad Farid.

“I do not deny your patriotism,” admitted Abnum. “But your love of Egypt was entwined with your deep-set contempt for the Egyptians. The feeling of loyalty to a nominal identity never left you, while inevitably your life turned to tragedy, because the leader of the people had to be of the people — one marked by human greatness, not aristocratic grandeur.”

“As for me,” spoke up Isis, “I see him as one of the best of my sons, in character, sincerity, and national feeling. Nothing more could be asked of him, considering the circumstances of his birth and upbringing.”

“From us, you have a certificate backed by esteem and affection,” Osiris promised Muhammad Farid. “Go to your final trial with our sincerest good wishes for a fortuitous verdict.”

HORUS HAILED, “Saad Zaghloul!”

A towering, strongly favored, strikingly compelling, and awe-inspiring man entered the room. He kept on walking until he stood before the throne.

Osiris invited him to speak.

“I was born in Ibyana,” he began, “and studied at al-Azhar as a pupil of Jamal al-Din al-Afghani. I worked as an editor at al-Waqai al-misriya , under the direction and tutelage of Muhammad Abduh. I joined the Urabists during their uprising, and at the start of the British occupation, I was jailed for belonging to the Vengeance Association. Leaving my job, I practiced law then became a judge. Later I was chosen as education minister, and after that, minister of justice.

“At the end of the First World War, with the declaration of the Armistice, I became the leader of the nationalist movement. I carried this out on the strength of the indivisible patriotic unity between Muslims and Christians, proclaiming Egypt’s right to liberty and independence. The British authorities arrested me, and exiled me to the island of Malta. No sooner was this news broadcast than the people revolted in protest at my deportation, demanding an end to foreign rule. As a result, England was forced to set me free.

“I then traveled with the Wafd’s delegation to Paris to present our case to the peace conference there, but its doors were shut in our faces. We entered into negotiations with Britain, but nothing came of them. Then the Wafd split internally, and I returned to Egypt. Afterward I was exiled a second time, this time to the Seychelles Islands in the Indian Ocean. They did not release me until 1923.

“Following that, I served as prime minister after winning the popular elections in 1924. I went right into negotiations with Britain again, which promptly failed. Then, after the assassination of one of the English commanders, I was forced to step down.

“The political parties arrayed themselves in harmony against the king’s dictatorship, and I became speaker of the People’s Assembly, leaving the premiership to the Liberal Constitutionalists. Talks with the British began once again — but I departed the world before knowing their outcome.”

“I undertook the first popular revolution,” boasted Abnum, “at the end of the Old Kingdom, and, after thousands of years, you started the second one. You are my brother and my dear friend.”

“There is a difference between the two revolutions that we must keep in mind,” cautioned Khufu. “Abnum’s revolt was by the common folk against the cream of society, while Saad Zaghloul’s revolution pitted all of Egypt’s people, rich and poor alike, against the alien occupation.”