Naguib Mahfouz - Before the Throne

“I labored to encourage civil servants to strike off the hands of corrupt officials,” swore Anwar Sadat.

“No nation can exist without discipline and morals,” proclaimed Horemheb.

Then Gamal Abdel-Nasser asked Sadat, “How could it have been so easy for you to distort my memory so treacherously?”

“I was forced to take the position that I did, for the essence of my policy was to correct the mistakes I inherited from your rule,” rebutted Sadat.

“Yet didn’t I delegate power to you in order to satisfy you, encourage you, and treat you as a friend?”

“How tyrannical to judge a human being for a stand taken in a time of black terror, when fathers fear their sons and brothers fear each other!” shot back Sadat.

“And what was the victory that you won but the fruit of my long preparations for it!” bellowed Abdel-Nasser.

“A defeated man like you did not score such a triumph,” retorted Sadat. “Rather, I returned to the people their freedom and their dignity, then led them to an undeniable victory.”

“And you gave away everything for the sake of an ignominious peace,” bristled Abdel-Nasser, “dealing Arab unity a fatal thrust, condemning Egypt to exclusion and isolation.”

“From you I inherited a nation tottering on the abyss of annihilation,” countered Sadat. “The Arabs would neither offer a friendly hand in aid, nor did they wish us to die, nor to be strong. Rather, they wanted us to remain on our knees at their mercy. And so I did not hesitate to take my decision.”

“You exchanged a giant that had always stood by us for one who had always opposed us!” Abdel-Nasser upbraided him.

“I went to the giant who held the solution in his hand,” pointed out Sadat. “Since then, events have confirmed that my thoughts were correct.”

“Then you rushed into the Infitah until the country was drowning in a wave of inflation and corruption,” Abdel-Nasser asserted, pressing his indictment. To the degree it was possible, in my time the poor were secure, while in yours, only the rich and the thieves were safe.”

“I worked for the well-being of Egypt, while the opportunists pounced behind my back,” lamented Sadat.

“You tried to murder me, and, if not for Divine Providence, you would have succeeded,” said Mustafa al-Nahhas. “Yet you lost your own life as the result of assassination. Do you still believe in that method?”

“We need to live twice to acquire true wisdom,” pleaded Sadat.

“I have heard of your call for democracy, and I was astonished,” al-Nahhas continued. “Then it became clear to me that you wanted democratic rule in which the leader has dictatorial authority.”

“I wanted a democracy that would return the village to its traditional manners, and bring back respect for the father,” said Sadat.

“This is tribal democracy,” al-Nahhas replied.

“That is true,” said Saad Zaghloul. “Yet, though true democracy is taken, not given, there is no call to blame him unreasonably.”

“The travails of the people grew worse and worse,” resumed Mustafa al-Nahhas. “What happened is what usually transpires in such conditions, when one avoids dealing with strife and extremism. You let things get out of control as if you didn’t care. Then suddenly you exploded and threw everyone in prison, enraging both Muslims and Christians, moderates and extremists alike. Finally things culminated in the tragedy at the reviewing stand.”

“I found that there was no other option but a decisive blow to control the chaos,” Sadat said defiantly, “for it seemed the country was about to erupt into full-blown civil war.”

“When the ruler usurps the rights of his people, he makes an enemy out of them,” adjudged Saad Zaghloul. “When that happens, the political strength of the country is squandered in internal conflict, rather than in doing what should be done.”

Isis then uttered her summation.

“Thanks to this son,” she said, “the spirit returned to the homeland. Egypt regained her complete independence, as it had been before the Persian incursion. He erred as others too have erred, while accomplishing more good than others have done.”

Osiris then turned toward Anwar Sadat.

“I welcome you as one of the Immortals among the sons of Egypt,” he told him. “You shall proceed to your other tribunal with a testimonial bestowing honor from ours.”

OSIRIS DIRECTED HIS GAZE toward the Immortals.

“Thus has the life of Egypt passed before you in all its joys and sorrows,” he intoned, “from the time that Menes brought forth her unity, until she regained her independence at the hand of Sadat. Perhaps, then, some of you have reflections that you would wish to mention now?”

King Akhenaten sought leave to speak.

“I appeal to you to hold to the worship of the One God,” he called out, “for the sake of truth, immortality, and liberation from the idolatry of earthly things.”

“Be zealous for the unity of the land and the people,” admonished Menes, “for disaster only comes when this unity is ruptured.”

“Egypt must believe in labor,” declared Khufu, “for with it I erected the Great Pyramid, and by it all things are built.”

“And she must believe in science,” implored Imhotep, the vizier of King Djoser, “for that is the force behind her immortality.”

“And in wisdom and literature,” seconded the Sage Ptahhotep, “to savor the vitality of life and to imbibe its nectar.”

“And she must believe in the people and in revolution,” preached Abnum, “to propel her destiny toward completion.”

“And believe in might,” said Thutmose III, “that cannot be achieved before she has grappled with her neighbors in battle.”

“And that government be of the people and for the people,” exhorted Saad Zaghloul.

“And that relations between people be based on absolute social justice,” demanded Gamal Abdel-Nasser.

“And that her goal be civilization and peace, as well,” added Anwar Sadat.

“May the Divinity be implored,” Isis sighed hopefully, “to invest the folk of Egypt with the wisdom and the power to remain for all time a lighthouse of right guidance, and of beauty.”

All opened their palms in supplication, absorbed in prayer.

BEFORE THE THRONE IS NOT MERELY a book about olden times. This is a tableau of all Egypt’s history, from the remotest past to practically the present, and the rulers who led her through it — each judged by the Osiris Court, which in the ancient religion decided the fate of the soul after death. Moreover, its author insisted that this work (published as Amam al-’arsh in 1983), was not fiction. When pressed on the matter, Naguib Mahfouz, whose own life (1911–2006) spanned nearly a century, replied simply, “It is history.” 1

But if so, it is history of a peculiar kind. Though based on many years of research and a lifetime of reflection on Egypt’s past, the setting is imaginary and the dialog invented. And far from being conventional historical fiction, or even romance, like his first three published novels (all of which were set in ancient Egypt), this is actually a kind of theatrical conversation between characters, with scant stage directions and the barest of scenery, though we are told that the décor is all of solid gold.

Why did Mahfouz choose this particular allegorical device? And why did he want to render an historical verdict upon so many of Egypt’s rulers? His exposure to classical literature, dating back to his studies of Greek thought published as a young man (obtaining a degree in philosophy from the Egyptian University, now Cairo University, in 1934), and his lifelong self-study of Egyptology may provide the answer.