Translated by Roger Allen
The American University in Cairo Press
Cairo New York
English translation copyright © 2005 by
The American University in Cairo Press
113 Sharia Kasr el Aini, Cairo, Egypt
420 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 1001 8
www.aucpress.com
Copyright © 1989 by Bensalem Himmich
First published in Arabic in 1989 as Majnun al-hukm
Protected under the Berne Convention
First paperback edition 2009
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Dar el Kutub No. 16762/08
ISBN 978 161 797 202 7
Dar el Kutub Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Aslan, Ibrahim
The Theocrat / Bensalem Himmich; translated by Roger Allen.—Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 2008
p. cm.
ISBN 977 416 251 X
1. Arabic fiction I. Allen, Roger (Trans.) II. Title
892.73
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 14 13 12 11 10 09
Designed by Andrea El-Aksbar/AUC Press Design Center
Printed in Egypt
Contents
Translator’s Introduction
Prelude to “The Smoke”
Chapter One
On Enticements and Threats from the Ascendants of al-Hakim
Chapter Two
At al-Hakim’s Councils
Chapter Three
Earthquake Caused by Abu Rakwa, Revolutionary in the Name of Allah
Chapter Four
Signs of Refutation and Merciful Rain
Notes
Bibliography
Glossary
Qur’anic References
Translator’s Introduction
begin this translator’s note to The Theocrat, the English translation of Bensalem Himmich’s novel, Majnun al-hukm (1989), with what may be a somewhat unusual admission: my reasons for selecting this particular work for translation are, firstly, that my reading of the original Arabic text suggested to me almost immediately that it would pose unusually difficult challenges for the translator, and secondly (as a consequence of those challenges), that the resulting English version would almost certainly confront its readers with a narrative that illustrates some of the particularities of contemporary Arabic novel writing.
In the context of Western reactions to the award of the Nobel Prize for literature to the Egyptian novelist, Naguib Mahfouz in 1988 and to the published translations of Arabic novels that have followed that event, I have been concerned, in selecting novels for translation, to identify works that tend to distance themselves from the expectations (whether implicit or explicit) of Western readers regarding the nature, techniques, and purposes of fiction. In other words, I have hoped to find examples of Arabic novels that, through the process of transfer, of “translation,” across the cultural divide between Arabic-speaking and English-speaking countries, will manage to convey to readers of English aspects of the more intrinsically Arab and Arabic contributions to contemporary Arabic fiction rather than those which, in one way or another, can be seen as replications of the Western tradition of fiction, albeit transplanted to a different (and even, exotic) cultural environment. This perception does not, needless to say, reflect an either/nr situation After all, the novel has been and remains a world-wide phenomenon of breath-taking variety. However, as students who investigate the pleasing varieties of this maximally adaptive genre search for elements of innovation and change in other world cultural traditions as well as their own, it is to be hoped that the enormous variety of the contemporary Arabic novelistic tradition may also become a participant in and a focus of such investigations.
In making the above statement about confrontation, I am not merely alluding to the fact that The Theocrat is a translation in English of an Arabic novel written by a Moroccan. One of the more fortunate consequences of the Nobel award to Naguib Mahfouz has been an increase in the selection of Arabic novels that are available in English translation, although admittedly there are more from some countries (particularly Egypt) than others. Even so, Moroccan fiction is represented in current (2001) listings by works of Muhammad Shukri, Muhammad Barrada, and Leila Abouzeid. Nor am I referring to the fact that The Theocrat advertises itself as a “novel of historical fiction.” For, quite apart from the long-established European tradition of historical novels, for which a short list would include writers such as Walter Scott, Alexandre Dumas, Leo Tolstoy, and Umberto Eco, the modem tradition of the Arabic novel also provides some notable examples of this subgenre of novel-writing. Among those available in English translation are the Egyptian novelist, Gamal al-Ghitani’s, Zayni Barakat and ‘Abd al-Rahman Munif’s Variations on Night and Day (that being the third volume of a quintet of novels, under the general title of Cities of Salt [Mudun al-milh]). In talking above about a text that confronts, what I do have in mind is that, with The Theocrat, Bensalem Himmich writes a novel that challenges its readers with not only the organizational logic of the narrative but also the sheer virtuosity of his varied application of language in order to revive and imitate samples from the great narrative traditions of the Arabic heritage. In the context of this English version, it probably does not need to be emphasized that, as part of the translation process, the very challenge that Himmich’s novel presents to readers of the Arabic original is not merely transferred but amplified.
To begin with, the topic of Himmich’s novel—as the Arabic title, Majnun al-hukm (literally, he who is crazy in rule) makes clear—is one of Arab and Islamic history’s most perplexing figures, al-Hakim bi-Amr Illah (‘the one who rules by order of God’), the Fatimid caliph and ruler of Egypt during the tenth century of our era (r. 996–1020). Al-Hakim’s reign was marked by considerable chaos on the economic, political, and social levels, as he subjected the Egyptian people to a series of extraordinary decrees regarding their beliefs and public behavior (some of which are briefly discussed below) and implemented them through a campaign of terror that reached astonishing proportions. His death or disappearance has always been a matter of intense speculation in historical accounts, not least because groups of his devotees believed him to have gone into a state of occultation. After his death, those devotees fled to the “mountains of Syria” where they took the name “Druze” after one of their leaders, Muhammad al-Druzi (who, as this narrative informs us, was himself murdered).
The chapters of Himmich’s narrative treat different aspects of al-Hakim’s extraordinary regime. Each one begins with often extensive quotations from the writings of historians from the pre-modern period of Arab-Islamic history: many of the most famous names are cited—al-Maqrizi, ‘Izz al-Din ibn al-Athir, Ibn lyas, Ibn Taghribirdi, and al-Qalqashandi, for example. In addition, the text itself often contains quotations from these same sources, each of which is duly footnoted at the end of the book. After these historical references to time, place, and events, Himmich then proceeds to replicate the particular discourse of the textual genre that is being invoked.
Following a “prelude” in which readers are introduced to a predominant image in the narrative—al-Hakim’s adoption of a Qur’anic verse to reflect his own complexities—”the clear smoke,” the first two chapters of the narrative provide ample evidence of the problematic nature of al-Hakim’s personality. As we read the sections of these chapters d
evoted to al-Hakim’s mental illness and the behavior which seems to have been its consequence, we come to admire, among other things, the state of medical knowledge within Arab-Islamic dominions in the tenth century. We are provided with detailed historical and medical records (and their elaboration in Himmich’s own narrative), pointing out in some detail that al-Hakim suffered from a chemical imbalance in the brain. The evidence is not clear enough for us to determine whether this condition constituted what would now be termed schizophrenia or some kind of bipolar condition. However, what becomes abundantly clear (and from both the historical and fictional-historical narratives) is that the consequences of al-Hakim’s mental state for Egypt, its people, and everyone who had to deal with him, were dire indeed.
What is truly remarkable about Himmich’s blending of actual historical sources and modern fictional narrative is that certain sections of the novel are written as replications of the language of al-Hakim’s ecstatic visions. There are a number of “sessions” in which groups of his devotees gather together, whether with his knowledge or not, and record his utterances, with all their multiple symbolic resonances and unusual metaphor-ic linkages. These visions and utterances, whether recorded while he is sitting in a bath of violet oil or observing stars in the Muqattam Hills above Cairo, are gathered into collections and eagerly studied by groups of al-Hakim’s devotees eager to unravel their concealed significances.
In the lengthy third chapter, occupying fully one third of the entire narrative, a vivid account is provided of the rebellion which Abu Rakwa, descendant of the former Umayyad house of caliphs, mounted against the Fatimid (in other words, Shi’ite) caliph, al-Hakim. While providing readers with a gripping chronological record of the course of events, this chapter also includes examples of sermons, letters, ringing pre-battle harangues to troops, persuasive orations, cunning attempts at subversion, and some notable passages of description. The occasion when Abu Rakwa, now facing total defeat and the dissipation of his large fighting force, rides out from the fortress in Upper Egypt where he has sought refuge, is one such:
As Abu Rakwa made his way out of the main gate of the castle, his face-was radiant and uplifted. He mounted his finest horse and gave al-Fadl’s avenging angels a look of mercy and forgiveness. Once he was level with them, he took off at a gallop with them following in sheepish silence.
Abu Rakwa’s rebellion is given a prominent place in Himmich’s narrative. Historical accounts suggest that such prominence is fully justified when we bear in mind the central place it occupied within al-Hakim’s reign (see, for example, the article on “Al-Hakim Bi-Amr Allah” in the Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., 1954 et seq.). Within the context of a novel that portrays such a disastrously complex ruler, one can almost term Abu Rakwa the “hero” of the narrative; that is certainly the way in which the historical method of the third chapter chooses to depict him.
On the question of al-Hakim’s demise (or disappearance), uncertainty brings the principles of history and fiction close together. The second section of the fourth chapter of Himmich’s narrative cites historical sources to the effect that al-Hakim was murdered on the orders of his beautiful and accomplished sister, Sitt al-Mulk, who assumed power for a period following her brother’s “death.” What is clear is that al-Hakim’s mental illness had become progressively worse during the course of his reign. Many of his decrees (duly recorded within the text of this narrative) were justifiably unpopular: the banning of the pilgrimage, for example, the total sequestration of women, the killing of dogs, the requirement that Christians and Jews wear marked clothing, and the destruction of churches and synagogues. Toward the end of his reign, he ordered his troops to set fire to the old (southern) section of Cairo known as Fustat, apparently desiring revenge for the derisory comments made about him by the inhabitants of this quarter. Later he claimed that he had never given such orders. In any case, his regular habit of riding his donkey into the Muqattam Hills to observe the stars and enter a state of private contemplation clearly provided an excellent opportunity for those who eventually came to the conclusion that, whether divinely appointed caliph or not, enough was enough.
Himmich’s narrative assembles for its readers a montage of different situations and sessions, and the texts—authentic and imagined pre-modern and modem—to go with them. The resulting narrative is thus not chronological, nor indeed is the style intended to be consistent. The actual content of the texts in the different chapters varies from the apparently clear logic and style of historical accounts, to the image-laden and ecstatic utterances to be found in other chapters where the mode of expression is characteristic of a mind that is often being torn apart by the ravages of mental illness. (I re-enter this text as translator here to note that amazing juxtapositions of objects, sentiments, and images are an intrinsic feature of certain sections in the original Arabic text of this novel. In the process of translating them into English, I have made no attempt to change what I understand to be their effects.) Such a varied and categorical method of textual organization is, it needs to be added, a central feature of classical Arabic works of adab, the many and often enormous collections of information and anecdote which the intellectual elite (and especially the bureaucrats and scribes of the court) prepared for their own reference and edification. One must assume that in The Theocrat Himmich is consciously setting out to utilize such an indigenous approach to narrative structure by imitating its mode of compilation, one that allows him to assemble in discrete chapters decisions and incidents from the entire reign of a ruler whose tyranny and capricious conduct has become a byword in the region’s history.
The diagnosis of illnesses and their treatment, and most especially changing altitudes to mental disease, are prominent topics for modern analysis; indeed in the works of Michel Foucault they enter the realms of literary discourse. The question as to “What is madness?” is one that many modern Arab authors have posed. Naguib Mahfouz and the Syro-Lebanese poet, Adunis, are two such. What Himmich explores in this remarkable novel shares many of the concerns voiced in the theme of the play and film by Alan Bennett, The Madness of King George, namely the disastrous consequences of now diagnosable mental illness on an individual ruler and his people and on the way that history deals with such eras. Himmich makes no attempt to spare his readers the full horror and tragedy of al-Hakim’s reign, but his narrative’s multitextual approach succeeds brilliantly in using different genres to paint a portrait of a character whose sheer unpredictability throws into relief the qualities of those who find themselves forced to cajole, confront, or oppose him.
The resort on the part of Arab novelists to history as a means of addressing contemporary issues is, needless to say, part of a much wider cultural phenomenon. To cite just one relatively recent work on the subject, David Cowart’s History and the Contemporary Novel:
The increasing prominence of historical themes in current fiction suggests that the novel’s perennial valence for history has acquired new strength in recent years. Produced by writers sensitive to the lateness of the historical hour and capable of exploiting technical innovations in the novel, this new historical fiction seems to differ from that of calmer times. A sense of urgency—sometimes even an air of desperation—pervades the historical novel since mid-century, for its author probes the past to account for a present that grows increasingly chaotic.
More recently, the British novelist-critic A.S. Byatt has published a volume of essays in which she delves further into this linkage of history and fiction and the hybrid forms that emerge from their fusion. Interestingly entitled On Histories and Stories, the work explores the motivations that lead novelists in this direction. Among them she identifies a desire “to find historical paradigms for contemporary situations,” an esthetic need “to write colored and metaphorical language,” and an eagerness to escape the self as subject matter.
Himmich’s novel then is part of a trend in fiction writing that is very much a feature of current literary interest. Yet, while he may partak
e in and contribute to a broader fictional endeavor, his choice of subject and his means of depicting it in narrative form are not merely indigenous to the cultural world of Arabic but also thoroughly innovative. In his case (and that of the Arab world in general) it scarcely needs to be added that the invocation of history also becomes a method whereby topics that, for obvious political reasons, would be virtually undebatable can be presented in fictional form—such as the nature of absolute power (in a region within which such governmental systems are the norm rather than the exception). In this context therefore, it needs to be made clear to readers of this translation that, in crafting this complex “novel of historical fiction,” Himmich is well aware of not only what he is writing and why, but also what are the principles and methodological background to the entire endeavor. He has himself written several articles on the novel and historical writing. In them he reveals not merely the breadth of his reading in literature and philosophy, but, more specifically, his familiarity with the interesting generic blending that is reflected in current discussions of historical fiction and, as he aptly notes, in any investigation of classical adab (mentioned above) and its esthetic criteria. That process of “blending” is, of course, a primary feature of this novel. One of the many works that he cites in an article in the Moroccan journal, Prologues/Muqaddimat (Summer-Autumn 1998) is Umberto Eco’s renowned novel. The Name of the Rose. It is therefore interesting to note that this same novel is also discussed in David Cowart’s study cited above, as an example of his fourth category of historical novel, namely “fictions whose authors project the present into the past.” Cowart points out that this fourth category offers the richest possibilities in writing historical fiction, since it “makes special demands on the ingenuity of novelists” (and, he might have added, of readers and, in my case, of translators as well). The “desire to mirror the present in the past finds expression most easily in a skewed or legendary or fabulous history more amenable than real history to the allegorical projection of the present.” Himmich illustrates these very principles in a statement in the article noted above, when he alludes to traditional forms of narrative within the Arabic literary tradition before pointing out that “authentic writing can only interact with precedents and those forms and styles that emerge from them, not so much in order to imitate them, but rather to place them within the fulcrum of change and thus to enrich them with the added value of modernity.”
The Theocrat: A Modern Arabic Novel (Modern Arabic Literature) Page 1