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and a noise of almost wicked movement； which sirs us to alarm and even
horror： bleatings of new…born babies； cries of distress of tiny mites
whose voices are drowned； as if on purpose； by a clinking of cymbals。
What can it be？ Why have they descended into this dark hole； these
little ones； who howl in the midst of the smoke； held by these
phantoms in mourning？ Had we entered it unawares we might have thought
it a den of wicked sorcery； an underground cavern for the black mass。
But no。 It is the crypt of the basilica of St。 Sergius during the
Coptic mass of Easter morning。 And when； after the first surprise； we
examine these phantoms； we find that； for the most part； they are
young mothers； with the refined and gentle faces of Madonnas； who hold
the plaintive little ones beneath their black veils and seek to
comfort them。 And the sorcerer； who plays the cymbals； is a kind old
priest； or sacristan； who smiles paternally。 If he makes all this
noise； in a rhythm which in itself is full of joy； it is to mark the
gladness of Easter morn； to celebrate the resurrection of Christand
a little； too； no doubt； to distract the little ones； some of whom are
woefully put out。 But their mammas do not prolong the proofa mere
momentary visit to this venerable place； which is to bring them
happiness； and they carry their babes away： and others are led in by
the dark； narrow staircase； so low that one cannot stand upright in
it。 And thus the crypt is not emptied。 And meanwhile mass is being
said in the church overhead。
But what a number of people； of black veils； are in this hovel； where
the air can scarcely be breathed； and where the barbarous music；
mingled with wailings and cries； deafens you！ And what an air of
antiquity marks all things here！ The defaced walls； the low roof that
one can easily touch； the granite pillars which sustain the shapeless
arches are all blackened by the smoke of the wax candles； and scarred
and worn by the friction of human hands。
At the end of the crypt there is a very sacred recess round which a
crowd presses： a coarse niche； a little larger than those cut in the
wall to receive the tapers； a niche which covers the ancient stone on
which； according to tradition； the Virgin Mary rested； with the child
Jesus； in the course of the flight into Egypt。 This holy stone is
sadly worn to…day and polished smooth by the touch of many pious
hands； and the Byzantine cross which once was carved on it is almost
effaced。
But even if the Virgin had never rested there； the humble crypt of St。
Sergius would remain no less one of the oldest Christian sanctuaries
in the world。 And the Copts who still assemble there with veneration
have preceded by many years the greater part of our Western nations in
the religion of the Bible。
Although the history of Egypt envelops itself in a sort of night at
the moment of the appearance of Christianity； we know that the growth
of the new faith there was as rapid and impetuous as the germination
of plants under the overflow of the Nile。 The old Pharaonic cults；
amalgamated at that time with those of Greece； were so obscured under
a mass of rites and formulae； that they had ceased to have any
meaning。 And nevertheless here； as in imperial Rome； there brooded the
ferment of a passionate mysticism。 Moreover； this Egyptian people；
more than any other； was haunted by the terror of death； as is proved
by the folly of its embalmments。 With what avidity therefore must it
have received the Word of fraternal love and immediate resurrection？
In any case Christianity was so firmly implanted in this Egypt that
centuries of persecution did not succeed in destroying it。 As one goes
up the Nile； many little human settlements are to be seen； little
groups of houses of dried mud； where the whitened dome of the modest
house of prayer is surmounted by a cross and not a crescent。 They are
the villages of those Copts； those Egyptians； who have preserved the
Christian faith from father to son since the nebulous times of the
first martyrs。
*****
The simple Church of St。 Sergius is a relic hidden away and almost
buried in the midst of a labyrinth of ruins。 Without a guide it is
almost impossible to find your way thither。 The quarter in which it is
situated is enclosed within the walls of what was once a Roman
fortress； and this fortress in its turn is surrounded by the tranquil
ruins of 〃Old Cairo〃which is to the Cairo of the Mamelukes and the
Khedives； in a small degree； what Versailles is to Paris。
On this Easter morning； having set out from the Cairo of to…day to be
present at this mass； we have first to traverse a suburb in course of
transformation； upon whose ancient soil will shortly appear numbers of
these modern horrors； in mud and metalfactories or large hotels
which multiply in this poor land with a stupefying rapidity。 Then
comes a mile or so of uncultivated ground； mixed with stretches of
sand； and already a little desertlike。 And then the walls of Old
Cairo； after which begins the peace of the deserted houses； of little
gardens and orchards among the ruins。 The wind and the dust beset us
the whole way； the almost eternal wind and the eternal dust of this
land； by which； since the beginning of the ages； so many human eyes
have been burnt beyond recovery。 They keep us now in blinding
whirlwinds； which swarm with flies。 The 〃season〃 indeed is already
over； and the foreign invaders have fled until next autumn。 Egypt is
now more Egyptian； beneath a more burning sky。 The sun of this Easter
Sunday is as hot as ours of July； and the ground seems as if it would
perish of drought。 But it is always thus in the springtime of this
rainless country； the trees； which have kept their leaves throughout
the winter； shed them in April as ours do in November。 There is no
shade anywhere and everything suffers。 Everything grows yellow on the
yellow sands。 But there is no cause for uneasiness： the inundation is
at hand； which has never failed since the commencement of our
geological period。 In another few weeks the prodigious river will
spread along its banks； just as in the times of the God Amen； a
precocious and impetuous life。 And meanwhile the orange…trees； the
jasmine and the honeysuckle； which men have taken care to water with
water from the Nile； are full of riotous bloom。 As we pass the gardens
of Old Cairo； which alternate with the tumbling houses； this continual
cloud of white dust that envelops us comes suddenly laden with their
sweet fragrance； so that； despite the drought and the bareness of the
trees； the scents of a sudden and feverish springtime are already in
the air。
When we arrive at the walls of what used to be the Roman citadel we
have to descend from our carriage； and passing through a low doorway
penetrate on foot into the labyrinth of a Coptic quarter which is
dying of dust and old age。 Deserted houses that have become the
refuges of outcasts； mushrabiyas； worm…eaten and decayed； little
mousetrap alleys that lead us under arches of the Middle Ages； and
sometimes close over our heads by reason of the fantastic bending of
the ruins。 Even by such a route as this are we conducted to a famous
basilica！ Were it not for these groups of Copts； dressed in their
Sunday garb； who make their way like us through the ruins to the
Easter mass； we should think that we had lost our way。
And how pretty they look； these women draped like phantoms in their
black silks。 Their long veils do not completely hide them； as do those
of the Moslems。 They are simply placed over their hair and leave
uncovered the delicate features； the golden necklet and the half…bared
arms that carry on their wrists thick twisted bracelets of virgin
gold。 Pure Egyptians as they are； they have preserved the same
delicate profile； the same elongated eyes； as mark the old goddesses
carved in bas…relief on the Pharaonic walls。 But some； alas； amongst
the young ones have discarded their traditional costume； and are
arrayed /a la franque/； in gowns and hats。 And such gowns； such hats；
such flowers！ The very peasants of our meanest villages would disdain
them。 Oh！ why cannot someone tell these poor little women； who have it
in their power to be so adorable； that the beautiful folds of their
black veils give to them an exquisite and characteristic distinction；
while this poor tinsel； which recalls the mid…Lent carnivals； makes of
them objects that excite our pity！
In one of the walls which now surround us there is a low and shrinking
doorway。 Can this be the entrance to the basilica？ The idea seems
absurd。 And yet some of the pretty creatures in the black veils and
bracelets of gold； who were in front of us； have disappeared through
it； and already the perfume of the censers is wafted towards us。 A
kind of corridor； astonishingly poor and old； twists itself
suspiciously； and then issues into a narrow court； more than a
tho