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them； and makes between the tombs of the different sultans little dead
solitudes； remains pale and wan。
And meanwhile our carriage； proceeding always without noise； traces on
this same sand little furrows which the wind will have effaced by
to…morrow。 There are no roads of any kind； they would indeed be as
useless as they are impossible to make。 You may pass here where you
like； and fancy yourself far away from any place inhabited by living
beings。 The great town； which we know to be so close； appears from
time to time； thanks to the undulations of the ground； as a mere
phosphorescence； a reflection of its myriad electric lights。 We are
indeed in the desert of the dead； in the sole company of the moon；
which； by the fantasy of this wonderful Egyptian sky； is to…night a
moon of grey pearl； one might almost say a moon of mother…of…pearl。
Each of these funeral mosques is a thing of splendour； if one examines
it closely in its solitude。 These strange upraised domes； which from a
distance look like the head…dresses of dervishes or magi； are
embroidered with arabesques； and the walls are crowned with
denticulated trefoils of exquisite fashioning。
But nobody venerates these tombs of the Mameluke oppressors； or keeps
them in repair； and within them there are no more chants； no prayers
to Allah。 Night after night they pass in an infinity of silence。 Piety
contents itself with not destroying them； leaving them there at the
mercy of time and the sun and the wind which withers and crumbles
them。 And all around are the signs of ruin。 Tottering cupolas show us
irreparable cracks； the halves of broken arches are outlined to…night
in shadow against the mother…of…pearl light of the sky； and debris of
sculptured stones are strewn about。 But nevertheless these tombs； that
are well…nigh accursed； still stir in us a vague sense of alarm
particularly those in the distance； which rise up like silhouettes of
misshapen giants in enormous hatsdark on the white sheet of sand
and stand there in groups； or scattered in confusion； at the entrance
to the vast empty regions beyond。
*****
We had chosen a time when the light was doubtful in order that we
might avoid the tourists； but as we approach the funeral dwelling of
Sultan Barkuk； the assassin； we see； issuing from it； a whole band；
some twenty in a line； who emerge from the darkness of the abandoned
walls； each trotting on his little donkey and each followed by the
inevitable Bedouin driver； who taps with his stick upon the rump of
the beast。 They are returning to Cairo； their visit ended； and
exchange in a loud voice； from one ass to another； more or less inept
impressions in various European languages。 。 。 。 And look！ There is
even amongst them the almost proverbial belated dame who； for private
reasons of her own； follows at a respectable distance behind。 She is a
little mature perhaps； so far as can be judged in the moonlight； but
nevertheless still sympathetic to her driver； who； with both hands；
supports her from behind on her saddle； with a touching solicitude
that is peculiar to the country。 Ah！ these little donkeys of Egypt； so
observant； so philosophical and sly； why cannot they write their
memoirs！ What a number of droll things they must have seen at night in
the outskirts of Cairo！
This good lady evidently belongs to that extensive category of hardy
explorers who； despite their high respectability at home； do not
hesitate； once they are landed on the banks of the Nile； to supplement
their treatment by the sun and the dry winds with a little of the
〃Bedouin cure。〃
CHAPTER VIII
ARCHAIC CHRISTIANITY
Dimly lighted by the flames of a few poor slender tapers which flicker
against the walls in stone arches； a dense crowd of human figures
veiled in black； in a place overpowering and suffocatingunderground；
no doubtwhich is filled with the perfume of the incense of Arabia；
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 n