Did the eyes of the Virgin Mary, did the baby eyes of the Christ Child,
ever gaze upon these buildings? One could almost believe it. One could
almost believe that already these buildings were there when, fleeing
from the wrath of Herod, Mother and Child sought the shelter of the
crypt of Abu Sargah.
I went on, walking with precaution, and presently I saw a man. He was
sitting collapsed beneath an archway, and he looked older than
the world. He was clad in what seemed like a sort of cataract of
multi-colored rags. An enormous white beard flowed down over his
shrunken breast. His face was a mass of yellow wrinkles. His eyes were
closed. His yellow fingers were twined about a wooden staff. Above his
head was drawn a patched hood. Was he alive or dead? I could not tell,
and I passed him on tiptoe. And going always with precaution between the
tall, grey houses and beneath the lowering arches, I came at last to the
Coptic church.
Near it, in the street, were several Copts--large, fat, yellow-skinned,
apparently sleeping, in attitudes that made them look like bundles. I
woke one up, and asked to see the church. He stared, changed slowly from
a bundle to a standing man, went away and presently, returning with a
key and a pale, intelligent-looking youth, admitted me into one of the
strangest buildings it was ever my lot to enter.
The average Coptic church is far less fascinating than the average
mosque, but the church of Abu Sargah is like no other church that I
visited in Egypt.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139