When the cakes and sweetmeats appeared they were accompanied by champagne and liqueurs, both of which beverages were highly approved of. Happily by the laws of the Koran they are not considered wine, and the champagne was drunk in tumblers without any hesitation.
As the Governor descended into his state barge, manned by ten rowers in grand but rather dirty crimson jackets and fezzes, the yacht gave him the proper salute of fifteen guns, a compliment that was promptly returned by a Turkish man-of-war, to the intense joy of all the little boys in the town, who came flocking out of numberless narrow streets and alleys in an astonishing variety of dress, or rather undress.
Later in the day we proceeded to make a little tour round the town.
Sinope is divided into two parts, one inhabited by Turks, the other by Greeks.
The streets in the Greek quarter do not deserve the name. They are little better than rough water-courses, and are so narrow that the overhanging eaves of the houses almost touch each other. But what a wealth of picturesque beauty do these old houses present to the eye of an artist! Built entirely of wood, they are either painted a deep chocolate colour, or are left to brown and blacken with age, whilst so much shadow is lightened both by the great masses of moss or lichen that cling to the roof, and by the bright green of the vines that half cover the walls.
The mode of building is peculiar. The frame is joined together, and the roof is put on and finished. The walls are then made by means of layers of shingles (long narrow pieces of wood), fastened to the upright posts. These planks are of uneven length, and project over each other in a confused irregularity, which though charming in a sketch, leaves so many yawning crevices that each house must be a veritable temple of the winds.
The majority of the houses were much larger than might have been expected in so small and poor a town; but sometimes as many as ten or twelve families will live together, not in separate flats or apartments, but as one household.
It would seem as if in days of yore their ancestors must have been bitten by tarantulas, for dancing is a perfect mania with the Greeks here of all ages and classes. “Young men and maidens,” old men and women, dance every evening, with an animation and an unwearied delight that neither poverty nor age seems able to diminish. Their principal aim, therefore, in building, is to have a large “salle de danse” for winter use, and as soon as this portion of the house is completed, the various families squeeze themselves into a few little rooms, contentedly enduring gaping walls and half-finished floors, so long as they have space for the beloved Romaika.
Though the houses are so crowded, they are nevertheless beautifully clean. A constant scrubbing seems going on, a process, strange to say, that is also extended to the inhabitants.
The women are really lovely, their features having the delicately cut outline that is so beautiful in the ancient Greek statues. Many have exquisitely fair complexions, and we fell in love immediately with their hair, for it had that dusky, half golden, half red tint only seen in the tresses of the gorgeous beauties of Titian and Georgione. It was a painful disenchantment to find that it owed its beauty not to nature, but to henna—in fact it was dyed. So enamoured are the Sinope women of this colour, that even the babies in arms have their scanty little locks tinged with the ruddy hue. Still, putting aside the disappointment of their hair, the women were worthy of all the admiration we bestowed upon them. Not only have they delicate features and complexions, but their eyes also are unusually beautiful; large, lustrous and dark, without being black, they have a tender, deprecating look that reminds one of the inexpressibly touching expression seen in the eyes of the unhappy Beatrice Cenci.