In many parts of Calabria (the stronghold of this superstition) it does not do for a friend, if a foreigner, to say a word even in favour of that generally-praised member of the family, the baby. Like the women of a Turkish harem, the children of a Christian household are too sacred to be mentioned.
Although they ran away, I was glad to find my Sinope friends were not irrevocably offended, for they turned up again when I began the next sketch. They gathered close round, evidently much interested in me and my doings, but though there was so much interest, there was not the least rudeness. It is to be feared that a strange artist, in a foreign costume, would not meet with such good-natured forbearance in an English village.
I was examined critically, however, and I could understand enough of what they were saying to know they were remarking upon my nose, eyes, mouth, hair, dress, &c. They were evidently much puzzled as to the use of the little hood belonging to my cloak, lifting it up, and making numerous interrogative signs; at last they arrived, I am certain, at the conclusion that it served to carry bread or babies in.
When the drawing was finished, a nice, fresh-looking old woman, a greater person probably than all the rest, as she wore some very large coins round her neck, came out of the crowd, seized my hand, kissed it several times, and then, tucking it tightly under her arm and pointing to the public baths close by, tried to pull me towards them. Whether she wished me to sketch them, or whether, in the excess of her good-will, she wished to present me to the rest of "the world of Sinope" (for in these parts the bath is the women's club, where they meet to drink coffee and sherbet, and talk over each other's affairs), must for ever remain a mystery, for though we both talked, we neither understood. She bowed persuasively, I bowed negatively, and clung tightly to my companion, for I was really afraid, from the excess of kind friendship, of being carried off against my will. At length, finding I was not to be moved either morally or physically, she again repeatedly kissed my hand, and with many smiles and friendly looks we parted.
We then strolled on as far as the Turkish burial-ground, enjoying the bright sunshine and the fresh air, for though so rough and stormy at sea, on shore it was very pleasant. Beyond the cemetery is an open common that extends to the edge of the cliffs that line the bay opposite to that where the yacht is lying.