Muazzez Sultan

An azure, cloudless sky has luxuriated over the palace for more than
three weeks. It has shined unabated on a plethora of deeply scented roses and
carnations and all manner of colourful wildflowers, the combined perfume of
which intoxicates all who are near them. This is the miracle of springtime
and it echoes melodiously in the youthful innocence of Muazzez Sultana. She
visits the garden every day at sunset accompanied by her odalisque. She walks
delicately to the second elm tree, under which a gilded sofa has been readied
for her with soft cushions, under a canopy which is silk-embroidered in
crimson carnation designs. The hem of her dress, made of diamond-embroidered
velvet, sways with every steps she takes, mirroring the undulating waters of
the ever-breezy Bosphorus as they flow past the palace at Sarayburnu. It is
1642. Not even a full year has passed since her wedding to Sultan İbrahim
whom she has learned to love passionately and devotedly. She is the most
beautiful of all the favored women of the harem, and its newest arrival. She
desires to be with her husband every night, but she tells this only to her
tambour. The tall Venetian beauty with the dark blue eyes and long lashes
takes the bejeweled tambour from the hennaed hands of her odalisque, and
plucks it passionately, singing: “Do not tell your secret to unworthy people.
Do not open your heart to anyone. Don’t share this joyful yearning with the
courtiers, lest it become gossip, and you become the object of derision, a
target for their scorn. Oh, my master, my Sultan, my very own Ibrahim! When I
look into your eyes all my pain disappears. When you are by my side all the
happiness of the world is mine.” The heart-felt verses pouring out from the
rose colored lips of Muazzez Sultana melt into the melancholic sound of the
tambour and become part of the aromatic garden air that wafts high into the
sky where angels dance.