The Black Tulip

The Most Beautiful Clothes

Master Hyacinth, now the chief eunuch, arrives one day with an announcement: the padishah wishes to meet his entire harem that very afternoon in the Hunkar Sofasi, the Hall of the Sultan. Every girl will be introduced to him individually, one by one. The chief eunuch’s news sets the whole harem buzzing at once.

Girls cluster together, debating what to wear and rehearsing what they might say if the padishah speaks to them. Leyla alone feels no thrill at the news. She owns nothing beyond her work clothes, and appearing before the mighty padishah in dirty, soiled garments strikes her as disrespectful, an offense she cannot bring herself to risk. Rather than let the others see her disappointment, or listen to the excited chatter swirling all around her, she slips away to the garden long enough to compose herself, busying herself picking dead leaves from her tulip beds, working the plants over and over in an effort to distract herself from all she is missing.

Before long, Belkıs’s voice calls her back inside. Leyla goes, straining to hide her distress. The dormitory buzzes with girls dressing up, excited and happy. Everyone is talking about the audience with the sultan.

Belkıs scolds and asks Leyla why she isn’t dressed yet. She doesn’t want to be left behind. Leyla defiantly answers she’s not going. Belkıs says the padishah wants to see everyone. She is not an exception. Finally, Leyla confesses she has nothing to wear. She must strain to keep from bursting into tears.

Belkıs realizes at once that she is telling the truth. Belkıs says she wishes she had another nice outfit to loan Leyla. She only has an extra pair of silk şalvar. She hands them over anyway. Nearby, another girl, who has been listening while dressing, calls out that she has a chemise trimmed with Damascus lace along the sleeves. Leyla can borrow it. A third girl, one whose smile has always lightened Leyla’s heart, offers up her yashmak as well.

Suddenly Leyla is surrounded by those who have befriended her in the harem, girls pulling all sorts of clothes, scarves, and jewelry of every kind out of the closets. They peel off her work clothes and dress her as though she were a doll, painting her eyes with kohl, dabbing rouge onto her cheeks, and even braiding pearls into her hair. She resists a little at first, uncomfortable with so many of them lavishing attention on her all at once, but they coo over each new addition, and it soon becomes fun.

When the girls finally stop, Leyla catches her reflection in the looking glass and gasps. This couldn’t be her. Every part of her looks different now. The girl staring back wears a pair of baggy trousers of shimmering red silk beneath a sheer white blouse, its fashionably long sleeves edged in Damascus lace, and over it all, a kaftan of the finest silk brocade, trimmed in gold and tied with a tasseled cord in front. A red translucent veil covers her hotoz, pulled together with a gold and emerald brooch. One of the girls has loaned her a pair of dangling emerald earrings and a gold bracelet set with a ruby, and around her neck someone has placed two long strands of pearls. On her feet rest the softest yellow leather slippers embroidered with tulips, just as if they had been made especially for her. At the very last moment, Belkıs presses a fan into her hands.

How could this elegant girl possibly be Laleena, the girl who once ran wild through the hills of the Caucasus? This girl in the looking glass resembles a princess, not a gardener tending tulip beds. With a grateful smile, Leyla looks around at all the friends surrounding her, each of whom looks just as magnificent, too, dressed in silk and pearls pulled from every closet in the dormitory. Surely the padishah will be pleased with such a harem.