Aziyadé Extrait des notes et lettres d'un lieutenant de la marine anglaise entré au service de la Turquie le 10 mai 1876 tué dans les murs de Kars, le 27 octobre 1877.

In the waning days of spring 1876, a British naval officer finds himself stationed in the restless port of Salonica, a city still trembling from recent public executions ordered by the Ottoman sultan. The streets are a maze of crumbling stone, bustling bazaars, and watchful eyes behind latticework, while the lingering scent of gunpowder and foreign warships reminds him of the fragile peace that Europe hopes to enforce. Through his journal, the lieutenant records the stark contrast between the bright May sky and the grim spectacle of six bodies left hanging as a warning to the populace.

Amid this uneasy backdrop, his attention is seized by a solitary figure peering from behind iron bars—a young woman cloaked in a green silk camail, her veil barely revealing luminous emerald eyes. She watches him with a mixture of curiosity and guarded poise, embodying the exotic allure and hidden tensions of the Ottoman world. Their brief, charged encounter hints at a deeper story that will draw the officer into the heart of the city’s mysteries.