Hürrem Sultan

The sun is about to rise, but the fog and the
cool mist diffuse the light. It is as dark as night. All but one of the heavy
velvet drapes of the palace salon are drawn. The open drape allows a peek
into the courtyard. It is the year 1526, and Roksalena walks on the smooth
Persian carpet in little steps to settle down on the lush brocade of the
sofa. She bends over the mother-of-pearl writing table. She grabs the quill
pen which she had abandoned minutes ago. At that moment she sighs contentedly
and a smile forms on her lips. A beam of sunlight has penetrated the mist and
shines into the salon. It sparkles on the crystal ornaments of the
chandelier. She dips her quill into the ink-pot and begins to write. “ Oh, my
Sultan, you are inside my heart. You are the balm of my tortured life, the
budding flower of my paradise. I would fly to you through the highest flames
if you just but beckoned. I am your concubine for the rest of time, a
helpless slave that belongs to you body and soul.” This lovely girl, chosen
from the Ukraine when she was sixteen, was trained for the pleasure of
Crown-Prince Süleyman in the palace in Istanbul. She was so fair and worldly
that they called her Hürrem Sultana. Her extensive palace-education, enhanced
by her native wit, natural charm, and sensual beauty soon made her the
favourite companion of the Prince who was destined to become Süleyman the
Magnificent, one of the mightiest Ottoman emperors. Hürrem folds and kisses
her letter to her husband. She holds it tightly against her heart as two dewy
tear-drops trickle down her rosy cheeks. She sends the letter in the white
wings of a royal dove to her Sultan, who is fighting in the fields of
Hungary. This Sultana, as intelligent and ambitious as she was beautiful and
loving, is now best remembered for her commissions to Sinan, the immortal
architect who left his imprint all over the Capital. For Hürrem he
constructed a pearl-like complex in Haseki, as well as the ethereal Roksalena
Hamaam in Sultan Ahmed.