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.