For two centuries, literary historians have searched for the real-life origins of this German folk tale. Their research led them to the tragic story of Margaretha von Waldeck…
Who Was the Real Snow White?
Born in 1533, Margaretha von Waldeck was a German countess, the second daughter of Philip IV, Count of Waldeck-Wildungen, and his first wife. She was known for her exceptional beauty, with fair skin and red lips, but her hair was blond, not black.
At just four years old, Margaretha lost her mother. Shortly afterward, her father remarried Katharina von Hatzfeld, a vain but strikingly beautiful woman. Katharina spent hours admiring her reflection, and as a wedding gift, Philip gave her a large mirror—though it could not talk.
However, Katharina disliked her stepchildren, especially the beautiful Margaretha.
A Deadly Rivalry
When Margaretha turned 16, her father and stepmother sent her to the royal court in Brussels in hopes of securing a marriage. There, she caught the attention of Prince Philip of Spain, the future King Philip II. He fell in love with her, but Spanish authorities opposed the match—she was not of high enough rank to marry the prince.
Meanwhile, Katharina was furious at the idea that Margaretha might outshine her in both beauty and marriage prospects. However, she would soon be relieved:
At 21 years old, Margaretha suddenly fell ill and died in 1554. Her death was mysterious, and rumors spread that she had been poisoned—either by Spanish authorities or her jealous stepmother.
While the first theory is considered more plausible, the idea of a wicked stepmother made for a far better fairy tale.
The Queen is physically beautiful, but her heart is cruel and ugly.
Snow White, on the other hand, is beautiful both inside and out.
The magic mirror declares her the fairest not just because of her looks, but because of her inner goodness.
Beware of Strangers
Like Little Red Riding Hood, Snow White warns children not to trust strangers.
Snow White accepts a poisoned apple from an unknown woman, which nearly costs her life.
Who Inspired the Seven Dwarfs?
The region of Germany where Margaretha von Waldeck was born was rich in copper deposits. Her family, the von Waldecks, owned seven mines.
At the time, children often worked in these low-ceilinged mines, which stunted their growth due to malnutrition and the constant bending required for their work. As a result, many of them never reached adult height, and their spines remained permanently curved.
The locals in the region referred to these child laborers as “dwarfs”—a tragic but likely inspiration for the seven dwarfs in the famous fairy tale.
Born at Glamis Castle on August 21, 1930, Princess Margaret is one of the most iconic figures in the British royal family. She passed away on February 22, 2002, and still sparks much passion today.
Princess Margaret was very close to her father
The royal family appeared united around the two sisters, Margaret and Elizabeth, the latter being four years older. Their parents spent a lot of time with them, and the Duke of York, future King George VI, especially appreciated Margaret’s constant cheerfulness. Margaret saw him as a close confidant. His death in 1952, caused by a thrombosis complicating lung cancer, put an abrupt end to this joy of life and led to one of Buckingham’s greatest scandals: the romance between Margaret and Peter Townsend, a family friend, 15 years her senior, and married.
Margaret of the United Kingdom gave up her great love
The relationship between Margaret and Peter Townsend was initially secret but was eventually revealed during Queen Elizabeth’s coronation when Margaret inadvertently betrayed her intimacy with Peter Townsend with a gesture. The Anglican Church, the English Parliament, and even Elizabeth II herself opposed this union, which could only take place at the cost of exile and renunciation of any dynastic title. The situation was even more delicate since Margaret was not yet 25 and was thus considered a minor.
Margaret eventually gave up her marriage to Peter Townsend.
Margaret of England dared to divorce
Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowdon, 1965. Image: CC0.
In 1960, Princess Margaret married Antony Armstrong-Jones, a British photographer and filmmaker who briefly managed royal family portraits. A commoner, he was ennobled on the occasion of their highly publicized wedding, which was watched by nearly 300 million viewers. Despite having two children (David in 1961 and Sarah in 1964), which gave the illusion for a time that Margaret was ready to lead a settled life, the marriage was hardly happy, with both of them having multiple lovers. The English tabloids went further than ever in revealing the intimate events of the royal family. Margaret and Antony eventually divorced 18 years later.
From an early age, Margaret showed a particular attraction to the nightlife. She consumed large amounts of alcohol, smoked, socialized with the Beatles and Mick Jagger, and was a fashion icon. She settled on Mustique Island, where her lovers joined her. This lifestyle, marked by excesses, took a toll on her health: she underwent partial lung removal and suffered from alcoholic hepatitis before passing away in February 2002 at the age of 71, after a series of strokes. In accordance with her wishes, she was buried near her father in St.
Princess Margaret remained attached to her sister Elizabeth II
The relationship between the two sisters was tumultuous throughout their lives. However, their shared childhood, both loved by their parents and raised in the same spirit, closely bound them for the rest of their lives. Margaret thus remained loyal to Elizabeth II, who was both her sister and her queen, never publicly mentioning any rivalry. Margaret’s funeral was one of the very rare occasions when the Queen allowed her emotions to show: she was seen crying as the coffin passed by. The two sisters formed an ambivalent relationship but never clearly separated.
Diane de Poitiers was born in 1499 to Jeanne de Batarnay and Jean de Poitiers—whose name refers to the hamlet of Peytieula rather than the city of Poitiers. At the age of 15, she married Louis de Brézé, the Grand Seneschal of Normandy, who was 36 years her senior. She later became a lady-in-waiting to Queen Claude of France, wife of King Francis I, as well as to his mother, Louise of Savoy, and eventually his second wife, Eleanor of Austria. Rumors at the time suggested she was the mistress of the famous “Knight-King,” Francis I, known for his many affairs. However, there is no concrete evidence to confirm that she ever succumbed to his advances.
It was Francis I’s son, Henry II, who would become her lover. In 1531, Diane’s husband passed away, leaving her with two daughters. Keen to protect her financial interests and those of her children, she temporarily assumed her late husband’s title, “Seneschal of Normandy.” She was then placed in the entourage of Prince Henry of Orléans, the future King of France, who was twenty years her junior and had been married to Catherine de’ Medici since 1533. Initially his tutor, Diane later became his friend, confidante, and eventually, around 1537-1538, his mistress and advisor. This made Diane de Poitiers the only royal favorite in French history to be significantly older than her lover.
“More Than a Queen” – The Favorite of King Henry II
Diane de Poitiers
From the moment of his coronation in 1547, Henry II showered Diane de Poitiers with privileges: crown jewels, noble titles (Duchess of Valentinois and later of Étampes), ownership of the Château de Chenonceau, and a personal monogram that intertwined the letter “H” with ambiguous curves, which could be interpreted as either “C” for Catherine or “D” for Diane. Her power at court, already significant during the reign of Francis I—when she clashed with his favorite, Anne de Pisseleu, whom she helped exile upon the king’s death—only grew stronger. Henry II saw in Diane “the ideal lady” from the chivalric romance Amadis of Gaul, which he had read during his captivity in Spain (1526-1530).
Although it is difficult to gauge the extent of her influence over the king, she shared his hostility toward Protestantism, which was fiercely repressed during his reign. His official wife, Catherine de’ Medici—who was also a distant relative of Diane (Catherine’s maternal grandfather was the brother of Diane’s paternal grandmother)—could do little to challenge her rival’s dominance.
Diane’s presence at court was pervasive: her daughter Françoise managed the queen’s household. Moreover, in response to rumors about the royal couple’s infertility, Diane reportedly encouraged Henry to visit his wife more frequently, ultimately leading to Catherine giving birth to ten children over twenty-five years of marriage.
When Henry II was mortally wounded by a lance splinter in the eye during a tournament in 1559, Catherine de’ Medici forbade Diane from visiting him. After the king’s death a few days later, Diane was also barred from attending his funeral. The widowed queen then forced Diane to return the splendid Château de Chenonceau and a vast collection of valuables, including the crown jewels. In exchange, Diane received the Château de Chaumont-sur-Loire. However, she ultimately retired to the Château d’Anet, which had originally belonged to her husband and had been lavishly rebuilt under Henry II’s patronage. It was there that she passed away in 1566 at the age of 66.
A Life of Castles
Amboise, Blois, Chambord, Villers-Cotterêts, Saint-Germain-en-Laye, and Fontainebleau—during the reign of Francis I, the royal court was still itinerant, moving from one château to another. However, the two castles closest to Diane de Poitiers’ heart were Château d’Anet, where she passed away, and Château de Chenonceau, a gift from her royal lover, now famously known as the “Château of the Ladies.” Of the first, only the left wing remains, as the rest was destroyed during the French Revolution.
At the second, she undertook extensive renovations, particularly designing the gardens that still bear her name and the famous bridge that spans the River Cher.
Diane de Poitiers—Poisoned to Preserve Her Beauty?
When Diane de Poitiers died in 1566, her second daughter, Louise de Brézé, commissioned a monument in her honor, which was later moved to the funerary chapel of Château d’Anet ten years later. However, during the French Revolution, her tomb was desecrated, and her remains were only restored to their original place in 2010 after spending years in the local cemetery. Only strands of her hair had been preserved by members of the revolutionary committee, and these were recently analyzed by a forensic medical team from the Raymond-Poincaré Hospital in Garches, led by Dr. Philippe Charlier. Their findings, published in the British Medical Journal in 2009, revealed some striking insights.
The researchers discovered extremely high concentrations of gold—500 times the normal reference level—in both Diane’s hair and skeletal remains. This suggests that, in an effort to maintain her renowned beauty and youthful appearance, she may have consumed drinkable gold solutions, believed at the time to be an elixir of youth. However, this regimen likely led to her poisoning. The theory is plausible, as despite her active lifestyle—she was known for her love of swimming, hunting, and horseback riding—she had an unusually pale complexion, a symptom consistent with chronic gold intoxication.
A Greedy Character in The Princess of Cleves
In 1678, a century after Diane de Poitiers’ eventful life, The Princess of Cleves, a historical novel by Madame de La Fayette, was published. The story follows Mademoiselle de Chartres as she navigates the court of Henry II and grapples with her passionate love for the Duke of Nemours shortly after her marriage to the Prince of Cleves. In an effort to warn her daughter about the dangers of courtly affairs, the protagonist’s mother recounts the story of Diane de Poitiers, portraying her as the “absolute mistress of all things” due to her influence over the king.
According to Madame de Chartres, Diane’s story serves as a cautionary tale about how ambition and political maneuvering could be concealed beneath the elegance and splendor of court life. Madame de La Fayette encapsulates this dynamic in the opening of her novel:
Ambition and gallantry were the soul of this court, engaging both men and women alike. There were so many interests at play and so many different factions, with women having such an active role, that love was always entangled with politics, and politics with love. No one was indifferent or idle: everyone sought to rise, to please, to serve, or to harm. No one knew boredom or idleness; they were always occupied with pleasures or intrigues.
If we go to the cinema to relax without thinking too much about its inner workings, it remains the result of an incredible technological evolution marked by groundbreaking firsts.
Kinetograph: The First Camera
The camera is arguably the most iconic tool of the film industry, and it has undergone numerous transformations. The first was the Kinetograph, invented in 1891 by Thomas Edison and William Dickson, based on the work of Étienne-Jules Marey, who had designed an instrument to study the flight of birds. The Kinetograph used 35-millimeter celluloid film perforated on both sides—also invented by Edison—and the moving image had to be viewed inside a wooden box through a peephole called the Kinetoscope.
Invention of Film
A camera needs a recording medium—this is where film comes in, another major symbol of cinema. It was invented in 1888 by John Carbutt and commercialized the following year by George Eastman. He developed nitrate-based film coated with a gelatin emulsion containing silver halide crystals, which reacted to light to capture images. Initially 35 millimeters wide, film later became available in 16 and then 8 millimeters, making amateur filmmaking possible.
First Movie Screening: A Moment of Wonder
L’arrivée d’un train en gare de La Ciotat (translated from French into English as The Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat Station, Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat
The first paid film screening took place in 1895 in the Indian Salon of the Grand Café in Paris. It was organized by the Lumière brothers, who were inspired by their father, who had witnessed the marvels of the Kinetograph in 1894. To modern audiences, these films may not seem like “movies” in the artistic sense, as they had no scripts or creative direction. However, Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat left the well-to-do spectators in awe.
Where Was the First Movie Theater Built?
The Indian Salon of the Grand Café, where the Lumière brothers’ film was shown, could be considered the first movie theater. However, this was a repurposed space, not originally designed for cinema. The first buildings dedicated to film screenings appeared in the early 20th century: Le Petit Journal in 1904, Cinéma-Théâtre in 1906… The Pathé cinema chain, known for its comfortable theaters, was also founded in 1906.
First Sound Film
The Jazz Singer
Until this point, all films were silent. Music was played live by a musician or a phonograph to accompany the visuals.
However, in 1927, The Jazz Singer, produced by the Warner brothers, became the first sound film. It contained only 354 spoken words, but this was a revolution in cinema history. The arrival of sound created a clear divide between the silent era and the new age of “talkies.”
First Film Studio
The concept of the “first film studio” depends on how one defines a studio. If we consider a studio as a dedicated space for filming, the title likely goes to Thomas Edison’s Black Maria, built in 1893 in New Jersey, USA. This tar-paper-covered wooden structure was the world’s first film production facility, designed to shoot short clips for Edison’s Kinetoscope.
It featured a rotating base to follow sunlight, as artificial lighting was not yet advanced enough for indoor filming. The Black Maria primarily produced experimental clips, such as Fred Ott’s Sneeze (1894), as well as vaudeville acts and athletic demonstrations. However, it lacked narrative storytelling or special effects, focusing instead on technical novelty.
Around the same time, the Lumière brothers in Lyon, France, were pioneering cinema in a different way. While they did not build a traditional studio, their workshop became the birthplace of the Cinématographe, a device that could capture, project, and print films.
The Lumière brothers are best known for hosting the first public film screening on December 28, 1895, in Paris. Their films, such as Workers Leaving the Lumière Factory and The Arrival of a Train, were documentary-style “actualités” shot outdoors or in factory settings. Though groundbreaking, their work did not involve a controlled studio environment.
The first modern film studio, designed specifically for narrative filmmaking and special effects, was built by Georges Méliès in 1897 in Montreuil, France. Méliès, a master illusionist, transformed his family estate into a glass-roofed facility with artificial lighting, trapdoors, and painted backdrops. This studio allowed him to control lighting and weather conditions, enabling the creation of fantastical films like A Trip to the Moon (1902). Méliès pioneered techniques such as stop-motion, double exposure, and hand-painted color, establishing cinema as a storytelling medium and inspiring future filmmakers.
While Edison’s Black Maria and the Lumière brothers’ workshop laid the technical and commercial foundations of cinema, Méliès’ studio marked the transition of film into an art form. Other early studios, such as Robert Paul’s in London (1898) and Nordisk Film in Denmark (1906), further expanded the industry by experimenting with special effects and producing large-scale narrative films.
For four centuries, every Japanese person has known this battle, having learned about it from childhood. The Battle of Sekigahara was the largest gathering of samurai in history. On those October days in 1600, this mountainous pass in central Japan, located between Kansai (Western Japan) and Kanto (Eastern Japan) at the intersection of major routes, became the stage for a massive confrontation.
The outcome of this battle marked Japan’s transition from the chaotic Sengoku period (“Warring States period”) to a long era of peace—one that brought stability and centralization but also isolated the country from the outside world. This event was so pivotal that the Japanese call it tenka wakeme no kassen, meaning “the battle that decided the fate of the nation.”
The seven Warring States of Yan, Zhao, Han, Wei, Qi, Chu, Qin c. 260 BC.
At the time, this bloody conflict concluded nearly 150 years of relentless warfare. In the 16th century, the rise of a new merchant and bourgeois class, combined with the weakening of the shogunate, had reshuffled the balance of power. The economy was in shambles: poverty in the countryside forced peasants—who made up half the population—to serve as soldiers for local warlords (daimyos) who fiercely competed for control of their territories. Japan’s insular nature, coupled with this internal turmoil, provided opportunities for ambitious new leaders. The introduction of firearms in the mid-16th century, brought by Western traders, further accelerated the rise of skilled and ruthless warriors who rapidly climbed the ranks.
Who were the key leaders in the battle?
Tokugawa Ieyasu: Leader of the Eastern Army, who emerged victorious.
Ishida Mitsunari: Leader of the Western Army, representing the Toyotomi loyalists.
The Fall of the Muromachi Shogunate
In 1573, one such warlord, Oda Nobunaga, ousted the reigning shogun, bringing an end to the Muromachi period (named after the Kyoto district where the shoguns had ruled for 250 years). The empire was now tenka fubu—”under the rule of the sword”—a phrase that proved all too true. However, in 1582, betrayed by his own men, Nobunaga took his own life. His rule was succeeded by one of his most capable generals, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, a man from a humble background who continued Nobunaga’s campaign of conquest and unification with great success.
Between 1592 and 1597, however, Hideyoshi made a grave mistake. Seeking to channel the military energy he had harnessed, he launched an invasion of Korea—intended as the first step toward conquering China.
But the Koreans resisted with unexpected ferocity. The Japanese forces were ultimately driven back into the sea. The failure devastated Hideyoshi, and he died in 1598. His death left a massive power vacuum. His seven-year-old son was too young to rule, and although a council of five regents attempted to hold the fragile state together, it soon crumbled.
Mitsunari and Tokugawa: Two Contenders for the Throne
The collapse of power sparks the ambitions of two rivals. The first is Ishida Mitsunari, the leader of the “bureaucrats” who had administered the regime. A former representative of Toyotomi in occupied Korea and one of his most brilliant vassals, he presents himself as Toyotomi’s most loyal disciple. The second is Tokugawa Ieyasu, who holds the title of “first regent.” Twenty years older than Mitsunari, this formidable warrior and cunning politician, now 57, had long represented Toyotomi in the Kanto plains to the east, where he had carved out vast domains with Edo (modern-day Tokyo) as his base of operations. In a Japan searching for a sovereign, there is no room for two, and as the 17th century dawns, both warlords begin mustering their forces.
Ishida is the one to launch hostilities. Convinced that the balance of power is in his favor, he calls upon the daimyos to rise up, gathers his supporters in Sawayama, and allies with Mori Terumoto, the commander-in-chief who controls Osaka. In response, Tokugawa Ieyasu mobilizes an army, splitting it in two and sending his forces west along separate routes. But Ieyasu knows that war is not just about battlefield strategy—it is also about intrigue and betrayal. Distrusting both his allies and his enemies, he remains in Edo, letting his troops know that he will only join them once he is sure of their loyalty in battle.
His caution proves justified: he soon learns that his forces have crushed a daimyo from the Toyotomi clan allied with Ishida. Reassured, Tokugawa sets out from Edo toward Osaka Castle in the west, where the bulk of the enemy troops are stationed. Faced with the growing threat, Ishida has no choice but to march out to confront him and block his advance. Tokugawa has won his first strategic victory—he has drawn his enemy’s forces into open terrain, avoiding a long and grueling siege. On October 20, 1600, after a long day of marching through torrential rain that has exhausted his men and rendered firearms useless, Ishida orders a halt and rest in the mountainous pass of Sekigahara.
The topography of the area—a valley bathed by the small Fuji River—offers Ishida’s army, positioned on the heights, a strategic advantage. Upon hearing of this movement, Tokugawa advances his troops into battle. For months, aided by a network of spies, he has been negotiating with some of Ishida’s allies, persuading them to defect—most notably with one of the most powerful among them, the young Kobayakawa Hideaki.
A former commander in Korea and the nephew of the late Toyotomi Hideyoshi, Kobayakawa had once fallen out of favor due to command errors, but Tokugawa had helped reinstate him. Now, the young warlord is torn between loyalty to the Toyotomi clan, which supports Ishida, and his gratitude toward Tokugawa. Eventually, he sends a secret message to Tokugawa, assuring him that he will switch sides during the battle. Tokugawa, taking his first major gamble, chooses to trust him.
Edo period screen depicting the Battle of Sekigahara.
The rain and fog are so thick that the two armies collide before even seeing each other. Panic. Gunfire. On the evening of October 20, both sides withdraw without engaging in full combat. Ishida rejects the idea of exploiting the situation as dishonorable, ignoring the advice of one of his generals, Shimazu Yoshihiro, who feels humiliated and will remember this slight the following day—leading him to betray Ishida.
At dawn on October 21, as the fog begins to lift, both armies take stock of their positions.
Perched on the heights, Ishida’s so-called “Western Army,” 80,000 strong, looks down upon Tokugawa’s 75,000 men, seemingly trapped in the valley below.
In Japan, the first samurai to charge into battle earns great respect. This honor falls to Tokugawa’s fourth son, a 21-year-old warrior.
At precisely 8 a.m., 30 cavalrymen ride behind him through the left flank of their “Eastern Army,” followed by 800 arquebusiers who open fire on the center-right of Ishida’s forces. The ascent is steep, the ground waterlogged, and the advance too slow. The assault is repelled with heavy casualties. Yet, despite Tokugawa’s weaker position and numerical disadvantage, his superior firepower tips the balance: his muskets have fared better in the damp conditions, and before the battle, he had seized 18 cannons from a Dutch ship, Liefde. These cannons now rain destruction upon the battlefield, their shots exploding amid forests of spears, cavalry charges, and deadly sword fights.
The Fatal Betrayal
By midday, the battle reaches a standstill. Confusion reigns, and the outcome remains uncertain. All eyes turn southward to Mount Matsuo, where 15,000 warriors under Kobayakawa Hideaki stand motionless above the chaos, awaiting their leader’s decision. The young commander hesitates, ignoring Ishida’s repeated orders to attack as well as Tokugawa’s messages reminding him of his promised defection.
Then, in a fateful move, Ieyasu makes a decision that will become legendary—he orders his cannons to fire upon Mount Matsuo. The thunderous blasts jolt Kobayakawa into action. At last, he commits. With a sweeping motion, he commands his entire force to descend in support of Tokugawa, siding with the old warlord to whom, in the end, he feels indebted.
Ishida’s troops, stunned by this betrayal, turn their arquebuses against the defectors, limiting the effectiveness of their charge and even driving them back up the hill. But Tokugawa’s other regiments seize the moment, capitalizing on the disorder to break through the right flank of the Western Army.
Witnessing this dramatic shift, four of Ishida’s generals also turn against him, including Shimazu, still nursing his grudge from the previous day. When Ishida orders him to attack, he coldly refuses, declaring that he does not take commands from a leader he does not respect.
The verdict is clear. The Western Alliance is revealed to be nothing more than a fragile coalition. The bold gamble of the seasoned warrior has outmatched the refined administrator. Ishida’s army collapses—both in spirit and on the battlefield. In the aftermath, 40,000 of his men are executed.
A Dictatorship of Peace
From this moment on, Japan turns inward. Abandoned by his allies and handed over to Tokugawa Ieyasu, Ishida Mitsunari is paraded through the streets of Osaka before being taken to Kyoto, where he is beheaded on November 1, 1600, along with three other “troublemakers.” As per custom, their severed heads are displayed on Sanjo Bridge. Kobayakawa Hideaki, whose betrayal altered the course of history, is rewarded by Tokugawa with a vast domain. Yet, he enjoys it little—he dies just two years later, having succumbed to madness.
In 1603, Tokugawa is granted the coveted title of shogun by the emperor, an honor denied to his two predecessors due to their humble origins. This official recognition cements his success, allowing him to complete Japan’s unification. He confiscates and redistributes the lands of his former enemies to loyal men. More importantly, to prevent the regional fragmentation that had long plagued Japan, he reduces the number of feudal domains. Each han (fief) now becomes an administrative unit overseen by a representative of the central government, to whom he must answer.
Thus a nation was born that isolated itself from the outside world like a patient in convalescence. In Kyoto, the emperor remained the symbolic heart of the nation, while his enforcer, the shogun, ruled from Edo. The Tokugawa shogunate would last until 1868, and the Battle of Sekigahara would be seen as a defining moment in the birth of modern Japan.
Q/A on the Battle of Sekigahara
What caused the Battle of Sekigahara?
The battle was the culmination of a power struggle following the death of Toyotomi Hideyoshi in 1598. Tokugawa Ieyasu sought to consolidate power, while Ishida Mitsunari rallied loyalists to protect Hideyoshi’s heir, Toyotomi Hideyori.
What were the Eastern and Western Armies?
Eastern Army: Led by Tokugawa Ieyasu, it included daimyo (feudal lords) from eastern Japan. Western Army: Led by Ishida Mitsunari, it consisted of daimyo loyal to the Toyotomi clan, primarily from western Japan.
What was the significance of Sekigahara’s location?
Sekigahara, located in modern-day Gifu Prefecture, was a strategic crossroads. Its narrow valley forced the Western Army into a confined space, limiting their mobility.
What were the key mistakes of the Western Army?
Poor coordination: Lack of unity among the daimyo. Betrayals: Key commanders defected to the Eastern Army. Ineffective leadership: Ishida Mitsunari’s inability to inspire loyalty.
The painter’s early religious-themed works exhibit characteristics reminiscent of the pictorial technique of his first master, Fra Filippo Lippi, under whom he studied for three years until 1467. Lippi favored a linear composition with highly refined and elaborate decorations. Filippino Lippi, the son of his master, would later become Botticelli’s most renowned pupil.
From a Modest but Not Impoverished Family
His father, Mariano Filipepi, worked as a tanner, ensuring the family’s livelihood. Young Botticelli displayed an insatiable curiosity for culture and art. He initially trained as a goldsmith, like one of his brothers, before fully dedicating himself to painting. His pictorial style was heavily influenced by his mastery of manual arts such as goldsmithing and chiseling, evident in his keen attention to contours and intricate details.
Botticelli’s Close Ties to Humanist and Neoplatonist Thinkers
Gaining quick renown in Florence, Botticelli moved within an elite intellectual circle. He interacted with Neoplatonists and was inspired by the dominant humanist movement at the Medici court.
These influences are reflected in his paintings, which incorporate Greco-Roman mythology and a linear grace that emphasizes purity and virtue.
A Painter Obsessed with the Pursuit of Absolute Perfection
As both a humanist thinker and a man of faith, Botticelli sought the sacred. He did not dwell on human weaknesses but instead depicted an idealized moral journey where goodness and beauty merged. His canvases abound with Madonnas, goddesses, rich colors, and delicate transparencies.
However, amidst this languid perfection, occasional glimmers of anxiety and doubt emerge, hidden within an enigmatic gaze or a darker background. In his relentless pursuit of the absolute, Botticelli eventually became almost fanatical and reclusive.
A Celebrated Painter, but Unrecognized in Rome
Probable self-portrait of Botticelli, in his Adoration of the Magi (1475).
As a protégé of the Medici, Botticelli enjoyed significant fame during his lifetime in Florence. Pope Sixtus IV summoned him to Rome to contribute to the decorations of the Sistine Chapel alongside other renowned painters. Between 1481 and 1482, he painted three frescoes illustrating various biblical episodes in the medieval tradition. However, his work was not well received, possibly due to the ongoing rivalry between Florence and Rome. Disheartened, the artist decided never to leave his native city again.
Celibate, Romantic Lover, or Homosexual?
Botticelli never married, dedicating himself entirely to his art. Contemporary rumors suggested he had little interest in women and was widely believed to be homosexual. However, he did form a platonic and romantic attachment—akin to that of a painter to his muse—to Simonetta Vespucci.
Simonetta, Botticelli’s Venus
Simonetta Vespucci was considered the most beautiful woman in Florence at the time. She arrived in the city at 15 and married Marco Vespucci before becoming the lover of Giuliano de’ Medici. Botticelli also fell under her spell and began sketching portraits of her. Tragically, she died at just 23. The painter immortalized her as a flower nymph in Primavera and as the ethereal Venus in The Birth of Venus, capturing her alabaster skin and flowing Venetian blonde hair. Upon his death, Botticelli was buried at his request near his muse.
Venus and Mars: The Victory of Love Over War?
Using Simonetta as his model and Giuliano de’ Medici as Mars, Botticelli painted Venus and Mars in 1483. The artwork depicts the god of war in a languid state of rest while Venus watches over him, her gaze slightly anxious.
With her long, braided hair and a translucent white gown adorned with golden trim, she embodies the purity of love. Yet, the painting carries an undertone of sensuality, with her lover’s idealized nude form sculpted by the painter’s brush.
Botticelli, A Devoted Admirer of Dante
Botticelli deeply admired the works of the Italian poet Dante Alighieri. He spent years creating drawings to illustrate The Divine Comedy, including The Map of Hell with its various levels of damnation. He also attempted to write a book on Dante, but the project remained unfinished.
A Religious Fanatic, Crippled and Forgotten
By the 1490s, Botticelli became a follower of Savonarola, the Dominican friar who led Florence in a religious purge, burning anything deemed vain, including mirrors, paintings, and ornaments. Under this influence, Botticelli’s work took on a mystical tone, reflecting his growing religious fervor. Throughout his life, he had been reckless with money, and he eventually found himself destitute and physically infirm. His artistic style became outdated with the rise of new masters like Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Raphael. Botticelli’s work faded into obscurity for centuries until the 19th century, when the Pre-Raphaelites and Romanticists revived his legacy.
During an exhibition of his paintings, the artist wanted to discreetly observe the reactions of the Royal Academy’s examiners by positioning himself in a nearby room. One of the examiners carefully studied his works, then approached Chardin and told him he had just seen some very good paintings and now wished to see his own. To this, the artist replied: “Sir, you have just seen them.”
A Remark Pushed Him to Paint More Than Still Lifes
After Chardin mentioned to a fellow painter that any sum of money was appreciated, even for a portrait, his friend replied, “Yes, if a portrait were as easy to paint as a sausage.” This remark made Chardin deeply question himself. Fearing he would be forgotten if he only painted still lifes, he decided to start depicting scenes of everyday life.
He Was More Admired in the 19th Century Than in His Own Time
Like many artists, Chardin was not fully appreciated during his lifetime. His works, especially The Ray, were more widely admired in the 19th century. Matisse often visited the Louvre to study his paintings and even created The Buffet inspired by Chardin. Cézanne drew inspiration from his still lifes, while Proust wrote: “We learned from Chardin that a pear is as alive as a woman, that an ordinary piece of pottery is as beautiful as a precious stone.”
Chardin Hardly Ever Left Paris
Chardin pastel selfportrait
Born in Paris, Jean Siméon Chardin lived in the family home on Rue de Seine for many years. After marrying Marguerite Saintard, he moved to Rue Princesse.
He spent most of his time in the Marais district, at the Royal Academy, and at the Louvre. While many painters of his time traveled to Italy to refine their skills, Chardin remained in Paris. Even when he left Rue Princesse, it was to move into the Louvre, where he also passed away in 1779.
The Artist Lived in the Louvre
In 1755, Chardin became treasurer of the Royal Academy. Two years later, he received a letter from King Louis XV granting him the residence of S. Marteau, recently deceased, in the Louvre’s galleries. Chardin was so proud of this “promotion” that he read the letter aloud before the entire Royal Academy, as recorded in the official minutes. He moved in with his wife and had the renowned engraver Charles-Nicolas Cochin as his neighbor.
He Gradually Lost His Sight Due to Painting
From 1770 onward, Chardin’s eyesight began to deteriorate. He abandoned oil painting and turned to pastels on the advice of a fellow painter.
Chardin personally ground his pigments to achieve the colors he wanted. He then mixed them with a binding agent, but the mixture contained a significant amount of lead. This highly toxic substance likely caused progressive damage to his eyes.
Pierre-Jean Chardin was the first child of Jean Siméon Chardin and Marguerite Saintard. He was born a few months after their marriage, in November 1731. After his wife’s death in 1735, Chardin raised his son alone, who eventually became his student. Pierre-Jean furthered his training in Italy and even won the prestigious Prix de Rome in 1754. He returned to France in 1762 but went back to Italy in 1767, where he remained until his death in 1768.
Chardin Lost His Wife and Daughter in the Same Year
Some people speak of a curse when referring to the artist’s life. Chardin himself reportedly believed he was doomed. In 1735, just four years after his marriage to Marguerite Saintard, she passed away.
A few months later, their 20-month-old daughter, Marguerite-Agnès, also died—her fragile health likely worsened by the loss of her mother.
He Was Friends with Denis Diderot
Chardin was aware of the ambitious project led by d’Alembert and Diderot to create the famous Encyclopédie. Diderot, in turn, greatly admired Chardin’s works, as he understood their depth and intensity. Naturally, when they met, they became friends. Diderot often visited Chardin for tea in his Louvre apartment. In a small room near his studio, the artist would reveal to the philosopher paintings he had never shown to anyone before.
His Son Was Kidnapped by Pirates
In 1757, Jean Siméon Chardin gave his son the opportunity to study at the French Academy in Rome. However, Pierre-Jean’s time in Rome was marred by scandals that tarnished his reputation, including a dramatic incident in 1762 when he was captured by pirates. The details of this episode remain unclear—no one knows exactly how Pierre-Jean Chardin was kidnapped or how he was eventually freed.
Rembrandt painted himself throughout his entire career, leaving behind a vast collection of around 50 self-portraits, along with numerous etchings and drawings. These works document his aging process and evolving technique. He often used costumes and exaggerated expressions—depicting himself as a nobleman, a monk, a soldier, or a beggar—making himself his own model for artistic study.
A Home Filled with Clutter and Curiosities
Rembrandt lived in a chaotic yet artistically rich environment, collecting paintings, oriental rugs, sculptures, and rare objects. This passion for collecting reflected his artistic sensibility rather than a display of wealth. However, when he faced financial ruin, his treasures were sold at auction for a fraction of their value to pay off debts.
During his most prosperous years, Rembrandt lived for two decades in a grand house in Amsterdam’s Jewish Quarter (now Waterlooplein). It was a prime location for securing commissions from wealthy patrons. However, the 13,000-florin mortgage he took out for the property burdened him financially and contributed to his bankruptcy in 1656.
Today, the house is a museum dedicated to his life and work.
Rembrandt Was Never Truly Alone
Although often portrayed as gruff or melancholic, Rembrandt disliked solitude. His marriage to Saskia van Uylenburgh, the daughter of a wealthy art dealer, brought joy to his life. After her death from tuberculosis at age 30, he was left to care for their son, Titus.
He then formed relationships with two successive household servants—first Geertje Dircx, then Hendrickje Stoffels, who bore him a daughter, Cornelia, before passing away in 1663.
He Also Painted Landscapes
A Polish Nobleman (1637).
Though Rembrandt is primarily known for his portraits and historical scenes, he occasionally painted landscapes. While relatively rare, these works, such as The Mill, had a lasting impact on later artists like John Constable. His landscapes, often infused with dramatic chiaroscuro, were less focused on realism and more on mood and atmosphere.
The Constant Reauthentication of His Paintings
Rembrandt’s prolific output and the presence of numerous students in his workshop have led to ongoing debates over the authenticity of his paintings. Some works once attributed to him have been reclassified as student or follower copies, while others have been reinstated as authentic Rembrandt masterpieces. Today, around 400 paintings are believed to be his.
Rembrandt Depicted Himself in His Paintings
Beyond his well-known self-portraits, Rembrandt frequently included himself in historical and mythological compositions. He appears in The Raising of the Cross, Joseph Telling His Dreams, and The Stoning of Saint Stephen, often blending into the crowd. The reason for this remains unclear—perhaps he saw personal parallels in biblical stories or simply enjoyed inserting himself into his own narratives.
A Painter with a Philosophical Mind
Rembrandt’s art is deeply intertwined with philosophical reflection on human destiny. His works often show empathy toward the poor and marginalized, leading some critics of his time to claim he focused too much on commoners. A profound scholar of the Bible and Jewish culture in Amsterdam, he infused spiritual depth even into seemingly ordinary scenes, making his work uniquely introspective.
The Evolution of His Signature
Rembrandt’s signature changed throughout his career. Early on, he used “R” or “RH” (for Rembrandt Harmenszoon, meaning “son of Harmen” in Dutch). Later, he added van Rijn, his family name, before settling on just “Rembrant.” Eventually, he modified it to “Rembrandt” with an added “d”—a change with no phonetic impact but possibly significant to him.
The Scandal of His Relationship with Geertje Dircx
Self Portrait (1658), now housed in the Frick Collection in New York City.
After the death of his wife, Rembrandt began a relationship with Geertje Dircx, the caretaker of his son, Titus. Though they lived together, he refused to marry her, leading to scandal. When their relationship soured, Geertje sued him and won financial compensation under a marriage promise. Rather than fulfill it, Rembrandt had her committed to an asylum in 1650, tarnishing his reputation further.
Raphael’s father, Giovanni Santi, was an Italian painter and poet at the court of Urbino. He studied painting alongside Piero della Francesca and was the first to recognize his son’s remarkable talent. Sadly, he passed away when Raphael was only 11 years old, forcing the young artist to move and find a new master. Raphael then traveled to Perugia, where he trained under Perugino.
The Sistine Madonna Was Stolen by the Nazis During World War II
Sistine Madonna. Location: Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister, Dresden
In 1754, Augustus III of Saxony acquired Raphael’s most famous painting, The Sistine Madonna, and displayed it in his gallery in Dresden, Germany. However, during World War II, the Nazis stole the artwork and transported it by train to Moscow. A Soviet army officer later recovered it and returned it to Germany after conducting a meticulous investigation with multiple witnesses.
A Hidden Message in The Holy Family
The Holy Family is a painting depicting the Virgin Mary with the infant Jesus, Saint Elizabeth, and the young Saint John the Baptist. Although the artwork is inspired by the Bible, these figures are never mentioned together as children in the scriptures.
Raphael may have included a hidden apocalyptic message in the painting, as an astrologer had predicted the end of the world in 1524.
A Hidden Message for Raphael’s Mistress in Two Paintings
Raphael was deeply in love with Margherita Luti and included secret messages for her in La Fornarina and La Donna Velata. The young woman served as his model for both paintings, and in each, Raphael painted a pearl in her hair. The Latin word margarita means “pearl,” making this a direct reference to his beloved’s name.
Raphael and Michelangelo: A Rivalry
Raphael and Michelangelo worked during the same period and both served Popes Julius II and Leo X at the Vatican. While Raphael, known for his positive nature, admired Michelangelo, the latter—reserved and temperamental—resented the young artist.
Raphael’s favored status with Pope Leo X further fueled Michelangelo’s jealousy.
The Legend of Raphael’s Death During a Romantic Encounter
Many rumors have circulated regarding the exact cause of Raphael’s death at just 37 years old. While the official account attributes it to malaria and a fatal fever, some speculate that he actually died during an intense romantic encounter with Margherita Luti.
Raphael Died on His Birthday
Raphael is among the few artists who passed away on their birthday. Born on April 6, 1483, he died on April 6, 1520—Good Friday. His contemporaries saw this as a celestial omen, especially since cracks had appeared in the Vatican rooms a few days earlier, forcing Pope Leo X to relocate temporarily.
Raphael’s death plunged Rome and all of Italy into mourning. Pope Leo X was deeply saddened and ordered a grand funeral. As per Raphael’s wishes, he was buried in the Pantheon in Rome.
His epitaph, written by poet Pietro Bembo, reads: “Here lies Raphael; while he lived, Nature feared being outdone; now that he is dead, she fears perishing.”
The Love of His Life Died Shortly After Him
Raphael met Margherita Luti in 1512, the daughter of a baker from Siena. Their passionate love affair inspired some of his most famous works. It is believed that Raphael was with her before his death. Heartbroken, Margherita entered a convent and died of grief in 1522.
Raphael Included Portraits of Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo in The School of Athens
The School of Athens, a fresco Raphael painted in the Vatican for Pope Julius II, represents the pursuit of knowledge through history’s greatest thinkers. Among figures like Socrates and Epicurus, Raphael depicted Heraclitus and Plato. He modeled Heraclitus after Michelangelo and Plato after Leonardo da Vinci.
In Quattrocento Italy, princes competed to secure the best engineers. Military engineers, skilled in artillery, mechanics, and hydraulics, were highly sought after in royal courts. Leonardo da Vinci, a master of drawing and keen observer of nature, quickly understood this demand.
Thus, in 1482, at the age of thirty, he joined the court of Ludovico Sforza, Duke of Milan. For him, Leonardo designed sketches of bridges, assault ladders, and even the ancestor of the modern tank.
Development of Tanks
Around 1500, Leonardo da Vinci designed a cone-shaped armored machine. Theoretically capable of rotating 360 degrees and equipped with weapons, it strongly resembles the modern tanks that would emerge centuries later during World War I. Leonardo did not merely sketch the overall structure; he also considered its mechanics. He envisioned the vehicle being operated by eight men inside, who would turn cranks to power the wheels. Though impossible to construct at the time, this concept remains an impressive feat of engineering.
Leonardo da Vinci had many groundbreaking ideas, and before even tackling the tank, he imagined an early form of a parachute. Between 1485 and 1502, he designed a pyramidal parachute with striking dimensions—approximately 7 meters on each side and in height. A square wooden frame supported the fabric. According to notes in his journals, this device would allow a person to descend safely from great heights. This claim was tested much later, in 2008, when Swiss parachutist Olivier Vietti-Teppa successfully glided using a replica of Da Vinci’s design.
Birth of the Bicycle
A drawing discovered in 1960 within one of Leonardo da Vinci’s many codices raised intriguing questions. The bicycle, as we know it, is generally credited to the German baron Karl von Drais, who introduced a precursor to the bicycle—the draisine—in 1818, featuring handlebars, two wheels, and a seat. However, Leonardo’s sketches suggest that he had already conceptualized a bicycle-like mechanism. His drawings include a straight chain and three toothed wheels of different diameters—an early form of a gear system that hints at a fundamental understanding of bicycle mechanics.
One of the First Automobiles
Leonardo’s fascination with clockwork and perpetual motion led him to design, around 1478, one of history’s first self-propelled vehicles. This early automobile resembled a three-wheeled chassis without a body, but it was intended to move on its own, powered by a system of coiled springs. In 2004, Italian scientists built a working model based on his sketches, which is now displayed at the Leonardo da Vinci Museum in Vinci, his hometown.
Prototype Diving Suit
Da Vinci’s drawings of scuba gear, from the Codex Arundel.
Among Leonardo’s remarkable drawings is a sketch of a diving suit equipped with a helmet connected to the surface by a breathing tube. He even included an internal air pocket to help the diver hold their breath longer underwater.
However, when tested centuries later, the design proved impractical. This highlights a crucial aspect of Leonardo’s inventions—none were built during his lifetime.
Whether due to technical limitations or lack of funding, his ideas remained on paper, an unfinished chapter in the legacy of a true Renaissance genius.
