When Adam Met walks onstage with his brothers, Jack and Ryan, as AJR, he’s usually met with thousands of fans screaming the words to every song. The multi-platinum band is known for infectious hooks and arena-sized sing-alongs, with songs like "Bang!," "World’s Smallest Violin," and "Way Less Sad," but Met’s life goes far beyond the stage.He’s an adjunct professor at Columbia University, has a doctorate in international human rights law and sustainable development, is a nonprofit founder, and is now the author of Amplify. This national bestseller connects lessons from the music industry to lessons in activism. His specialty? Showing people how to turn fandom into movements, and how joy is the spark for both.“When I roll out of bed, I say to myself, ‘What is actually going to bring me joy today?' And then I focus on those things," Met explained. “I don’t feel like I have to be doing any of the things that I’m doing … but I’m doing all of them because I love them and they make me happy.” "I love using the academic side of my brain as much as the creative side of my brain as much as the fun side of my brain." — Adam MetBuilding movements like building a fanbase - YouTube youtu.be Met sees clear parallels between his career in music and his work as a climate activist. Whether it’s rolling out an album or launching a campaign, the process is the same: find your audience, welcome them in, and build a community where they feel safe and valued.At AJR shows, the band’s goal is to make a packed arena feel like a one-on-one conversation. That intimacy translates into activism, too.Instead of picturing engagement as a ladder people climb alone, Met uses what he calls the “hurricane model.” In this version, newcomers are pulled immediately to the center, given tools and encouragement, and then spiral outward to bring in more people.“That’s how a fan base gets built. That’s how a social movement builds,” he said. “And as we’re thinking about the climate movement, we need more and more of that.”Conversations that surprise Adam Met at the Time100 NEXT event.Photo by Kevin Mazur/Getty Images for TIMEOne of the book’s most memorable chapters comes from Met's sit-down with conservative commentator Glenn Beck.“I so vehemently disagree with him on so many issues,” Met admitted. They spoke for nearly four hours, disagreeing for most of it, until they found one small but powerful area of agreement. It taught Adam something he’s carried into every part of his work: real bridges can form if you’re patient enough to look for common ground. "If you take the time with people and end up finding something small to connect over, you can then build that bridge." — Adam MetWhat one person can do right nowWhen asked about the small personal choices we’re told to make, like paper straws, Met was blunt.“The first thing I would do is go back to plastic straws. Paper straws are not really going to have any sort of impact. And also, they are terrible,” he said with a grin.Instead, Met pushes people toward systemic impact.“Literally put into Google when is my next local election,” he urged. “Your vote is thousands of times more powerful at the local level than it is at the national level.” "Your vote is thousands of times more powerful at the local level than it is at the national level." — Adam MetLocal boards decide how neighborhoods are zoned, where highways get built, and even where petrochemical plants go. And in many cases, those races are decided by a handful of votes.Combating climate anxiety with small winsMet knows many young people feel overwhelmed by the climate crisis. His answer? Look for quick, local victories that remind you that change is possible.“Finding something that will take you a couple of days to get done and seeing that success and feeling that success … is the best way,” he said. Whether it’s pushing for a stop sign on your street or rallying neighbors to petition city hall, those wins fight back against the sense of helplessness.From blueprint to revolutionMet unveiled the Neo-Industrial Revolution, a declaration handed out during Climate Week and available online. It calls for a rebrand of how we talk about climate change, shifting from distant concepts like “1.5 degrees” to urgent, relatable changes in transportation, energy, food, and housing.“It starts with the language,” Met explained. “We need a new lexicon … and we need to make it personal and revolutionary.”Where the music and movement meetEven as he juggles tours, lectures, and writing, Met sees music as his proving ground. AJR’s live shows often feature a section where the brothers break down how a song was made, layering one instrument after another until the crowd realizes what track it is. That sense of discovery, suspense, and eventual release, is the same energy that he brings to activism.“It’s the storytelling and that build that keeps people engaged,” he said.And for fans, that engagement is real. At one AJR concert, a 12-year-old who started out nervous and quiet was on his feet by the time the band played “Way Less Sad." Met wants activism to feel the same way—moving people from timid curiosity to bold participation.That’s what Amplify and the Neo-Industrial Revolution are all about: giving people the tools to move from the back row to the front lines.Adam Met’s book, Amplify, is out now. You can explore the Neo-Industrial Revolution at neoindustrialrevolution.org. And most importantly, check when your next local election is, and make your voice heard.

The more cerebral side. The post The album Bono said turned U2 into a prog rock band first appeared on Far Out Magazine.

Architects’ “Everything Ends” climbs two spots to reach #1 on Billboard’s Mainstream Rock Airplay chart (dated September 27th). It is the band’s first #1 on any tally or songs-based ranking. The track is the lead single from “The Sky, The Earth & All Between,” Architects’ 11th studio album, which has earned 74,000 equivalent album units to date. Everything Ends The Sky, The Earth & All Between The quartet, which formed in Brighton, England, in 2004, first reached Mainstream Rock Airplay with “Animals,” which peaked at #5 in 2021. Architects join Sleep Theory, Evanescence and Deftones scoring their first #1 this year on Mainstream Rock Airplay as a lead act. ### The post Architects “Everything Ends” appeared first on RockinTown.

by Kurt Zindulka, Breitbart: The global impact of slain Turning Point USA founder Charlie Kirk was put on full display on Sunday as tributes poured in from across Europe to honour his legacy as a champion of freedom of speech. While tens of thousands gathered in State Farm Stadium in Arizona on Sunday for the memorial […]

from Jason Bermas: TRUTH LIVES on at https://sgtreport.tv/

  The Inquisition was not merely a mechanism of religious persecution but also a sophisticated instrument of ideological control that shaped culture, morality, and social structures in the colony. Examining cases such as the persecution of Jews and witch hunts reveals the brutality of its methods, its capacity to dismantle communities, the prejudices of the time, and how it perpetuated a legacy of fear and repression.   The Inquisition and Its Expansion to America Shield of the Holy Inquisition of Mexico, Anonymous, 17th century. Source: Mediateca INAH   The Inquisition was an institution created by the Catholic Church in the 13th century to combat heresy and preserve orthodoxy. However, the Spanish Inquisition functioned somewhat differently from others. In the period of Catholic monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella, it was said that there were many Christians who, after being converted from Judaism, continued practicing their old customs. At the request of the Spanish rulers, Pope Sixtus IV issued a bull in 1478 in which he authorized them to appoint their own inquisitors and remove such heretics in perpetuity. The Spanish Inquisition became part of the State itself and answered to the policies and interests of the kingdom, not to the Pope or the Catholic hierarchy. The Spanish Inquisition quickly became an instrument of power for the monarchy, used to pressure and influence the beliefs of its subjects.   In the nascent American colonies, the situation was different for two reasons. First, the distance from the center of power, so remote, allowed a greater laxity in the practice of Catholicism, deviating from the orthodoxy that had to be maintained on the peninsula; this led to fears that the colonies would attract people who were fleeing from this control. Second, there was also the question of Indigenous peoples and their religious practices. Ultimately, ideological and religious struggles in the Americas were not only due to internal deviations within Catholicism but also the belief systems deeply rooted in Indigenous societies.   Inquisition tribunals were created in the Americas, one in Lima and another in Mexico; later, in 1610, a third tribunal was added in Cartagena de Indias. Among them, they had jurisdiction over the entire territory of Spanish America, and the most relevant cases were brought to these courts.   Judaism: The First “Crime” of the Inquisition Manuscript of Luis de Carvajal describing the Ten Commandments, c. 1595. Source: SmartHistory.org   Judaism was seen as a grave sin; after the religious unification following the Reconquista and the expulsion of the Jews, Catholic orthodoxy was imposed in Spain and in the new colonies. It was feared that Jews would escape to the New World in order to continue secretly practicing the rites far from the control of the authorities. Recent DNA studies of Latin Americans reveal a Sephardic ancestry much broader than was originally believed, even greater than in countries such as Spain and Portugal, which indicates the likelihood that many more Jews traveled than was thought, although many practiced in secret.   A notable case is that of the Jewish leader Luis de Carvajal, one of the most famous in the New World and the first Jewish author in the Americas, whose work has endured to the present day. Much is known about his Judaism: how he adopted the pseudonym Jose Lumbroso (“Joseph the Enlightened”), how he circumcised himself with an old pair of scissors, how he prayed, how he celebrated his holidays and fasts, and how he assumed leadership of his sizeable secret Jewish community, which had fled the Inquisition from Portugal and Spain to Mexico in the mid-sixteenth century. Carvajal was caught and arrested for secretly practicing Judaism and was subjected to torture. Carvajal ended up betraying more than a hundred people who secretly practiced Judaism, including the names of his sister and his mother.   General Auto-da-Fé in Mexico, 1649, Anonymous. Source: Mediateca INAH   His confession helped to reveal the internal structure of the Jewish community in Mexico City, which triggered the infamous autos de fe of 1596 and 1601. These were public ceremonies organized by the inquisitorial authorities in which the defendants were denounced and punished. The punishments ranged from public penances, confiscation of goods, forced labor, and, in the most severe cases, the “relaxation” to the secular arm, which meant being handed over to the civil authorities to be executed, generally by means of a stake. In these two autos de fe, two hundred and ten individuals were accused of various heresies, 86 of them Jews, of whom Carvajal had named 57. In total, 11 were burned at the stake, 10 of whom had been named by Carvajal. The eleventh was Carvajal himself.   This process demonstrates the meticulous efficiency of the inquisitorial apparatus: extensive investigations and information networks, the detailed record of all interrogations and torture sessions. The Inquisition used torture to extract information, although most of the time, it was already known through other sources; it served to expand and confirm this information but also as a tool of terror and social control. Thus, it came to have the capacity to dismantle entire communities, destroying the cultural and social life of Jews in the viceroyalty. The autos de fe were ritualized and theatrical, since the objective was not only to punish the guilty but also to serve as a warning to reinforce Catholic orthodoxy and to display the power of the church.   Hunting Witches: Superstition and Control Auto da fe in the Town of San Bartolomé Otzolotepec, Anonymous, 18th century. Source: Google Arts and Culture   In Spanish America, there existed an ancient magical tradition deeply connected to religious beliefs and medicinal practices. With the arrival of the Spaniards, a very rigid, dogmatic, and Eurocentric approach was imposed in which the ancient Indigenous idols were associated with representations of the devil. Furthermore, any Indigenous spiritual practice, even those exclusively related to natural medicine, was also demonized.   Just as in the European tribunals, the high point of the persecution against superstitions and witches occurred in the first forty years of the 17th century, when the crypto-Jews were fewer in number, and the Lutherans no longer represented a significant threat. The Inquisition had to focus its efforts on other targets that would allow it to justify its existence and maintain ideological control.   Accusations of witchcraft and superstition became an inexhaustible source of cases, particularly in the witchcraft epidemics imported from Europe, where fear reigned. These not only served to keep the prisons full but also silenced dissidents and maintained a social order aligned with colonial and ecclesiastical interests.   Drawing in a file on heretical propositions, José Ventura González, 1789-1790. Source: Memorica, Government of Mexico   Many of the women accused of being witches or sorceresses belonged to lower social classes; they used these practices to pocket a few pesos, offering services related to love, wealth, and health. Some of them also engaged in prostitution, and witchcraft served as a tool to attract more clients or ensure their loyalty.   A very well-known case was that of Paula de Eguíluz, a Creole Black woman. In her file it is explained how, on a bad day, the devil appeared to her in the form of a woman and then as a very handsome man, with whom she had carnal relations and afterward went to a coven near Havana. She was sentenced to serve the poor in a hospital. This occurred in 1623, but in 1630, she again had to face the inquisitors, as she was once again accused of converting her neighbors and friends into witches. According to her statements, a little devil called Mantelillos had taught her the science of making strange cures and of exhuming corpses to devour them in her fantastic covens. This time, she was punished with two hundred lashes and was condemned to wear a habit and be imprisoned perpetually.   This case shows a mixture of European conceptions of Satanism and the social and cultural dynamics proper to the colonial context. Many of the narrated elements, such as having relations with a demon or covens, did not necessarily reflect real experiences but rather were induced by the inquisitors in order to fit the confessions within the narratives imported from Europe.   The Mulatta (The Supper at Emmaus) by Diego Gelázquez, circa 1618. Source: National Gallery of Ireland   History also highlights Paula’s vulnerable position, being a woman, Black, a slave, a healer, and having an active social life; she was more exposed to stigmatization and was made an easy target for accusations of witchcraft both by the authorities and by her own neighbors, who often denounced her and invented stories about her.   Under inquisitorial pressures, Paula ended up confessing, either due to internalizing certain beliefs or, perhaps most likely, because it was a means of survival; confessing was a means to avoid more severe penalties. The reality was that sometimes there was no other way to save oneself; the inquisitors sought to fit the accounts within their pre-established notions of witchcraft.   The sentences for this type of case were generally not severe and are in no way comparable with the great European tribunals burning all the “witches” who fell into their hands at the stake. The most common punishments were lashes, exile, serving in hospitals, or being interned with the sick.   Behind many of these cases there was an underlying attempt to impose a morality, to punish sexuality and the women who defied hegemonic patriarchal narratives, ultimately seeking to exercise control over women, popular knowledge, and marginalized figures in a deeply unequal colonial system.   Echoes of the Inquisition Painting depicting an auto-de-fe, Francisco Goya, 1808-1812. Source: Google Arts and Culture   The Inquisition was not only a system of religious persecution but also a sophisticated and meticulous system of justice that shaped the social and cultural life of the colony. Unlike the justice administered by ordinary courts, which was quite lax, the Inquisition was extremely careful in its procedures, with long trials and severe punishments. Although both types of courts belonged to the Spanish crown, the paramount importance of the Inquisition is visible; beyond punishment, it was a means of ideological control, shaping morality and imposing social rules.   Fear was one of the most enduring legacies, for mentalities are the most difficult thing to change in history, enduring through material structures as well as economic and political changes. The surveillance, denunciation, and punishment of the Inquisition left a symbolic mark that persisted over time in subsequent censures, educational control, mechanisms of state repression, and control of information.   However, the Inquisition also left an invaluable legacy of documentary sources, records that have allowed modern historians to understand the cultural aspects of everyday life and the experiences of women and ordinary people that were rarely documented elsewhere. Furthermore, because the accusations and trials focused on behaviors considered transgressive, they offer a view into the social practices, beliefs, and cultural tensions of the era. They must be seen as much more than simple norms, for they reveal a mechanism of control that sought to impose a uniform morality. The very prohibitions allow us to glimpse the behaviors that people practiced in secret.

  Maria Walewska may not be a household name like Empress Josephine, but her influence on Napoleon Bonaparte was no less significant. Born to a noble Polish family, Maria became entangled with the French emperor at a time when her country’s fate hung in the balance. Her affair with Napoleon wasn’t just a passionate romance; it was a suave political maneuver.   Who Was Maria? Portrait of Maria Walewska, 19th century. Source: Get Archive   Maria hailed from the Polish countryside, born into the noble but somewhat humble Łączyński family on December 7, 1786. The family, while ancient by title, was not exactly swimming in riches—unless one counts the modest holdings that barely kept up appearances. Maria, however, was not destined for a life of quiet obscurity. She was the eldest of six siblings, which made her the family’s brightest hope for securing a prosperous future (I’m the oldest and the wittiest and the gossip in Poland is insidious, anyone?). That future came in the form of a certain Count Athanasius Walewski—a man four times her age and on his third marriage.   Maria, still a teen but urged on by her pragmatic mother, took the plunge into holy matrimony with the 60-something Walewski. In doing so, Maria secured her family’s financial future. Walewski, for his part, was a man of wealth and stature—one of the great houses of Poland—but even his lofty title could not disguise the fact that his days of romanticism and courtship were long behind him. It was, as so many marriages of the time were, a union of necessity, not passion.   Maria Walewska’s Coffin Plaque. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Just six months into the marriage, Maria bore a son, Antoni Rudolf Bazyli Colonna-Walewski, though rumors whispered that this child was perhaps a product of earlier indiscretions, conveniently timed to save her honor. The baby boy was swiftly whisked away by Walewski’s meddlesome family, as though Maria was unfit for the duties of motherhood. With her son under the care of older, unwelcoming in-laws, Maria found herself quite alone, in a loveless marriage with little to occupy her thoughts. It is here that historians theorize her patriotism and bent toward Polish independence bloomed in the dark.   Maria’s Poland was a country that had all but disappeared from the map, carved up by ambitious neighbors. Maria’s heart belonged not to her husband, but to the cause of revolution, and it was this fervent patriotism that would soon change the course of her life—and Europe. This is where it gets interesting and where many a researcher has asked themselves: How did this shy, dutiful, if solemn countess end up catching the eye of the most power-hungry man in the world?   How Did She Meet Napoleon? The Emperor Napoleon in His Study at the Tuileries, by Jacques-Louis Davids, 1812. Source: Google Art Project   In Maria’s world, this is where fate and power collided. In the winter of 1806 Napoleon Bonaparte—fresh from his military triumphs and political machinations—made his grand arrival in Poland. Warsaw itself was as abuzz as the heart of high society.   But let us not fool ourselves into believing this was some whirlwind romance of the usual sort. No, Maria Walewska did not simply flutter into Napoleon’s arms like some lovesick dove. Their first meeting, depending on which version of the tale you prefer, took place in the modest surroundings of Błonie or perhaps Jabłonna, towns that sound far less glamorous than the salons of Paris but were nonetheless filled with intrigue. Maria, ever the dutiful wife and patriot, was hardly swept off her feet by Napoleon’s power or charm. Indeed, she spoke to him briefly and found their encounter rather unremarkable—certainly not the stuff of grand love stories. And yet, Napoleon, ever one to notice the finer things in life, did not forget her.   It wasn’t long before the Emperor, whose thoughts rarely strayed from either conquest or courtly pleasures, sought her out once more—this time in Warsaw, at a ball hosted by Count Stanislaw Potocki. Balls were not simply for dancing in those days. They were political stages where alliances were forged, promises whispered, and, in Maria’s case, decisions of national consequence were weighed.   Maria had no intention of being anyone’s mistress, let alone the Emperor’s but try to imagine the pressure on one lonely, probably bored, patriotic countess. It came from all sides: General Duroc, the Emperor’s Grand Marshal, Polish aristocrats, even her own husband. Their strategy was that by surrendering herself to Napoleon, Maria might influence him to help Poland regain its independence.   Stanislaw Kostka Potocki, by Anton Graff, 1785. Source: Museum of King Jan III   Reluctant but determined, Maria made a choice. She would sacrifice her personal dignity for the cause of her beloved Poland. As she would later write in her memoirs, “The sacrifice was complete.” After that glittering ball in Warsaw, Maria embarked on an affair that would soon become one of the most whispered-about scandals in all of Europe.   This was no ordinary tryst. Napoleon, ever the strategist, kept their meetings the utmost secret. By day, Maria remained the respectable Countess Walewska, but by night she would slip into the Royal Castle to meet the Emperor in his chambers. Their affair progressed behind closed doors, even as the city’s elite speculated with relish on what was a well known secret. How very convenient it must have been for the aging Count Walewski—his young wife now the confidante of the most powerful man in Europe, with political favors hanging in the balance, her rising star leading to more connections and more wealth.   Agar Adamson dressed as Napoleon, 1898. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Their love story, if one dares to call it that, soon took the young woman beyond the borders of Warsaw. Maria followed Napoleon to his field headquarters at Finckenstein Palace, where they lived in adjoining apartments, their not so secret affair continuing under the watchful eyes of courtiers and soldiers alike. Maria, ever conscious of propriety, refused to leave her quarters for fear of being seen. One must wonder whether it was modesty or the fear of gossip that kept her so confined in this Northern Polish outpost. Either way, her resolve to remain unseen did not dampen the fervor of their relationship—or Napoleon’s affection.   As the months passed, the stakes grew ever higher. Maria followed Napoleon on his campaigns, including to Vienna, where she stayed near Schönbrunn Palace while he conducted the business of running his growing empire. It was here, adjacent to the grandeur of the Austrian court, that Maria became pregnant. She returned to Poland to give birth to a son, Alexandre Joseph, a child who was legally recognized by her elderly husband, Count Walewski, but was undeniably Napoleon’s. After all, her husband had been nowhere near her during the time the baby would have been conceived.   It was in this instance, more than ever, that Maria Walewska’s life became bound to the fate of Napoleon Bonaparte—not by love, but by duty. Maria’s legacy was secured. Some called her a mere mistress, sure, but her own people saw her as a patriot who played her part in the ever-turning wheel of history, never letting the world forget the plight of Poland.   Did She Cause Napoleon’s Divorce and Remarriage? Empress Josephine, 1888. Source: Look and Learn   Did Maria Walewska cause the grandest divorce in European history? As with any courtly drama, the answer changes depending on who you ask. By 1809, Napoleon’s once all-consuming devotion to Josephine had cooled—though the story of how it unraveled is woven with heartache, political necessity, and the timeless quest for a legitimate heir. Josephine, for all her charm, grace, and savvy, could not give him the one thing he needed to secure his dynasty: a child of his own.   It is hard not to see Maria’s pregnancy and the birth of a healthy son as the catalyst for Josephine’s downfall. By this point, Napoleon had taken Maria as a mistress—a political maneuver just as much as it was a romantic one. Napoleon’s ability to compartmentalize his personal feelings to better fortify his political ambition was never more evident. Maria, young and beautiful, gave birth to his son, a fact that only further proved that the infertility in Napoleon’s marriage lay not with him but with Josephine.   Yet, Josephine’s infertility wasn’t simply a personal issue—it was an empire-threatening flaw. Napoleon, who had recently crowned himself emperor of the French, understood that dynastic continuity was everything. His siblings constantly urged him to set Josephine aside, and though he resisted for years, Maria Walewska’s pregnancy may have given him the final piece of evidence that led him to make the ultimate decision. If a mistress could give him an heir, then it was beyond time for France’s empress to do the same.   Joséphine de Beauharnais, by Andrea Appiani, 1808. Source: Wikimedia Commons   The divorce itself was more dramatic than any of Josephine’s famous lovers might have foreseen. Napoleon, deeply conflicted and still caring for his wife, hesitated again and again, often sending intermediaries to break the news. Josephine, ever the savvy survivor, must have sensed the rising tide against her. Her anxiety reached its peak when, in 1809, Napoleon made it clear that she wouldn’t be joining him on his military campaign in Austria. Instead, he was accompanied by none other than Maria Walewska, whose pregnancy was now visible for all to see.   When the moment of truth came at the Tuileries, Josephine, ever able to play a part, collapsed in a fit of sobs. Napoleon, awkward and unsure how to handle a weeping woman—a far cry from issuing commands on the battlefield—was forced to carry her to her chambers and away from the eyes of the gossiping courtiers. He may have led armies to victory, but dealing with this woman’s emotional turmoil was another matter entirely. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for Josephine, but his sense of duty to France outweighed even his personal loyalty to the one whom he once called “my adorable friend.”   On December 14, 1809, the official divorce was announced to the people. Napoleon gave a public statement, full of gratitude for Josephine’s companionship and tender words about her years of devotion. Josephine, her voice trembling, attempted to read her own prepared statement but couldn’t get through it, leaving it to an attendant to finish. It was, in every sense, the end of an era. Josephine left for her chateau at Malmaison in the rain with her belongings in tow, including her beloved parrot, no doubt aware that she was leaving behind more than just her imperial status.   Maria Walewska, by Francois Gerard, 1810. Source: BnF   But was Maria truly to blame for all of this? Maria’s role in this part of Napoleon’s life was significant, but she was only part of the equation. The pressures of empire, the need for an heir, and the relentless urging of Napoleon’s family who had never warmed up to her all conspired against Josephine. Maria Walewska merely happened to be the woman who proved that Napoleon could indeed father children and, in doing so, she tipped the scales.   In the end, Napoleon’s divorce wasn’t about love or betrayal—it was about his political gains as a single emperor on the marriage market. Josephine, who had been Napoleon’s “good luck charm,” remained a cherished figure in his life even after the divorce. The two would exchange frequent letters, sharing each other’s secrets and dreams despite being apart. However, the demands of the crown ultimately came first. As for Maria Walewska, she played a role in this drama, but it was the winds of fate and the demands of hereditary inheritance that sealed Josephine’s fate. If it hadn’t been Maria, it may very well have been another young woman whose swollen belly led to the imperial divorce.   Did Maria Love Napoleon? Napoleon I, Marie Louise of Austria and the king of Rome in the Gardens of the Tuileries, 19th century. Source: Picryl   Maria Walewska and Napoleon—a love story for the ages or merely another chapter in the emperor’s long list of conquests? Take a look at the situation surrounding their bond and examine what evidence history has left behind.   In the wake of Napoleon’s first abdication in 1814, Maria did not hesitate to rush to Fontainebleau. Was it out of love, duty, or perhaps a concern for the four year old son they shared and the security of his estate? Whatever the motivation, Maria’s arrival was met with cold indifference. Napoleon, sulking in his self-imposed isolation, refused to see her. The emperor, once so in control of his empire and image, was now helpless, unwilling to confront the ghosts of his past—even when they came to his doorstep in the form of his former lover.   Napoleon’s Abdication at Fontainebleau, by Paul Delaroche, 1845. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Yet, Maria was nothing if not pragmatic. When Napoleon was exiled to the island of Elba, she sent him a letter—this time not filled with declarations of love, but a polite request for assistance in reclaiming her son’s confiscated lands. If Napoleon had expected a love note, he would have been sorely disappointed. Perhaps, in the midst of his much lessened prominence, he still appreciated a strategist and, despite the letter’s businesslike tone, he invited her to visit him on the island. It could have been nostalgia or he may have harbored the hope of rekindling some old spark. Either way, Maria accepted.   On a moonlit night in September 1815, Maria arrived in secret, bringing with her not just memories, but her young son and family. Napoleon himself met her, escorting her to a remote convent where he had pitched a tent in the garden to receive her—one imagines, with the same pomp and drama that had always characterized his life. The visit, much like their affair, was fleeting. Maria and her party stayed for only two days before leaving as discreetly as they had come. The island buzzed with rumors of their rendezvous, though what truly transpired between them remains a mystery. Did they speak of love, of politics, or simply exchange polite pleasantries and congratulate each other over their growing son.   Propaganda of Napoleon, 1814. Source: Rijksmuseum   After that, their meetings became rare. Maria would see Napoleon only one final time, at Malmaison, following his crushing defeat at Waterloo. By then, both had moved on—at least in the physical sense. Maria had remarried, this time to Philippe-Antoine d’Ornano, a man deeply in love with her and, conveniently, a cousin of Napoleon. If Maria was looking to finally carve out a life free of the emperor’s shadow, d’Ornano’s security and affection seemed to offer that escape.   Did she love Napoleon like a Polish Juliet to his overinflated Romeo? The evidence is as muddled as their relationship. Maria may have cared for him, enough to visit him in exile and offer support when the rest of Europe spat on his name. Her actions could also suggest a woman who was acutely aware of the precariousness of her own position and how her standing and her son’s hinged on Napoleon’s decisions. Her letters, more practical than passionate, show that she never lost sight of her son’s future or her own position within the volatile political landscape.   Philippe-Antoine d’Ornano, by Jean-Adolphe Beaucé, 1863. Source: BnF   Perhaps it was love, but love of a different kind—a love mixed with duty, respect, and ambition. Maria Walewska was no naïve girl swept away by the charms of a powerful man, though she may have been fresh faced and youthful when their trysts began. She was a shrewd woman, navigating the treacherous waters of Napoleonic Europe with a certain mystique and intelligence. If she loved Napoleon, it was with the understanding that their relationship was always bound by more than mere affection.   In the end, Maria’s final years were spent with d’Ornano, a man who adored her and had asked for her hand several times before she accepted his suit. Tragically, her life was cut short at the age of 31, after a failed recovery from giving birth to d’Ornano’s son. Whether or not she loved Napoleon is a question for the ages, but one thing is clear: Maria Walewska played her role with remarkable finesse, forever etched in history as more than just a lover, but as a woman of her own making.   What Happened to Her Son and to Herself? Tomb of Maria Walewska. Source: Wikimedia Commons In accordance with her wishes, Maria’s body was returned to her home village of Kiernozia, Poland, where she was laid to rest in the crypt of Saint Margaret’s Church. Her heart, however, stayed in France, interred in the d’Ornano family chapel at Père Lachaise Cemetery to remain close to her beloved final husband. Even in death, Maria remained tied to both the lands and loves of her life—divided between Poland and France.   Maria’s legacy lived on through her three sons, each carrying a piece of her story into the future. Her first son, Count Antoni Rudolf Bazyli Colonna-Walewski, was born during her marriage to her first husband, Count Athenasius Walewski. While Antoni never reached the political heights of his half-brother, he carried the noble Walewski name and heritage forward in Poland.   As for her son with Napoleon, Alexandre Walewski, his life carried on in the vein of both his parents. Born in 1810, Alexandre was not just a footnote in the tale of his powerful father and breathtaking mother. He became a prominent French politician and diplomat, following in the footsteps of Napoleon’s ambition, though perhaps with a bit more decorum. He fought in the Polish insurrection of 1830 and later embarked on a diplomatic career that took him across Europe.   In 1855, he was appointed France’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, a role that solidified his position as a key figure in the Second Empire. Like his father, Alexandre’s life was filled with a certain dramatic flair, whether it was his gambling escapades or his participation in high-stakes matches of political tug of war.   Count Alexandre Walewski, 1865. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Though Maria did not live to see her son’s successes, her influence was undeniable. Alexandre, the son of an emperor and a Polish noblewoman, moved between worlds with ease, much like his mother had done before him. He became a Prince, by decree of Napoleon III, a title that carried with it the weight of his heritage. He was, in many ways, a living bridge between the finer Polish nobility of his mother’s side and the imperial ambitions of his sharp father’s.   Maria’s third son, Rodolphe-Auguste d’Ornano, was born from her brief second marriage to General Philippe d’Ornano, a distinguished officer in Napoleon’s army and Napoleon’s cousin. Rodolphe-Auguste went on to become a French politician, much like his elder brother Alexandre, continuing the family’s tradition of service and public life. Though Maria did not live to see it, her sons ensured that the Walewska and d’Ornano names, as well as her own, would not fade into obscurity.   Her line lives on, not just through her descendants but also in unexpected ways. In 1971, the Pani Walewska brand was introduced, one of Poland’s most iconic cosmetics brands, named after the Polish aristocrat who had once captivated the Emperor of France. The brand, still in production today, serves as a glamorous nod to Maria’s enduring legacy—a symbol of beauty, grace, and the lasting impact of a woman who walked the halls of power with both hidden patriotism and enviable finesse.

  For anyone interested in Italian history and Renaissance art, the Medici family is a mandatory part of their studies. Besides leaving their mark on the political and cultural life of Florence and Europe, they managed to rule Florence, more or less successfully, without a crown for around 300 years. Using schemes and master plans, they extended and disseminated their presence at almost every European court. Some of their members were talented politicians, businessmen, queens, and popes! This article will explore the most prominent members of the Medici family.   1. Giovanni de’ Medici (1360-1429) Triumph of the Church, Andrea di Bonaiuto, from 1365 until 1367/1366. Source: Wikimedia Commons/Basilica of Santa Maria Novella, Florence   Although Giovanni di Bicci de’ Medici was not the first of that name, he is considered the founder of the Medici dynasty, which is true to a certain extent. After inheriting the family’s business, he started his branch of the Medici house, but more importantly, he shifted his family’s outlook.   Giovanni established the Medici Bank and became a very rich man. Thanks to his smarts and keen business ideas, within several years, Giovanni’s bank was among the leading European financial institutions, working with aristocrats and even the pope. Through expansion, the Medici family was able to become one of the most influential forces in terms of economy and politics.   How did Giovanni revolutionize the banking system? He was taught business by his uncle, Vieri de’ Medici, and quickly became a partner in a large bank branch in Rome. When his uncle retired, Giovanni continued the banking company and legally established the Medici Bank in 1397. In the bank, the new implements he used were legal provisions, risk analysis, and extending loans. Thanks to a sound financial policy, the official currency of the Republic of Florence, the florin, was among the most respected coins in Europe.   Giovanni married into nobility; his wife was Piccarda Bueri, and from this marriage, he fathered two sons, Cosimo and Lorenzo. He also embarked on a lifelong tradition of the Medici family supporting artists and scholars. For example, Giovanni commissioned Brunelleschi to remodel a family’s church, San Lorenzo. He passed away in 1429 as a man with the second-largest fortune in Florence, leaving his son Cosimo an enormous wealth and the family’s banking business.   2. Cosimo de’ Medici (1389-1464) Portrait of Cosimo the Elder, Pontormo, from 1518 to 1520 approximately. Source: Wikimedia Commons/Le Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence   Cosimo was a true son of his father and went on to expand the family business. However, unlike his predecessor, he knew the necessity of becoming a key figure in Florence’s political life. Giovanni never had any interest in politics and, therefore, avoided it; Cosimo believed that banking and politics were linked. Being the wealthiest man in Florence, he rapidly gained influence. As a result, he often opposed some of the most influential families in the city, including the Strozzi and the Albizzi.   Because of his involvement in Florentine affairs, Cosimo was expelled from the republic in 1433. Nonetheless, with the Medici business somewhat supporting the community, the people objected, and he was readmitted after only one year, in 1434. After the return from exile, Cosimo’s confidence was much higher, and he effectively became the ruler of Florence. However, he never held an official title or wore a crown, and the city-state continued to be a republic.   Besides being the official banker for the Vatikan, Cosimo was a religious man. The Duomo, or the Cathedral of Florence, a project he supported, was completed in 1436, for which he was admired in the community. He was also a friend of the arts and science, and founded the Platonic Academy, which was dedicated to studying classical works. Cosimo was given the nickname “The Elder,” a title of respect signifying his power and authority as the patriarch of the family. Some of the best-known historical buildings and works in Florence were made during his lifetime.   Cosimo died in 1464. After his death, he was awarded the title Pater Patriae (Father of the Fatherland). He was succeeded by his son Piero, a sickly man best known as the father of Lorenzo the Magnificent.   3. Lorenzo de’ Medici (1449-1492) Portrait of Lorenzo de’ Medici, a Florentine 16th-century sculptor, probably after a model by Verrocchio and Benintendi, 1513/1520. Source: Wikimedia Commons/National Gallery of Art, Washington DC   Lorenzo de’ Medici is perhaps the most famous member of the Medici family. He deservedly received the nickname “the Magnificent” and is regarded as one of the prominent representatives of the Renaissance.   His grandfather was Cosimo de’ Medici, and from a young age, he was prepared for the role of a successful businessman, diplomat, and politician. Due to his father’s ill health, Lorenzo also started managing the family business and the politics of the republic while he was under twenty years of age. While he was not the king of Florence, he was a true Renaissance monarch in everything else. But, of course, being so powerful, wealthy, and successful, Lorenzo had some people against him.   In 1478, the bloody Pazzi conspiracy occurred. The plot was led by a Florentine banking family, the Pazzi, against Lorenzo and the Medici family. The conspirators were able to eliminate Guiliano, Lorenzo’s younger brother, while he barely survived. As any pragmatic ruler would do, Lorenzo used this sad event to make himself even more powerful in the Republic of Florence.   The Medici Wedding Tapestry, Alessandro Allori, 1589. Source: Westbury, London   Apart from being an intelligent politician and a businessman, Lorenzo is best known for his extraordinary patronage of the arts and sciences. He proudly supported some highly regarded artists such as Michelangelo Buonarroti and Sandro Botticelli. As his grandfather, Lorenzo championed scholars and philosophers. He was the main financier to Marsilio Ficino in the quest to translate Plato’s work and make classical writings accessible to curious minds. While Florence was a center of the Renaissance before Lorenzo, during his time, it became a vibrant city full of people who embodied the ideals of humanism—artists, poets, and opportunistic businessmen.   The “Magnificent” died too soon, at the age of 43. His death marked a turning point for the Medici family and Florence. On the brink of a new age, at the end of the 15th century, Florence started losing some of its influence and power. However, the Medici quickly shifted. Indeed, Lorenzo’s political maneuvering and cunning diplomacy led his family directly to Rome and his son to become the pope!   4. Pope Leo X (Giovanni de’ Medici, 1475-1521) Portrait of Leo X, Raphael, 1518. Source: Wikimedia Commons/Le Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence   Pope Leo X was the son of none other than Lorenzo the Magnificent. His father left the family business to his older brother, and, at the time, one of the most common options for younger male children was a life in the Catholic Church. However, he was still a Medici, and nepotism and his powerful name played a big role in his career. The family’s prospects greatly benefited from having a man directly in the Papal States, so Giovanni’s roles ranged from diplomacy to administration. Although he was officially a “man of God,” a hedonistic lifestyle was often associated with Giovanni.   Giovanni was elected pope at the papal conclave on March 9, 1513, and chose the name Leo X. Unfortunately, he was not remembered as a capable pope. Leo X was not able to realize that the Catholic Church required change and reform. Church leaders were often corrupted and compromised, which resulted in one of the most consequential moments in history—the Protestant Reformation. In this period, Martin Luther emerged as the leader of the Protestant movement and published his Ninety-Five Theses in 1517. After Leo X excommunicated Luther in 1520, the Protestant Reformation took off.   Leo X died in 1521 as one of the infamous Renaissance popes, famous for their opulent and decadent lifestyles. In true Medici fashion, he continued the patronage of the arts, and the Vatican acquired some of its most famous works of art during his tenure. For example, Raphael completed the so-called Stanze di Raffaello (Raphael Rooms) in the Apostolic Palace, and Michelangelo was commissioned to continue working on St. Peter’s Basilica.    5. Catherine de’ Medici (1519-1589) Portrait of Catherine de’ Medici, Queen of France, attributed to Germain Le Monnier, between 1547 and 1559. Source: Wikimedia Commons/Polo Museale Fiorentino/Palatine Gallery and Royal Apartments (Pitti Palace), Florence   It should go without saying that the 16th century was a challenging time for being a woman. However, even with the odds against her, Catherine de’ Medici managed to turn difficult circumstances into political gains.   She was a daughter of Lorenzo de’ Medici, Duke of Urbino, and sent to the French court when she was 14 years old. As a woman from a powerful family, Catherine’s life was already decided by her arranged marriage to Henry, Duke of Orleans. Due to unexpected events, her husband became King Henry II in 1547, and she became the Queen of France. However, it was after the king’s death her political involvement started. Her son died soon after coming to the throne, and Catherine became the regent and de facto ruler in her younger son’s name.   In the 16th century, Protestantism and religious conflicts did not bypass France, where Protestants were known as Huguenots. The Protestants were under constant attack by the Church and the Catholics. Since the Medici family was close to the Papal States, Catherine supported the Catholic faction in dealing with the Huguenots.   During her time as the queen of France, one of the bloodiest events in French history took place. On St. Bartholomew’s Day in 1572, there was an anti-Protestant plot, and thousands of Huguenots were murdered during a massacre. Historians are still debating how much she was involved in this event, but one thing is certain: the violence happened while she was in a place of power.   Even after her sons became old enough to rule without a regent, Catherine stayed a powerful voice in French politics. She was a trusted advisor and helped them in dealing with domestic and foreign politics. She died in 1589 and is remembered as an insightful political mind and ruthless ruler.   The Legacy of the Medici Family The Birth of Venus, Sandro Botticelli, circa 1485. Source: Wikimedia Commons/Le Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence   When talking about the morals and characters of the Medici family members, it would be reductive to discuss them through black-and-white lenses. They were far from perfect people and were portrayals and representatives of their time.   They embodied the Renaissance ideals, and their inputs to society went from economic to cultural and religious. They also contributed to some of the progressive practices in the business world, such as double-entry bookkeeping and letters of credit. Their bank rose to unseen success, making them powerful players in Italian and European politics. With advances in business and political life, they quickly came into a position to make arrangements with other political rulers and spread their influence far beyond Florence, reaching the Papal States, France, and other Italian city-states.   Primavera, Sandro Botticelli, circa 1480/before 1483. Source: Le Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence   Above all, the Medici family’s greatest achievement was the support and patronage of Renaissance artists and scholars. Historians are even debating whether the Medici are responsible for the Renaissance itself! One thing is certain: without them, some of the most famous works of art from the Renaissance era would never exist. They are credited for making Florence the Renaissance mecca, the center of cultural and intellectual development in the 15th and 16th centuries.   Whether they supported and protected artists such as Michelangelo or Donatello to achieve greatness or influenced the Church and the European continent’s politics, the legacy of the Medici family is undeniable and everlasting. It would be almost impossible to imagine a modern-day society without some of their contributions.   Further reading:    Hibbert, C.(1999). The House of Medici: Its Rise and Fall. Harper Perennial.   Strathern, P.(2003). The Medici: Power, Money, and Ambition in the Italian Renaissance. Pegasus Books.

  When it comes to colonial Colombia, two places dominate and receive by far the most visitors. Cartagena rightly hogs the spotlight, being one of the largest and grandest examples of Spanish colonial architecture in Latin America. La Candalaria, the old town of the country’s capital—Bogotá—is also well-known thanks to its accessibility and well-preserved streets. Beyond the tourist trail, however, is a wealth of spectacular historic settlements that more than justify the effort of straying off the beaten path.   1. Villa de Leyva Villa de Leyva’s main square, 2022. Source: Max Serjeant   Just a few hours from Bogotá, and nestled in an open valley, Villa de Leyva is one of Colombia’s most well-preserved colonial towns. Its cobbles are charmingly uneven, its storied buildings are painted a blinding white, its roofs are made from fading terracotta. It was home to revolutionary figures as well as ancient peoples who built mysterious monuments. Surrounded by a surprising diversity of spectacular natural landscapes, everything from dusty semi-desert to misty páramo can be found nearby.   This was a significant place long before the Spanish arrived. Nearby are several well-preserved fossils of enormous marine animals that co-existed with the dinosaurs, proof that the area was once under water despite the town’s altitude. Little is known about this region’s early human history, but whoever occupied the valley two thousand years ago must have considered it important. Twenty minutes from Villa de Leyva is a site that the Spanish named “El Infiernito”—Little Hell. The stone columns that make up the site are arranged to align with the movements of the sun, leading some to believe that it was used as some sort of calendar.   A cobbled street in Villa de Leyva, 2022. Source: Max Serjeant   Around the ninth century CE, the indigenous Muisca confederacy emerged, and this loose collection of chiefdoms controlled the high plateau from here to the south of Bogotá. The Muisca considered lakes to be sacred places, and it is with them that the El Dorado myth has its origins. While conquistadors believed it to be a lost city of gold, El Dorado actually referred to a Muisca leader. This chief would be painted in gold dust before diving into Lake Guatavita between Bogotá and Villa de Leyva. Iguaque Lagoon, high up in the mountains behind Villa de Leyva was also very important, being the place from which the ancestors of humanity were believed to have emerged.   The Muisca chose not to settle here permanently, as their culture was semi-nomadic and the dry land was unsuitable for cultivation. The Spanish had no such issues, founding Villa de Leyva in 1572, and handing out land to ex-soldiers as a reward for their service. The military connection explains why the town has the biggest square in Colombia—a place was needed to practice maneuvers should the soldiers ever be needed again. Alongside the veterans, Villa de Leyva quickly attracted the Catholic Church, and its priests left their mark on the town. Behind a set of unassuming walls, the Claustro de San Francisco is a little oasis of tranquility and greenery. A statue of Jesus stands on the hill behind the town, providing spectacular views for those who climb up to visit.   One of Villa de Leyva’s perfectly preserved streets, 2022. Source: Max Serjeant   Villa de Leyva’s most famous inhabitant was Antonio Ricaurte, for whom the wider province is named. Ricaurte was born in the town, and after a career in colonial administration he joined the rebellion against Spanish rule. Fighting alongside Simón Bolívar, he died helping to liberate Venezuela. His family home has been turned into a museum, as has the house of another famous resident—Luis Alberto Acuña. While Fernando Botero may be Colombia’s most famous artist, Acuña is well known within Colombia for his distinctive psychedelic style. A collection of his eye-catching works can be viewed at the Museo Luis Alberto Acuña on the main square.   2. Barichara The River Suárez, viewed from Barichara, 2022. Source: Max Serjeant   Barichara has not one, but two spectacular features that combine to create a town some call the most beautiful in Colombia. Its small historic streets are breathtakingly beautiful, but on top of this, they stop abruptly at one edge of town to give way to a dramatic and deep river valley. Its historic buildings are so well preserved that it is usually cited as the inspiration for Disney’s film Encanto. The town’s name means “Place of Rest” in the indigenous Guane’s language, and this feels like an apt name. It is sleepy and relaxed, providing a refuge from the bustle of Colombia’s better-known destinations. Stone carving is historically a specialty of Barichara’s townspeople, and this is reflected in the cobbles and facades of its quaint houses.   Like Villa de Leyva, Barichara’s history pre-dates humanity. The fossilized shells of creatures that lived millions of years ago demonstrate that it too was once a mecca for marine life. These fossils are so abundant that the curls of shells can be seen pressed into the buildings’ stone walls. Locals sell them to visitors from improvised stalls for just a few dollars. The Guane people, from whose language the town’s name is derived disappeared soon after the conquest, so relatively little is known about them. It is thought that they were linked to the Musica and probably worshiped some of the same deities.   Barichara was founded in 1705, three years after a man claimed to have witnessed an appearance of the Virgin Mary. Although the apparition was never officially recognized, the story was believed by the local population, and a church was built on the spot where it was said to have happened. The new inhabitants who arrived soon afterwards built their homes in the distinctive Andalusian style, as opposed to the grand Castilian fashion seen in other colonial towns. Barichara’s greatest claim to fame came after the end of the colonial period. Colombia’s thirteenth president was born and raised in the town.   A typical Barichara scene, 2022. Source: Max Serjeant   Barichara is at one end of the Camino Real—part of the network of Indigenous paths that crossed this region and was adopted by the Spanish authorities to enable local transportation. Today, it is possible to walk a picturesque section of the road from Barichara down into the valley, to the smaller and almost as beautiful village of Guanes. The route weaves through picturesque little farms bounded by dry-stone walling, the original cobbles still forming the path underfoot.   3. Girón The Streets of Girón, 2022. Source: Max Serjeant   Like Villa de Leyva and Barichara, Girón’s importance waned once Colombia had gained independence, which is why these towns are so well-preserved. Girón was overshadowed by its previously unimportant neighbor Bucaramanga, and today it is a suburb of a much larger city. Its historic streets are no less beautiful, but its busyness gives it a different feel. Many of Girón’s oldest buildings are still lived in, making it a truly authentic Colombian town. Its streets bustle with workers and children on their way to and from school, while its restaurants are squarely aimed at locals rather than tourists.   The old town is intersected by a network of small canals, and some of the quaint little bridges that cross them are hundreds of years old. Windows are protected by intricately carved wooden grates, and the same material has been used to construct the balconies that overlook the streets. Almost every corner offers a new picture-perfect moment in the form of an explosion of bougainvillea overhanging a whitewashed wall, or a church steeple framed by the hills behind.   Girón had a troubled birth, being founded three separate times. In 1631, while on a campaign of conquest, Francisco Mantilla established the town but was quickly ordered to abandon it. A rival settlement, Pamplona, had already claimed the land and argued that he was encroaching on their territory. Mantilla disputed this, but suddenly died in the middle of the court session called to resolve the issue. His cousin moved Girón to a new site 16 miles to the west, but the new settlement was plagued by disease. It was moved once again in 1638 to occupy its present site.   Girón’s whitewashed streets, 2022. Source: Max Serjeant   The town also played a role in the end of the colonial era. Colombia’s independence would come in 1819 when Simón Bolívar entered the country from Venezuela and eventually liberated it. The initial declarations of independence took place in 1810 however, when towns across the nation announced their rejection of Spanish rule. Girón was one of these rebellious settlements, and the building within which their declaration of independence was signed has been converted into a museum and restaurant. This is one of the town’s primary attractions, alongside the Parque de los Nieves, and the Basílica Menor del Señor de los Milagros. The wider region is also home to several attractions. Easily visited from Girón is the spectacular Chichimocha Canyon, which reaches a depth of 2,000 meters (6,600 feet) and a length of 141 miles, making it the second largest in the world.   4. Popayán La Ermita chapel, Popayán, 2022. Source: Max Serjeant   While still only a regional center, Popayán is the most important of the towns listed here. In fact, as one of the oldest cities in Colombia, it has always occupied an important place for the nation’s inhabitants. This part of Colombia has a deep Indigenous history, and Popayán is a necessary stop on the route to the mysterious statues of San Agustín. An unknown indigenous people built a pyramid at the place which would become Popayán—El Morro del Tulcán—and this still sits on the edge of the city’s historic core. Little excavation work has been done, and today it is a steep grassy mound that provides sweeping views of the city. It is still a contested space however, and in 2020 the Misak Indigenous people pulled down a statue of the conquistador Sebastián de Belalcázar as an act of protest.   It was Belalcázar who founded the city in 1537, having been placed in charge of Quito by Pizarro during his conquest of the Inca. Belalcázar’s ambitions extended beyond being a minor player in the conquest, and he marched north to claim Colombia for himself, founding Popayán as he did so. Much of the wealth looted from the Inca and extracted from the silver mines in the Andes was shipped to Spain through Cartagena in Colombia’s north. Popayán profited from being an important stop on this route.   A street in Popayán’s historic center, 2022. Source: Max Serjeant   Popayán’s importance throughout the colonial period and right up through today means that its historic center is bigger than the other towns on this list, and its architecture is more baroque. It possesses an enormous number of significant buildings, despite periods of destruction caused by earthquakes. Among its most important religious constructions are the churches of San Francisco and Santo Domingo, as well as La Ermita chapel—one of the oldest in Colombia. Today the cathedral is an imposing building, but it began life as a simple straw hut during the earliest days of settlement. Alongside these are various palaces and theaters, as well the buildings that make up the University of Cauca. Founded in 1827, this is among the oldest and most prestigious universities in the country. The character of the city is still very much influenced by the large student population, and it is home to lively political and nightlife scenes.

  The Tudor rose is synonymous with the Tudor Era. It represents not only the royal house but also 118 years of British history. For nearly twelve decades, from 1485 until 1603, England was ruled by a string of five successful Tudor monarchs. The Tudor rose—their symbol, emblem, or badge—was one of the essential pieces of imagery that identified a Tudor supporter or loyalist.   In this article, we will attempt to uncover the finer details regarding the Tudor Rose. When and why was it commissioned and created? Where was it displayed in the 16th century, and finally, why is it still in regular use, even in the 21st?   What Is the Tudor Rose? The Tudor rose royally crowned. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Anyone with an interest in the 16th century will be familiar with the Tudor rose. It is one of the most distinctive flowers in the heraldry of the United Kingdom. The Tudor rose is not only a beautiful floral emblem but also a meaningful representation of peace and tranquillity in the kingdom. It is not only the heraldic badge of the House of Tudor but also a symbol that epitomized the joining of the Houses of Lancaster and York.   To cut an extremely long story short, the royal houses of Lancaster and York were at war with each other for 30 years, from May 1455 until 1485. This ongoing conflict—known as the War of the Roses or occasionally as the Cousins War—ended with the Battle of Bosworth Field, when the Lancastrian king, Henry VII, defeated the Yorkist king, Richard III. To further legitimize and promote his new rule, King Henry VII married Elizabeth of York, the daughter and niece of the former Yorkist monarchs, kings Edward IV and Richard III.   By wedding Elizabeth of York, King Henry VII successfully united the warring houses forever. To mark the end of conflict and the beginning of a new and triumphant rule, King Henry commissioned a new badge and adopted it as his own. The Encyclopaedia Britannica explains that “the Tudor Rose symbolized the union of Lancaster and York by representing the red rose of the Lancastrians superimposed upon the white rose of the Yorkists.”   Elizabeth of York, painted by Meynnart Wewyck, 16th century. Source: The Royal Collection   The two heraldic images—the red rose and the white—were no longer two separate symbols but one. The two flowers were joined together, their petals entwined, just as King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York were joined together in matrimony. The red represented King Henry, and the white represented Elizabeth. Any offspring they produced would be for neither Lancaster nor York, but Tudor.   With this newly styled badge, King Henry VII secured his reputation as a peacemaker. The Tudor Rose became a reminder that it was he who ended the Wars of the Roses and brought good fortune to England and its people.   Expert on heraldry, Adrian Ailes, tells us that King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York were living “ … in an age when signs and symbols could speak louder than words.”   The Tudor Rose is now commonly referred to as the “union rose.” Since its creation 539 years ago, it has become the traditional floral emblem of England.   Who Were King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York? A family portrait showing King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York alongside King Henry VIII and Jane Seymour, painted by Remigius van Leemput, 1667. Source: The Royal Collection   Who is the first figure that springs to mind when we think of the Tudor rose? Many members of the general public would name one of the most famous members of the Tudor family: King Henry VIII, Queen Elizabeth I, or maybe even Bloody Mary. This is not unreasonable at all, for all of these monarchs were considerably connected with the Tudor rose, and even used the flower as their official badge.   However, as previously stated, the origins of the Tudor rose actually lay with King Henry VII. King Henry was the first Tudor monarch, and his reign spanned from 1485 until his death in 1509. He adopted the Tudor rose as his badge after his marriage to Elizabeth of York. This act was a mark of unification between two former enemies. King Henry VII represented the red rose, and Elizabeth of York represented the white.   Despite the fact that their families had lately been engaged in a bloody, three-decade-long conflict, King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York got on surprisingly well. By all accounts, they grew to love each other deeply and were eventually extremely happy together.   Together, King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York had seven children, of whom only three survived to the age of 18. They were Arthur Tudor (1486-1502), Margaret Tudor, queen of Scotland (1489-1541), Henry VIII, king of England (1491-1547), Elizabeth Tudor (1492-1495), Mary Tudor, queen of France (1496-1553), Edmund Tudor (1499-1500), and Catherine Tudor (1503-1503).   King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York with their children, 1505-9. Source: The Royal Collection   In 1502, Arthur Tudor, Prince of Wales and heir to the throne died at the age of 15. His tomb in Worcester Cathedral was adorned with red and white roses, to mark his royal descent from both Lancaster and York.   The blissful union of king and queen lasted 18 years—it ended with the death of Elizabeth of York on February 11, 1503. She succumbed to childbed fever on her 37th birthday, just nine days after giving birth to a daughter, Princess Catherine.   We are told by chroniclers that “Queen Elizabeth, lying in the tower of London, was brought to bed on Candlemas Day of a fair daughter who was Christened and named Catherine, and on February the eleventh, the most virtuous Princess and gracious Queen there died, and was with all funeral pomp carried through the City of London to Westminster and there buried, whose daughter lived but a little time after her mother.”   Henry VII Tudor, 1505-9. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Elizabeth of York is remembered for being one of the most royally connected women of her era. It would not be unrealistic to claim that she was one of the most royally connected women in British history. Rarely has there been a woman with so many strong relations to so many separate kings.   Elizabeth of York was the daughter of a king (King Edward IV), the sister of a king (King Edward V), the niece of a king (King Richard III), the wife of a king (King Henry VII), and the mother of a future king (King Henry VIII). She was also the grandmother of three monarchs (King Edward VI, Mary I, and Elizabeth I). Even the current king of England, King Charles III, is a direct descendant of Elizabeth of York and King Henry VII.   King Henry VII ruled England alone until his death on the twenty-first of April in 1509. His eldest surviving son, Henry Tudor, inherited the throne as King Henry VIII and carried the Tudor Rose with him into a new reign.   The Tudor Rose and Its Heraldic Description The Heraldic symbol of the Tudor Rose. Source: Wikimedia Commons   So, now that we know who the Tudor Rose represents and why it was created in the first place, we come to the question of what it looks like as a consequence.   In heraldic terms, the Tudor Rose is usually described as “a double rose gules and argent, barbed and seeded proper.”   The phrase “double rose” describes the shape and style of the emblem. The Tudor rose is one of the most famous examples of a double rose in British heraldry. To put it simply, a double rose is any rose with ten petals rather than five. The double rose possesses five additional inner petals that rest within the outer petals. Therefore, it is essentially a combination of two roses, one on top of the other. In the case of the Tudor rose it is the smaller white petals that rest within the larger red.   The words “gules” and “argent” refer to the color of the emblem. In heraldry, shades are referred to as tinctures rather than colors. Gules is one of the five dark tinctures—the others are azure (blue), sable (black), vert (green), and purpure (purple). Gules signifies the color red. Argent, on the other hand, is one of the two metal tinctures. The first—argent—signifies silver, or more often white. The second—“or”—signifies gold or yellow.   The Pelican Portrait, featuring the Tudor Rose on the left of Queen Elizabeth I, painted by Nicholas Hilliard, 1575. Source: National Portrait Gallery, London   The description “barbed and seeded” concerns the details. If a heraldic rose is seeded, it means that it possesses seeds in the center. If a heraldic rose is barbed, it means that it possesses leaves or foliage.   The heraldic description of the Tudor Rose is completed with the word “proper.” This term describes any instance in which the colors or shapes are true to nature.   “Double rose gules and argent, barbed and seeded proper,” could otherwise be rephrased as “two intertwining roses, red and white, seeds and foliage included, presented as if naturally occurring in the wild.”   The Tudor Rose and Its Heraldic Variations The dimidiated badge of King James I of England. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Even emblems as special as the Tudor rose have been reimagined and restyled many times throughout the centuries. One of the most popular ways in which the Tudor rose has been changed is through dimidiation. If a piece of heraldry has been dimidiated, it has been cut in half and combined with another symbol to form a new badge.   There are many examples of the Tudor rose being dimidiated. One of which can be found in the emblem of Catherine of Aragon, the first wife and Queen of King Henry VIII. When she became Queen of England in June of 1509, she chose to split her badge—the Spanish pomegranate—down the middle and combine it with the badge of her husband—the Tudor rose.   Following his ascent to the English throne in 1603, King James VI of Scotland and I of England created a new badge for himself. His consisted of a Tudor rose dimidiated with a Scottish thistle and surmounted by a crown.   The Tudor Rose slipped and crowned. Source: Wikimedia Commons   On occasion, a Tudor rose may also appear to be slipped. This means that it is supported by a stalk, and possibly even surrounded by a greater amount of leaves, branches, or sprigs of trees.   The Tudor rose is also often “royally crowned,” which means that a crown sits atop the petals.   Where to Find the Tudor Rose in the Modern Era The coat-of-arms of the Yeomen of the Guard. Source: Wikimedia Commons   History lovers will agree that Tudor roses can be found in abundance in Great Britain. The Tudor rose, especially in combination with other floral symbols, is an extremely common sight in towns and cities alike.   So essential is the Tudor rose to the people of England that it forms part of the official badge of the United Kingdom. Scotland uses the thistle, Wales uses the Leek, Ireland uses the shamrock, and England uses the Tudor rose. These four symbols, when merged together, form the unmistakable floral coat-of-arms of the UK.   This same coat of arms also acts as the contemporary badge of the Yeomen of the Guard. The Yeomen of the Guard are the official bodyguards of the British monarch. Interestingly, they are the oldest British military corps still in existence. Predictably, they were founded by King Henry VII himself, in 1485.   More commonly, people recognize the same coat-of-arms as the one worn daily by the Yeomen Warders, or Beefeaters, who work at the Tower of London.   On each of these versions of the coat-of-arms, the motto of the monarch of England sits beneath the rose. These words are “Dieu Et Mon Droit,” which translates from French to English as “God and My Right.”   The Tudor rose is also used widely on British coinage. Most notably, a design of the emblem by William Gardner was used on the 20 pence piece, from 1982 until 2008.   Visitors to England may be familiar with VisitEngland, the official tourist board. These visitors will know that the Tudor rose, alone rather than combined with any other emblem, acts as their official symbol.   Over the last five centuries, the Tudor rose has by no means fallen out of use. It can still be spotted in a huge variety of unexpected locations if only you know where to look.