La Papessa *****

The ninth century: plague, war, pestilence, famine. The populace was largely u

neducated, and ignorance was rife. Life expectancy was short – especially if you were a threat.

We meet Johanna, born in a Rhine valley village at a time when women were forbidden from reading and writing. Her brother, Johannes, secretly helped her to read, though only after first extracting a price. Johannes died from a fever, however. A woman in the village, Matilda, had knowledge of herbal remedies but was unable to prevent Johannes’ demise. In her grief, their mother denounced Matilda as a witch, and the villagers lost no time in burning her – but only after she had consumed a pellet as a sedative. Johanna watched and learned, later concealing a similar pellet in her own ring.

Johanna is taken to an abbey for religious instruction, but is tasked with extracurricular “women’s work” and generally has to be better than the boys simply to survive – this will prove familiar to some readers. She subsequently disguises herself as a boy, adopting her brother’s name. After a traumatic journey, she winds up in Athens, becoming a brilliant scholar.

She finally heads for Rome and the Papal Court, still under the guise of Johannes. These are turbulent times, and even Rome is not immune from invasion, with the Saracens attacking from the south and Charlemagne’s army from the north. An earthquake adds to the carnage, but Johannes is instrumental in Rome’s reconstruction. The people love Johannes, and she is subsequently ordained as Pope.

She falls pregnant, though, and during an Easter procession gives birth. The mob turn on her, but before death she manages to consume her pellet.

Beatrice Schiaffino’s performance as La Papessa is nothing short of a triumph. She emerges in religious attire, but costume and character changes follow, demonstrating her considerable range and poise. Conflict, pride, ambition, fear, desire, rage, power, calculation and more are conveyed in stages by Schiaffino, as Johanna’s soul is revealed. Her performance flits from visceral to stillness as she owns the stage, at times with a composed swagger. With Carmen Di Marzo’s subtle direction, it is a tour de force – a very fine example of a solo show at the impressive Milan Fringe.

One of the themes of Andrea Balzola’s script is concealment. Johanna cannot reveal that she can read or her true gender; Johanna and Matilda conceal their pellets, and relationships are undisclosed. The deeper, esoteric subtext of the narrative has an embedded patriarchal element, exemplified by the papal inner circle prohibiting the presence of women.

The legend of Johanna goes back many centuries but has largely been debunked by scholars – whether or not they had an agenda for this conclusion is a matter for another forum. However, at the heart of this tale lies the struggle of a woman who refuses to accept the prescribed order of the world around her.

Johanna’s struggle will, of course, strike a chord even in these allegedly enlightened times. She tells us that “an educated woman is a dangerous woman”. Today, Afghan women are prohibited from receiving an education; in many other countries, de facto barriers result in the same outcome. While emancipation may have been achieved by women in some cultures, a host of challenges – and a glass ceiling – remain.