If you think tarot has always been about crystals, incense, and "What's my rising sign?", think again. Before it became a spiritual influencer on Instagram, tarot was a flex, a luxury toy for the Renaissance rich. And no family embodied that mix of wealth, ego, and mysticism better than the Viscontis of Milan, a clan whose family drama could've powered ten seasons of The Real Housewives of Lombardy.
Back in the 15th century, the Viscontis didn't just rule Milan, they WERE Milan. They built cathedrals, plotted coups, and commissioned art like it was a competitive sport. So when they decided to have a deck of cards made, they didn't send someone to the local print shop. They hired master artists to paint 78 miniature masterpieces, brushed with real gold leaf. The result? The Visconti-Sforza tarot.
But among those glittering cards, one stands out like a scandalous whisper in a confessional: La Papesse, the Female Pope.
The Heretic Nun Who (Maybe) Became a Tarot Icon
Now, the idea of a female pope in 15th-century Italy was about as popular as a devil emoji in a Vatican group chat. So why did the Viscontis include one in their deck? The plot thickens.
One theory points to Sister Manfreda Visconti, a distant relative of the family who was burned at the stake in 1300 for heresy. Manfreda belonged to a sect that believed she had been chosen by God to become the next pope. Yes, the next pope. The Church was not amused.
Fast forward a century later, and the Viscontis commission a tarot card featuring a serene woman in papal robes, complete with a tiara. Coincidence? Maybe. Or maybe the family was sending a subtle, golden middle finger to the patriarchy that executed their rebellious nun.
So when you see La Papesse, later rebranded as The High Priestess, know this: she's not just "divine feminine energy." She's the ghost of a woman who dared to claim power she wasn't supposed to have. Every modern tarot reader owes a little nod to Sister Manfreda.
Or Maybe She Was the Pope Who Gave Birth in Public
If Sister Manfreda doesn't sound wild enough, there's another theory: that La Papesse was inspired by the legend of Pope Joan, the mythical woman who disguised herself as a man, became pope, and was exposed (literally) when she gave birth during a papal procession.
Was she real? Historians say no. But the fact that people believed she could be says a lot about the collective imagination of medieval Europe, equal parts fearful, fascinated, and freaked out by female power.
💡 The Real Message
Whether the card honored Manfreda or Joan, the message was clear: Don't underestimate the woman behind the veil.
From Power Game to Power Symbol
Before mystics and witches adopted tarot, it was all about the nobles and their table games. In 15th-century Italy, tarot wasn't used to predict the future, it was used to show off. Imagine sitting in a candlelit hall, sipping wine, and playing what was basically Renaissance Uno, except your deck was a hand-painted metaphor for divine hierarchy.
Tarot's early imagery was a medieval mood board: emperors, fools, lovers, and death, basically everything you'd find in a Milanese gossip column. Each card reflected the drama of human existence: power, faith, ego, downfall. No surprise it eventually evolved into a spiritual tool.
The Spiritual Transformation
By the 18th century, people started reading more into the cards than with them. French mystic Antoine Court de Gébelin declared tarot a remnant of ancient Egyptian wisdom (wrong, but iconic). Then came Etteilla, the first professional tarot reader, who turned card reading into an art form — and a business model.
The Magic in the Mess
What makes tarot irresistible — even centuries later — isn't that it predicts your future. It's that it reflects your humanity. It's history's longest-running mirror: from the Viscontis' gold-leaf ego trip to your favorite reader on TikTok.
The cards have survived wars, censorship, and centuries of bad press. They've been burned, banned, and misunderstood — and yet they keep resurfacing, whispering the same message: Look closer.
Because at its core, tarot was never about divination. It was about revelation. About daring to ask questions that scared even the Church. About one nun who believed she could be pope. About every fool who thought they could outsmart fate.
So next time you draw The High Priestess, remember she's not just intuition and moonlight. She's Sister Manfreda — part heretic, part legend, and a reminder that power doesn't always wear a crown. Sometimes it wears a habit and carries a secret.
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