The Foundling Wheel
Despite its gradual loss of wealth and political influence over the years, the Baroni family was still an old and noble clan in Tuscany. Lorenzo Baroni, widowed for more than a decade, was of an age where he could pass on most of the responsibilities of life to his sons. Of the six children who had reached the age of maturity, four of them were married. Only the two youngest, Domenico and Simonetta, had yet to find their path in life. As Lorenzo journeyed to Florence to attend the baptism of his latest grandchild, he hoped opportunities for his children's futures would present themselves.
"There is no other city in the world quite like Florence!" Domenico exclaimed, marveling at the splendor around him. "Look. There's the Palazzo Vecchio. That's what I would like to do: become an architect."
"Last week you said you wanted to be a soldier," his sister pointed out.
"That was last week."
"It seems every week it is something different. Can't you make up your mind?"
"No. There are so many options to choose from. It's much easier for you; you're a girl. The only decision you have to make is what clothes to wear."
"And who to marry!" Simonetta cried. "Do you think that is an easy choice?"
"Who you marry is up to Father."
"You mean I don't have any say in the matter?"
"I promise I will take your feelings into consideration when the time comes," Lorenzo said.
"Maybe I can find a husband in Florence. There are several wealthy, important families here: Corsini, Ruspoli and even Medici."
"I predict you'll marry a Tuscan farmer," Domenico teased. "And you'll have ten children, and grow fat."
"All right, children. That's enough," Lorenzo declared, putting an end to any further squabbles.
When they reached their destination, Simonetta ran to the nursery to get a look at the new baby. Meanwhile, the men of the family drank wine and talked politics and religion—two subjects that were tightly intertwined in the sixteenth century.
"Have you heard what Henry Tudor has done?" Giovanni, the oldest son, asked.
"Last I heard, he wanted to divorce his wife, Queen Catherine, but the pope won't give his permission," his father replied.
"He's made himself, as king of England, the head of the church there. Naturally, his men gave him the divorce he wanted, and now he's gone and married Anne Boleyn."
Lorenzo shook his head with disgust.
"What's the world coming to?" he groaned. "Since when can a man, even though he's a king, defy the pope and thereby the will of God?"
"Since Martin Luther nailed his damned theses to the door of the church in Wittenberg."
"I'm sure Rome won't tolerate Henry's insubordination. Clement is sure to excommunicate him. He might even put all of England under papal interdiction."
"It's a sad world, indeed," Giovanni opined. "I can't imagine what my poor children will have to face in the years ahead."
"Don't fret so," his father advised. "If there's one thing my years have taught me it's that things have a way of eventually working out. The Church will prevail."
Although the son did not share his father's optimism, he respectfully held his tongue.
* * *
Before the baptism, the members of the Baroni family attended services at the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, which stood opposite the baptistery where the ceremony was to be held. Outside the gothic cathedral, Domenico raved about the architectural magnificence of Filippo Brunelleschi's dome.
"Do you think if I did become an architect, I could create such a masterpiece?" he asked his father.
"If you put your mind to it, you might," Lorenzo replied.
Once they entered the church and his son viewed Vasari's frescoes on the ceiling of the dome, however, his aspirations changed.
"I would love to be able to paint like that! Maybe I'll become an artist."
Simonetta rolled her eyes. Her brother's plans for his future changed as often as the weather did.
After the service, the family crossed the piazza to the Baptistery of Saint John. One look at its exquisitely engraved bronze doors was enough to send Domenico into further fits of rapture.
"Surely the hand of God touched the sculptor who made these!" the young man cried after walking around the outside of the octagonal building to gaze adoringly at all the sets of doors. "I must study sculpture."
"What happened to architecture and painting?" Simonetta asked with amusement.
"Maybe I'll do all three like Michelangelo. After all, there's no reason I should limit myself to one field."
The bronze doors were opened, and the Baroni family entered. Naturally, Domenico's eyes were drawn to the mosaic ceiling of the octagonal dome.
"Holy Mother of God! What magnificence! What splendor! What ...!"
His praises were cut short when his sister collapsed on the floor.
"Simonetta!" Lorenzo called, falling to his knees beside his unconscious daughter.
Her eyes fluttered open.
"Are you all right?" the worried father asked anxiously.
"Yes. I think so. Why? What happened?"
"You passed out," Domenico answered, as he helped her to her feet.
"I looked up at the ceiling, and suddenly there was a great white light. It felt as though an invisible hand reached down and touched me. It was the most incredible experience of my life!"
Lorenzo was used to his son's hyperbole, but his daughter was more reserved and not prone to dramatic outbursts.
"Perhaps it was the heat," he suggested.
"Yes, Father," she agreed. "I'm sure that's what it was."
Her words, however, were meant only to prevent him from worrying about her.
What I had was an epiphany, she admitted to herself. It was a true calling from God.
As she silently watched her nephew's baptism, Simonetta thought about her own future. She no longer aspired to marry into one of Florence's leading families. Instead, she wanted to join the church, to devote her life to the service of God.
With no doubts or misgivings, the beautiful young woman took the veil. Her father, a devout Catholic, stood by, watching proudly, as his daughter became a bride of Christ. In an uncertain world where Protestantism, revolt and reformation were sweeping through Europe, he saw Simonetta's faith as a sure sign that what he had once told Giovanni was true: despite the current religious strife, everything would eventually work out, and Mother Church would prevail.
* * *
When Sister Simonetta began her novitiate at an abbey in Tuscany, one of the oldest in all of Italy, she was assigned to keep watch in the foundling room. It was here that infants, who were left in the care of the church, were looked after until suitable homes could be found for them. It was a task many of the nuns disliked since not only did the babies' crying keep them awake at night, but they were also reminded of what they had given up when they took their vows: the possibility of motherhood. The young novice, however, still burning with religious zeal, embraced her new responsibilities. After all, it was Pope Innocent III himself, dismayed by the number of dead infants found in the Tiber River, who issued a papal bull decreeing ruota dei trovatelli be installed in all churches.
One chilly January night, shortly after arriving at the abbey, Sister Simonetta was asleep on her cot in the foundling room when she had a dream that she believed was her second epiphany. While under the spell of Morpheus, she was transported back to Florence. She stood alone in the deserted piazza, in front of the Duomo, facing the Baptistery of Saint John. The bronze doors slowly opened, inviting the novice inside. The same bright light she had seen the day of her nephew's baptism glowed against the mosaic ceiling. It then coalesced and took on human form.
"Sister Simonetta."
It looked and spoke like Father Damiano, the handsome priest who conducted services for the sisters at the abbey. This was no mortal man, however.
"Yes?" she asked, believing she was in the presence of an angel.
"A baby will be born," the spirit announced. "You have been chosen to watch over him and see that no harm comes to him, for he will be king of all men someday."
"But why choose me? I am but a lowly novice."
"Because you have the faith of a child and the courage of a lion."
"How will I know this baby when I see him?"
"When the time comes, you will recognize him."
Without having moved, Sister Simonetta found herself back in the piazza, staring at the baptistery, its bronze doors now closed to her. Her eyes slowly opened, and she recognized the abbey's foundling room.
It was a dream, she realized. No, not a dream, a vision similar to the one the Holy Virgin received when she was visited by the Angel Gabriel.
Believing she had been party to a second Annunciation, Sister Simonetta rose from her cot and went to the foundling wheel, but no baby had been surrendered while she slept.
She cast her eyes up toward the heavens and vowed, "I will wait for him, and when he arrives, I will watch over him and defend him with my life, if need be."
It was several days before a young woman, who had given birth out of wedlock, placed a tiny infant on the abbey's foundling wheel and rang the bell to alert the nuns of the baby's presence. When the wheel was turned, the child was transported into the foundling room, and the unknown mother vanished into the night, her anonymity and good name preserved.
Sister Simonetta, who had been asleep on her cot, woke at the sound of the bell. Her heart fluttered with joyful anticipation.
Is it the child I was told to expect? she wondered.
She ran to the foundling wheel and scooped up the infant. Its face looked no different from those of the other abandoned babies that had been left in the abbey's care. Furthermore, a quick examination revealed that the child was female.
"You're not the one," the young novice declared with disappointment.
As with all newly born foundlings, a woman was brought from the village to nurse the child, and Father Damiano was called to baptize her. The baby would remain in Sister Simonetta's care until a suitable home could be found.
* * *
Weeks passed. Babies came and babies went to new homes. Not one of them seemed special in any way. In each case, Sister Simonetta's belief in the veracity of the prophecy lessened.
Perhaps it was nothing more than an ordinary dream, she thought.
Winter ended, and spring brought more abandoned children, none of whom seemed likely to be the king of men. By midsummer, the young nun's heart ceased to flutter when she heard the foundling wheel bell. Not only had she lost faith in her "vision," but she felt physically ill, too. The summer heat seemed to drain her energy. The voluminous, cumbersome habit she had to wear only made matters worse.
Eventually, the summer drew to an end, and autumn brought with it cooler temperatures. However, Sister Simonetta's mood did not improve. Since her Annunciation dream failed to come true, she began to question the calling she had received on the day her nephew was baptized.
Maybe it was the heat that got to me, like my father suggested.
On the sixth of September, the nuns at the abbey met in the dining hall for their evening meal. According to custom, the women lowered their heads and prayed before eating. When she opened her eyes and raised her head, Sister Simonetta felt a wave of nausea hit her.
"I ... I'm ... not ... feeling well," she moaned.
"You look pale," the abbess observed. "Why don't you go lie down?"
"Yes. Thank you."
The young nun made it to the foundling room despite the pain that seemed to rip through her body. No sooner did she recline on her cot than she slipped into unconsciousness.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
The sound of the bell penetrated her slumber.
"Who is it?" she called, half-asleep.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
As though traveling a great distance, Sister Simonetta slowly woke and stumbled out of bed, grateful that the intense pain was gone. She crossed the room to the foundling wheel. The moment she took the child in her arms, her discomfort was forgotten.
It's you! Praise God! It wasn't a dream; it was all true!
The newborn baby's soft whimpers soon turned to cries.
"You must be hungry, little one," she said, rocking him gently in her arms. "I'll call for the ...."
Sister Simonetta realized with alarm that if this child was treated like the other foundlings, he would eventually be sent away to live with new parents. She would thus be unable to care for him as the angel had requested.
"I'll have to keep your arrival a secret from the other nuns."
There seemed to be no problem with that since it was her responsibility to keep watch over the foundling room. But the child would need to be nourished. If a wet nurse was called, his presence would be revealed. There was also the matter of the baptism. The baby's soul would be in peril until he received the sacrament to welcome him into the Catholic faith.
The baby wailed, letting Sister Simonetta know his need for nourishment was of paramount importance.
"Perhaps cow's milk or goat's milk will do."
When she leaned forward to place the infant in an empty bed, she felt a strange tenderness in her breasts.
Could it be possible?
She lowered the bodice of her habit and picked up the child who then nursed hungrily.
"It's a miracle!" she cried. "God has made it possible for me to give you sustenance!"
Surely the Holy Virgin had felt the same sense of wonder and humility when she held the newborn Christ child to her breast.
* * *
For more than a month, Sister Simonetta successfully managed to keep the baby—he had no name since he was never baptized—hidden from the other nuns. Meanwhile, two other babies, one boy and one girl, were placed in the foundling wheel and were awaiting permanent homes.
In mid-October a young postulant joined the ranks of the sisters at the abbey. Shortly after the girl's arrival, the abbess asked to speak to Sister Simonetta.
"You sent for me, Mother?"
"Yes, my child. I wanted to let you know that you will be moved from the foundling room to the kitchen," the elderly woman announced.
"What?" the young nun cried, her face losing its color at the news. "Why?"
"We have a new member in our community. She will care for the foundlings."
"But I've done my very best to take care of the children."
"This is not a punishment, my child. We always assign the youngest among us to the foundling room."
"Please, Mother. Let me stay where I am. You can assign the new postulant to work in the kitchen."
"You are in the service of God. If He wants you in the kitchen, then you should accept his will."
"But it's you who assigns our duties, not God!"
The abbess was taken aback. No one had ever questioned or objected to her wishes before. She was not about to let a novice dictate how she ran the abbey.
"I do as God wills me. I suggest you do the same."
"But ...."
"That will be all, Sister."
Sister Simonetta left the abbess and returned to the foundling room to move her few belongings to her new cell.
What will I do about the baby? she wondered. I won't be able to keep him a secret any longer.
She walked to one of the three occupied beds in the room and looked down at the sleeping infant. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she fell to her knees and prayed.
"Oh, Holy Angel who came to me in my dreams please help me now."
There was no bright light, no vision.
"What should I do?"
With no guidance from above, Sister Simonetta had to rely on her own instincts. She picked the baby up, covered him with a blanket and put him on the foundling wheel. For the first time since it had been installed, the wheel transported a baby from inside the abbey to the world outside its walls. The nun then exited the abbey through the kitchen door and collected the infant.
"I'll take you to my father's house," she told him.
Keeping the child bundled up against the elements, Sister Simonetta set off for home. Travelling at night, to avoid being seen, with only the moon and stars to light the way, it took her almost a week to make the journey. When she arrived at the family home, hungry and exhausted, Lorenzo Baroni failed to recognize his own daughter.
"Father, it's me, Simonetta."
"My dear, what are you doing here?" he asked, opening the door for her to enter.
"I've come home. Please don't send me away."
"Send you away? Never! But what about your desire to serve God?"
"It's what I'm doing. He sent an angel to me to instruct me to care for this baby."
Lorenzo looked at the bundle his daughter carried. Clearly, it was not her clothes as he had assumed.
"Baby? What are you doing with a baby?"
"The angel told me he would become the king of men."
Simonetta let the blanket fall, and Lorenzo gasped with horror. The child his daughter held was dead, and had been for several days. What alarmed him more than the sight of the infant's decaying corpse was his daughter's belief that the child was still alive.
"Isn't he beautiful?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with insanity.
"Let me take him," the old man urged.
Simonetta possessively clutched the child to her breast.
"No! I have been charged with his care and protection. I won't trust him with anyone else, not even you, Father."
Lorenzo had no choice but to hand his daughter over to the abbess when she came to inquire about the missing nun since she obviously needed help that he could not give her. The dead infant was then wrested from the nun's arms and summarily buried in an unmarked grave on the Baroni estate. The child's striking resemblance to Father Damiano did not escape the eyes of the abbess, who correctly assumed the handsome priest was the baby's father. As for Simonetta, the mother, she was placed in the care of an asylum run by the Catholic Church. Her mind was so far gone that she was not even aware she had given birth. Nothing could shake her belief that the child had been abandoned and placed in the foundling wheel.
"I beg forgiveness for my failure, Holy Angel," she would cry every night before going to bed, shielding her eyes from a bright light that was only in her mind. "If you could give me one more chance, I swear on my life, I will not fail again."
Father Damiano, who had no memory of having either fathered a child or lain with a woman—at the time of conception he had been possessed by one of Hell's demons—was sent away to a small church in the Italian Alps. He remained there, a poor, obscure parish priest, until he died at the age of seventy-three. He spent the majority of his life repenting a sin that he was not even aware he had committed.
* * *
At the stroke of midnight on December 31, 1899, many people in Chicago celebrated the turn of the century with a toast, a song, a kiss or a dance.
Meanwhile, in Hull House, a settlement home on the Near West Side of the city, a young Italian immigrant was in the final stages of labor. One last painful push, and the infant emerged.
"It's a boy," one of the attendants announced.
Once the baby was cleaned and placed in his mother's arms, the midwife inquired what the child's name would be.
"Damiano," the exhausted young woman replied. "It was his father's name."
Thus, more than three hundred and fifty years after the death of her first child, Simonetta Baroni was given another chance to care for the king of men. Under the delusion that the child was one of God’s creatures, she gave birth to the antichrist who, once he reached puberty, began doing his father’s bidding. He swiftly caused two world wars, an international economic collapse that took the form of the Great Depression and the Spanish flu, a devastating pandemic that claimed the lives of more than fifty million people.
And he was just getting started.
This story makes me wonder about the time I found Salem when he was a kitten. Do you think ...? No. He couldn't be; or could he?
