The Children of the Wheel

The Children of the Wheel

"Not every abandoned child was forgotten. Some found, on the other side of a simple wooden wheel, the first opportunity to live."

Few inventions in history have carried such contradiction as the Foundling Wheel. It was, at the same time, the door of abandonment and the door of hope. Before it, an impossible motherhood came to an end; on the other side, a new opportunity for life began. There was no joy in that gesture, but there was compassion. And for centuries, it was that compassion that prevented thousands of newborns from disappearing into the silence of the streets.

In Naples, it became known as the Ruota dell’Annunziata, because it was installed beside the monumental complex of the Santissima Annunziata, an institution dedicated to the care of abandoned children. On the outer wall of the building, discreetly positioned to the left of the great Renaissance entrance arch, there was a small opening connected to a wooden cylinder that turned on its own axis. It was enough to place the baby in that compartment, turn it, and ring a bell. Those who remained outside never saw who received the child.

Anonymity was not the fruit of coldness, but of necessity. Many mothers arrived at night, hiding their faces under a scarf. They were widows, young unmarried women, women marked by extreme poverty, or victims of circumstances that the society of the time condemned without mercy. For many of them, leaving their child in that wheel meant choosing between the child’s survival and an almost certain death.

Just below the opening, a small marble sculpture represented a childlike angel. Beside it, an inscription addressed the parents with words that mixed reproach and mercy: “O father and mother who leave him here. To your alms we are recommended.” Near the inscription there was also a narrow slot intended for offerings, destined to support the charitable work maintained by the confraternity responsible for the establishment.

When the wheel turned, the newly arrived infant ceased to belong solely to the family that had begotten it. It came to be known as one of the “Children of Our Lady.” It was a symbolic way of affirming that, if the child lacked a father and mother, the protection of the Virgin Mary would be granted to it.

On the inside, the routine was swift and carefully organized. The Rotara, the woman charged with watching the wheel, immediately removed the child and handed it over to the midwife. The first duty was to check its state of health. If it showed signs of illness or malnutrition, it received the necessary care. If it was well, it was bathed and, immediately afterward, baptized, for infant mortality was high and no one wished a baby to leave this life without the sacrament then considered essential.

Once this first attendance was concluded, an administrative procedure known as Mercatura began. The name revealed little of the delicacy of the work performed. Each child was carefully registered in the Book of the Wheel. There were noted the date, the hour, the day of the week on which it had been found, its physical appearance, particular marks, any disabilities, state of health, and even the clothes in which it had arrived. These records, preserved in many Italian archives, have become precious documents for historians and genealogists.

In approximately half the cases, the baby was accompanied by a small sheet of paper called a cartula. Some contained only a few words; others revealed entire stories. There were mothers who informed the name received at baptism, the church where the sacrament had been celebrated, or explained that they intended to reclaim the child when their living conditions improved. It was not rare to find ribbons torn in half, broken medals, small crucifixes, or cut coins—objects kept as signs of recognition should a reunion ever take place in the future.

When no cartula indicated a surname, the institution assigned one that would become one of the best-known in Italy: Esposito. The name identified all those who had been “exposed,” that is, left in the care of the institution. For centuries, this surname accompanied thousands of Italians, becoming an involuntary marker of their origin and, unfortunately, also a cause of social discrimination.

Only at the beginning of the nineteenth century did a significant change begin to appear. During the period of French domination over the Kingdom of Naples, King Joachim Murat forbade that the newly abandoned continue to receive automatically the surname Esposito. The measure sought to eliminate a stigma that accompanied these people throughout their lives, revealing their condition from birth.

Nevertheless, the very existence of the Foundling Wheels began to be questioned. Physicians, jurists, and social reformers argued that it was preferable to protect the mothers and create more humane forms of assistance to childhood than to institutionalize anonymous abandonment.

The first Italian city to close its wheel definitively was Ferrara, in 1867. In the following decades, other cities followed the same path. The process was slow, accompanying the profound social transformations of the nineteenth century, until, in 1923, the Italian government promulgated the General Regulation for the Service of Assistance to Foundlings, officially extinguishing all the Foundling Wheels still existing in the country.

Today, the old wooden opening remains as a silent testimony to an age in which poverty, shame, and prejudice drove mothers to unimaginable decisions. It recalls that History is not always made of great battles or powerful kings. Often, it is written in the instant when a woman, with a shattered heart, places her own child in a small wooden wheel, believing that, on the other side, someone would offer what she herself could no longer give: the opportunity to go on living.

Author’s Note

The Foundling Wheel (Ruota degli Esposti), known in Naples as the Ruota dell’Annunziata, was one of the most singular and, at the same time, most moving charitable institutions in European history. Its existence was born not of indifference toward childhood, but of the need to confront a dramatic reality that marked the great cities from the Middle Ages to the beginning of the twentieth century.

Urban growth, extreme poverty, successive crises of supply, epidemics, wars, and the severe moral judgment reserved for unmarried mothers produced a scenario in which thousands of newborns ran a serious risk of dying soon after birth. For many women, especially those without family, without resources, or abandoned by the child’s father, delivering the child to the Wheel represented the only possibility of preserving its life. It was a gesture of renunciation, not of absence of love.

The first Wheels appeared on the Italian Peninsula still in the Late Middle Ages and spread widely between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, especially in the most populous cities, such as Naples, Rome, Florence, Venice, and Milan. Administered by religious confraternities, hospitals, or charitable institutions, they guaranteed the anonymity of the parents and offered the newborn immediate reception, baptism, nourishment, and official registration. Many children were accompanied by small notes, medals broken in half, or other objects that would allow eventual recognition should the family be able to reclaim them in the future.

This practice, however, produced profound social consequences. Surnames such as Esposito, assigned for centuries to abandoned babies, ended up becoming involuntary marks of origin and, often, causes of discrimination. Already at the beginning of the nineteenth century, during the government of Joachim Murat in the Kingdom of Naples, efforts were made to eliminate this stigma by forbidding the automatic attribution of that surname to the newly arrived.

As medicine, public assistance, and social policies evolved throughout the nineteenth century, there also grew the conviction that it was more just to protect the mothers and their children than to institutionalize anonymous abandonment. The first Italian city to extinguish its Wheel was Ferrara, in 1867. In the following decades, other cities did the same, until, in 1923, the General Regulation for the Service of Assistance to Foundlings determined the definitive closure of this system throughout Italy.

This chronicle seeks to recall that institution without anachronisms and without hasty judgments. It is easy to condemn the past with the values of the present; more difficult is to understand the circumstances that led so many women to take heart-rending decisions. The Foundling Wheel was, simultaneously, the symbol of a society incapable of protecting all its mothers and the demonstration that, even in times of profound inequality, there was still room for organized mercy.

May this narrative therefore be read not as the history of a wooden mechanism, but as the silent memory of thousands of lives that began between abandonment and hope, reminding us that human dignity always deserves to be preserved, even in the most painful pages of History.

Dr. Luiz Carlos B. Piazzetta

Le Cure de ´na Volta - A Medicina dos Imigrantes Italianos na Serra Gaúcha

 

Le cure de ´na volta

A Medicina dos Imigrantes Italianos na Serra Gaúcha

"Crônica escrita em talian (a língua vêneto-brasileira)."

Nei primi ani del Novessento, su par i monti de le Colónie taliane quando la mata zera ancora pì granda dei campi e el mèdico rivava forse do o tre volte al mese, ogni capela gavea la so persona de fidansa. No la portava uniforme, no la gavea diploma e gnanca insegna sora la porta. Par tuti, la gera semplicemente la zia Caterina. Vedova da tanti ani, la vivea in una caseta de legno in meso ai filari di vite. Davanti casa la tegneva un orto che no servia solo par magnar. Là cresceva sàlvia, ruta, malva, camomila, artemisia, menta, tanaceto e tante altre erbe che la gavea imparà a doprar con la so mama, ancora in Vèneto, e che dopo l'ossean le gavea trovà tera bona anca ´ntela Serra. Se un puteo cascava dal caro, se un colono se taiava con la scure o se ´na dona vegnia ciapà dai dolori de partorir in piena note, no se mandava subito a ciamar el mèdico. Prima se mandea un puteo de corsa fin casa de la zia Caterina.

Lei rivava con la sporta de stropa, un rosàrio in scarsela e tanta tranquilità. Mentre le altre persone se disperava, ela disea poche parole, ma sempre giuste. Lavava le feride con aqua scotà, preparava impiastri de erbe pestade, fasciava con strassi de lino ben neti e pregava piano, come ghe gavea insegnà la so nona. Par la tosse la fasea ´na infusion de malva e miele. Par el mal de pansa ghe gera tisane de camomila e menta. Par le febri, impachi freschi e tanto riposo. Par i dolori de le done, infusi che olorava de montagna. E par ogni rimèdio la ripeteva che Dio gavea messo ´ntela natura tuto quel che servia, basta saver vardar.

El dentista? El zera a ore de cavalcadura. Par questo, quando un dente no dava pì pase, la zia Caterina se armava de coràio e, con l'aiuto de un omo robusto che tegnea fermo el malcapità, fasea quel che bisognava far. No zera un mestier che ghe piaseva, ma el dolor no speta mai.

Nissun parlava de pagamento. Qualchedun ghe portava un salame dopo la maialada. Altri un saco de formenton, do forme de formaio, una galina o un sesto de ova. Se ´na famèia no gavea gnente, la zia la soridea e la disea che el Sior ghe gavea zà pagà bastansa.

Le parturienti la volea sempre visin. Quante creature le ga vardà la prima luse de la lampada a petròlio con le man de quela dona! E quante volte la ze restà sveia fin al levar del sol, tornando dopo casa infangà, ma contenta de aver salvà ´na mama o un puteo.

Con passar dei ani rivò la strada, dopo el farmassista, dopo ancora el dotor fisso e finalmente l'ospedal. Le vècie cure pian pian le sparì, come sparisse tante robe de la coónia.

Ma chi ze nato in quei ani el sa ben che no zera solo le erbe che curava.

Zera la fidùssia.

Zera la solidarietà.

Zera quel mondo ndove ogni famèa gavea la porta verta par el visin.

E quando ancòi qualche vècio conta de le cure de ´na volta, no parla tanto de le infusioni o dei impiasti. El parla de persone come la zia Caterina, che sensa studi, sensa glòria e sensa pretese, la ga tegnesto vive intere comunità ´ntei tempi pì difìssili de la colonisassion italiana del Rio Grande del Sud. 

Nota de l'Autor

Sta crónica la no conta la stòria de ´na persona precisa, ma la memòria de tante done che loro le ga vissesto tra le colónie taliane de la ¨Serra del Rio Grande del Sud"  nei primi ani del Novecento. Passadi quasi sinquanta ani da quando i primi emigranti i ga sbarcà in Brasil, la vita la zera cambià, ma no tanto quanto se podarìa pensar.

Le foreste le zera stà in bona parte domà. Dove prima ghe zera solo grandi pini, cedri e imbuie, ormai se vardava vigne, granoturco, frumento e centinaia de case de legno. Le famèie gavea costruì capele, sale comunali, mulini, segherie e tante comunità che col tempo le saria diventà paesi importanti.

Ma el progresso el rivava pian.

Le strade zera ancora de tera, quasi impraticàbili con la piova. El cavalo e el caro restava i mezi principai par spostarse. El mèdico el viveva lontan e, in tante località, bisognava cavalcar ore intere montagne par poderlo ciamar. Le farmàsie zera poche e le medicine costava caro, robe che no tuti podea comperar.

Par questo motivo, ogni comunità la contava sora persone esperte: comare, curandeire, erbiste e done anziane che conservava un património de cognossense portà dal Veneto, dal Trentino e dal Friuli. Tante de quee cure le vegniva da sècoli de esperienza contadina e da una medicina popolare che univa osservassion, fede e tradission.

Naturalmente no tuti i rimedi zera eficasi secondo la medicina moderna. Qualchedun el fasea ben, altri servia pì a confortar che a guarir, e qualcun, visto con i oci de ancòi, podarìa perfino vegnir considerà rischioso. Ma bisogna giudicar quel mondo con i oci del so tempo. Quando no ghe gera alternative, la speransa e la solidarietà diventava parte dela cura.

Quela realtà la ga contribuì a formar el caratere de le colónie italiane. L'abitudine de dar ´na man al visin, de spartir quel poco che se gavea e de no lassarse mai soli davanti ala malatia la ze sta drio ´na de le sataron de la nostra cultura.

Sta crónica, dunque, la vol vegnir un omagio no solo a le "cure de na volta", ma soratuto a quele done semplìsse, quasi sempre desmentegade dai libri de stòria, che co le so man, la so fede e el so coràio le ga tegnesto vive tante famèie fin che el progresso rivasse anca tra le monte de la Serra Gaúcha.

Dr. Luiz Carlos B. Piazzetta