IL VIAGGIO: The Voyage From Venice to the Court of Elizabeth I1 and Beyond

By Larry Taliaferro

My story finds me a somewhat frustrated genealogist, simply because of the meager success I experienced in my search for the origins of my family namesake. Okay, I did find him. He is Bartolomeo Tagliaferro, born in Venice in 1530. Beyond that, only a few snippets of his life’s journey are available from the usual research sources. Indeed, I found very little.

What I did learn was that he liked the music of the age, and he was taught all the rules and practices of the local businesses by his father. He found a lovely young lady and, somehow, got selected (by her father) to go abroad to represent the interests of the Doge. The court of Elizabeth I was where he made his stand for the long term, becoming a managing musician at the royal court.

His life included touching the music, politics and literature of the late 1500’s, contacting the likes of Francis Walsingham, William Shakespeare, and Thomas “Kit” Marlowe, to say nothing of the beautiful and talented Aemelia Bassano.

His stay in England saw him marry and father a brood of children, most not surviving him to their adulthood. A son, Francis, was the exception. He was relatively successful in the local area and with his wife fathered a couple of children. His daughter was a stay at home body, never marrying. His son, Robert, was the exact opposite. He found his comfort level in the entourage of the new king, Charles I, the son of the famous King James I of Bible fame. Charles went on to infamy by losing his crown to a very frustrated parliament. The king was imprisoned, and eventually lost his head in the Tower of London.

Robert and his best, life-long friend, Lawrence Smith, found themselves on a wanted list of associates of the king. They quickly, but prudently, planned their escape to the new world from the docks at Stepney, aboard the ship “The Honor”. Their successful arrival in Virginia was just the start of a new phase of life in America.

There it is. The story of how the Taliaferro’s moved from Venice through the court of Elizabeth I, and on to the new world – Virginia.

IL VIAGGIO!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781633389151

Book preview

Chapter 1

My Beginning (1530)

By the beginning of the sixteenth century, the world was firmly emerging from the Dark Ages into the Renaissance. The light was beginning to shine. Nowhere did it present itself more successfully than in Venice—the jewel of the Mediterranean. The world of commerce and trade thrived there like no other place. They monopolized all the markets and commodity sources to the east.

Living under the influence of this enterprise area were my parents, Bartolomeo and Gianna Tagliaferro. Poppa was a merchant at the time, a simple man just doing a job. He was no more than five foot six inches tall, with a solid but not overweight build. Mother was a home body, very tidy with an eye for detail. Even doing all the preparation for our meals, she maintained a trim figure. Together they made home a special place where we would do almost everything together.

At the time in history that I was being born, the most significant structure of the City of Doges was that of St. Mark’s Basilica. It was so prominent that it was synonymous with the city itself.

But it wasn’t always so. In its beginning, it was merely the private prayer place for the Doge, who was a Venetian variation on royalty, but he was not appointed by God, as so many other royal families asserted. He was voted in by his peers. Not like an open election, the voters were all from the same rich merchant class of the area, but it was for life. Other than the obvious success of the system, it was seemingly the best for this island city-state in its day and age.

St. Mark’s is quite a story in and of itself. It had so many nicknames that it is better to just realize it was a work of art that has been referred to as early ransack. In the early days, the Venetians garnered a lot of their power, as other dominant nations did at the time, with the spoils of war. The requisite booty from victories in the Crusades was returned to the homeland and installed in memorable, prominent places, honoring the successes of the local heroes. This was the source of much of the Doge’s former private praying place. With the return of the presumed bones of their favorite saint, Mark, from Alexandria in 1094, together with the Egyptian horses which adorn the top of the entrance, it had become time to rechristen it St. Mark’s Basilica.

After I entered the story, my family saw that their success was going to be west of the city that they so loved, in Bergamo, about a day and half in the wagon.

Here is my timeline:

Year 1530—I was born in Venice, as I have been told (birthdates were not of consequence then), and soon thereafter, we all moved to Bergamo. Unfortunately, I don’t know of a record of the exact date of my arrival or baptism in 1530 that I might call a compleano.

To my father, it was a necessity that we move because he wanted to have his own shop—our family’s shop. Moving gave us that chance. As I later came to realize, most businesses in Venetia were controlled by the very successful owners there. Poppa was not of that level.

Year 1540—I’m now ten years of age and growing like the proverbial weed. I have begun helping my parents around the shop, performing chores like sweeping and stacking stuff. Cleaning constantly was the odds-on favorite enterprise for this ten-year-old. It was kind of enjoyable in that I was now really a part of the family business and its success. Greeting some of our regular customers was a specialty of mine. Pappa said I was pretty good at it—a natural!

My parents were about as average as anyone might imagine. Poppa was a giant of a man despite his size. His rich olive complexion betrayed his roots near the Mediterranean, and his hair filled his head with dark and wavy semicurls or waves. You’d never get to see much of them since his hat, or hats, was almost always in place atop. There wasn’t an awful lot that was special about him, except he was mine. I could not hope for a more helpful and loving parent…except for Momma.

My mother was the queen of our household. Nothing was done in her house without her permission. It may not have been a very big villa or estate, but it was the home I’d known my whole life.

Momma was small boned, also with olive skin, and had flowing wavy locks adorning her head. She tied them up for her day working in our house or the store. Weighing barely a hundred pounds, she was as strong as a man twice her size, but with half her wit and will. Yes, everyone loves their mother, but I adored this woman who bore me into this world. The look on her face as I departed each day was a smiling angel who would pray for my safety and good fortune every day of my life.

A young man like me could ask for no better parents; I am so very blessed.

Year 1542—my father decided that now that I have turned twelve years of age, it was time for me to go on my first business trip with him. Our plan was his usual route, on his good old wagon with our good old horse, as far south as Florence then over to Pisa, near the coast. From there we continued up the shore until we passed the Apennines, where we cut in toward Cremona. That was a really interesting stop. But up to now, I’d never heard of it.

Continuing, we’ll stop next in Verona, just to see something different, then on to a stop in the university town of Padua. I wasn’t sure why that was important, but it might turn out to be really interesting. The climax to the whole trip was ultimately Venice. After all, it was where I was born.

We met acquaintances of my father in every place along the way. However, the questions that seemed to come back to me, time and time again, were all of them—too many to remember. My mind was running like the wind. Of course there were the obvious things:

Why was I on this trip? What was I supposed to gain from it? What was I supposed to learn? How long were we going to be gone? Where were we still going to visit?

Even now, on the eve of our departure, I still haven’t completely digested proper answers to any of those questions. For instance, our first stop in Florence, although it is well outside of our duchy, it is apparently a very important city for my father’s (now our) business. And so we began. The actual journey from home was lacking the usual distractions I encountered around Bergamo.

The silence, save the rhythm of the wagon wheels along the dirt roads, gave pause to a thought process I had to learn to handle. Rolling hills of all different shades of green and gold paved the way, highlighted with the grazing of animals, with interruptions of vines of grapes and an unusual abundance of trees, which I was informed were olive trees. (I think I already knew that, but…maybe that was when I learned it.)

Even by age twelve, I certainly knew the valuable role olive oil played in our everyday lives where we lived. I had seen the countless applications my mother found for the preparation of our food every day. It was also a staple of my father’s items for sale (although we didn’t actually bottle it ourselves).

We soon could see the city of Florence off in the distance. It was a beautiful display on the gold-and-green landscape, and it was really breathtaking for me as a first-time traveler.

Poppa knew that a person my age doesn’t usually think of things like buildings or architecture, but in this city, it is too significant an eyeful to ignore or at least not to notice. Once in the center of the city, we stopped at the obvious centerpiece of the city, Il Duomo, the cathedral rising up in the middle of everything. We had been able to see it for miles. It is more than a hundred years old, and in fact, it has already been in some state of being for about 250 years. It takes a long time to build one these. I had to appreciate that longevity.

"I think you are wondering why I wanted you to come with me on the road. To my way of thinking, it is time I made sure you are prepared for life as a man in the marketplace of Venetia. It is a very competitive place to survive, so an early start will help you be ready. You don’t even know what you must be ready for. That’s what we are going to learn about on our trip.

"Your mother and I will not be around forever. You must get the rules of being a man learned to your very soul. Then you may be able to survive in the world of commerce."

I didn’t know what to say.

Here we were in a most beautiful setting, in Florence. I had no idea why this was…beautiful. There was a special warmth I felt that was not coming from the sunny day. I couldn’t imagine all that it might have taken to create this place. It held me in its grasp.

Pappa was about to teach me something interesting that day, I felt, about the church:

Only the baptized members of the faith could be in the church during Mass, he told me as we took a tour around the main body of the cathedral. The history of how it came to be was more interesting than anything I had ever heard about. The idea of building the same structure for over two hundred years made me consider how important it must be. There was what sounded like a litany of saints who were given credit for different portions of it. I learned names I had never heard before: Brunelleschi, who designed the dome and the nave; Giotto, who designed for the Campanile; as well as architects di Cambrio and de Fabris.

There were too many more to remember. I had to write down these names so I could learn more. There was no way I could absorb all the history I was exposed to today.

It was like overeating; it was too hard to even move while the information was being digested. I remained stuck in my tracks, right there, next to Pappa.

As I tried to take in the beauty of the architecture, craning my neck upward to see the whole height of the structure, I asked, So where do the people go who aren’t members, are just joining, or are just interested?

He was pleased I asked such an obvious question, as there was an even more obvious answer that he wanted to show me. He asked that I turn around in the very spot I stood at the entrance. Directly across from the doors at the front of the church was another beautiful but unusual building, only much smaller. As we entered it, I immediately noticed that from the inside, it was seemed round. And it, too, seemed like a holy place, but quite different.

Poppa informed me that it was where the instructions for prospective members took place, up until the day of their formal joining. That was called Baptism, a sacrament, and this structure was the Baptistry. Much of the learning could be done by just studying the artwork that took up all the interior walls and even the floor and the ceiling and all the way to the very top, where it was open to the sky—not completely, but just a hole, like a window. Through this opening, light shone throughout the very large building but in an eerie sort of way. It almost seemed like God’s eye was on us all the time.

At first, I thought it was round on the inside, but the longer I looked, the more I could see small angles at intervals all the way around—it was an octagon. When I asked if that was correct, Pappa smiled and confirmed that my eyes were not playing tricks on me. I was indeed eight-sided.

Our day took on an ominous feeling about then. A storm came up, the thunder and lightning kind. From inside the Baptistry, it was like a supernatural thing was occurring all around. The reverberations and echoes made it feel as though God knew we were there, and He wanted us to realize it.

I sure did!

After that stop, we went to a small trattoria to have something to drink—coffee for Poppa. I was allowed to join him for the first time. Although it was interesting, I think I can honestly state that coffee was not a taste for a person my age. Perhaps someday, but not today. I did enjoy the accompanying bruttiboni. The flavor of almonds right in the biscuit was delizioso!

Poppa told me of the local family, de’ Medicis. They were the community leaders here in their most important business—banking. They were more renowned as the primary influence on the world at large as it emerged from what everyone referred to as the Dark Ages. The movement in learning that was called the Renaissance was the singular name for the world’s delivery out of the Medieval Period. It seemed important to know. In all honesty, I had no clue what any of it meant. Maybe later!

There are many other reasons to stop and visit here, but to learn of the De’ Medici family topped Pappa’s agenda—for me. After walking the central city and seeing the massive and beautiful structures annexed by the homes and offices of their family, I felt someone (Pappa) was trying to make an impression on me.

Why I remember the de’ Medicis the most is because they were the leaders in so many important aspects of life beyond banking. Even I could see that even as a twelve-year-old. Art and architecture, music, language and religion were all disciplines influenced by them. Life itself!

He told me that their support of all those things were called the humanities. (I’d have to find out what those are.) By that they made Florence into the centerpiece of things that sustained our new civilization, making Florentines rivals to the ancient Greeks. How they were able to do that was singularly by their expertise with money and commerce. They controlled it, and that was the aspect that allowed them to do just about anything else they wanted. That was a fact that signaled me an idea that I might use in my life.

I didn’t see myself becoming a power broker, but just someone that wanted to know his way about business enterprise and how it all works.

Moving on, we covered more things about this powerful family of Florence. Over time, there were a few popes from their family and several members who managed to get into—I guess through marriage—a few of the royal families throughout Europe. My father knew enough about them that he made sure I appreciated who and what they were and, most of all, that they were powerful!

As a good father, mine always pointed out the importance of education and that it was really big among the Florentine people, and that included both music and the arts. There had been many leaders of the military, the church, and more recently philosophy from this very city. At my age, I wasn’t really all that interested in that. However, the surge in all those things that we were apparently experiencing coming out of this Dark Ages all started here, and that was interesting and exciting, but for reasons I couldn’t define. It was like being witness to something very important but not well-defined. They even developed a new language, Italian, for us. (Up until recently, people in these parts spoke any number of tongues, like Latin, Greek, Tuscan, and others from the areas of Persia and elsewhere.) The upshot was the way we talked was somewhat a hodgepodge, built on gestures with the