Barcarola's Mother: I see you've already made up your mind.
Barcarola's Mother: Have you thought about what you're doing? What if something happens, we won't be there to help you? What if you get sick or hurt? You'll be so far away.
Barcarola: Mamma, I'll be very careful.
Barcarola: I'll write, and when the ship returns, I'll come back to Cremona again. I'll visit you.
Barcarola: We won't be apart for too longâmaybe three or five months at a time, and time will fly by.
Barcarola: Hardly enough time to even build a violin.
Barcarola's Mother: Three or five monthsâthat's time I won't know how you are and what you're doing, figlia mia.
Barcarola's Mother: I was still expecting you to back down, just like those other times before.
Barcarola's Mother: First, you said you wanted to take over the bottega. Then, you decided to become a musician. And now you're leaving Cremona to join a cruise band.
Barcarola's Mother: You wanted to use your Astrictus to build tiny houses, and then, the next day, you tore them apart and made them into windmills.
Barcarola's Mother: When it came to your first family performance, you kept changing the song right up until the very moment you went on stage.
Barcarola's Mother: You're as fickle as the weather. What if you get tired of the ship? What will you do then?
Barcarola's Mother: You won't be able to just walk away.
Barcarola: The "Free Breeze" changes its route all the time, and there are always new passengers coming aboard.
Barcarola: I'll see so many new things, and everyone will want to hear my new music. I won't quit that easily!
Barcarola: It's not like Cremona, where everything always stays the same, and where everyone's always telling me what I should do.
There is no more need for rehearsing her words. She simply speaks her mind without hesitation.
And she has decided on her farewell gift.
Barcarola: This is for you, and for PapĂ .
Barcarola: I once tried to make a violin just as good as the Crackling Box.
Barcarola: But I changed my mind along the way.
Barcarola: Back then, I thought I'd finish it one day and make it just as good, maybe even better.
Barcarola: It wasn't long after I started taking performance lessons. I was fascinated by the sheer number of sounds, and I began to think about how to blend them into my music.
Barcarola: That's what I really wanted to do, not what I thought I "should" do.
Barcarola: Even if my Astrictus kept failing, even if no one took my Crackling Box seriously.
Barcarola: I finished it because I wanted to prove to you that I did genuinely work hard through all those lessons.
Barcarola: Each time I performed with my Crackling Box in Cremona, people just saw me as a child playing with a toy.
Barcarola: No matter whether it was the instrument or the performance, the people here never really accepted me. They were always just waiting for me to grow upâto stop being childish, to get serious, and to return to the world of violins ... their world.
Barcarola: This isn't what I want.
Barcarola: I used to want to become a luthier, but now I know what I want to do. I want to play music for the people on that ship.
Performers must fully comprehend the role they play. It is their duty to channel the emotions of music to the world.
The ship Barcarola speaks of is a place where she aims to play her role and fulfill her "duty."
Barcarola's Mother: This ...
Barcarola's Mother: Its edge joints are a little rough, and the varnish is uneven.
Barcarola's Mother: And the neck is slightly straighter than the one we made for you. It won't sound as bright as your Crackling Box.
Barcarola's Mother: You still have a long way to go before you can call yourself a luthier.
Barcarola's Mother: But then, becoming a musicista should just about suit you for now.
Her mother sighs, but the underlying encouragement in her words is evident.
Barcarola's Mother: Go, then.
Barcarola's Mother: At least, our family name will open doors for you in any orchestra.
Barcarola's Mother: Or just tell them you're from Cremona and show them your instrumentâthey'll know.
Barcarola's Mother: I won't worry too much about how you'll make a living, but just tell us if you run into any problems, va bene?
Barcarola: No, Mamma.
Barcarola: I won't travel as just another performer from Cremona or even a Stradivari luthier.
Barcarola: Just "Barcarola."
Barcarola: Don't worry, with or without the family name, I'll find a way.
Barcarola: But I don't want to go as some famed musician traveling the world. I want to be just an ordinary girl leaving home for the first time.
Barcarola's Mother: ...
Barcarola's Mother: When does your ship leave?
Barcarola: In three days. The captain says we'll be heading to some new ports, and we'll pass Cremona again in a year or so.
Barcarola: ...
Barcarola: I have to go now, to the bottega. PapĂ has been so busy lately. It's better that I go to see him.
Barcarola: A year really does go by in the blink of an eye.
Parting is never easy, but when a new life is so close at hand, all it takes is a step forward.
The sadness will fade, overtaken by excitement for what's to come.
But the sound of her mother's voice will always tug her heart back.
Barcarola's Mother: Stellina, just a little longer.
Barcarola's Mother: There are still a few things I need to say.
Day is breaking as the newest crew member steps onto the deck.
Most of her luggage has been moved into the cabin already, but one last piece remains.
Placing the two instrument cases down, Barcarola takes a moment to take in her first real steps aboard.
Barcarola: Phew ... finally.
Barcarola: These are, after all, the things I couldn't leave behind.
Cruise Ship Musician: Though thankfully you won't need to lug them around all the time!
Cruise Ship Musician: Here, let me take these to your room. You can take a walk around the ship and get used to things. We leave at noon, so there's plenty of time.
Cruise Ship Musician: No need to thank me! I'm sure I'll be asking you to teach me some techniques soon enough!
Her friend rushes off so quickly, she doesn't have a moment to reply.
She pushes open the nearest door.
The bustling scene before her is unlike anything she has seen before.
Music and voices fill the air, drowning out both the wind outside and the rocking of the ship.
Warm light streams down from above, reminding her of the light that shone through the church's stained-glass windows.
It is only now that she realizes she has left that world behind.
The church, the workshop, and the bell tower are all in the past now.
Barcarola: There are so many passengers.
Barcarola: I won't have to worry about not having an audience anymore.
Barcarola: I'm glad it wasn't all in vain. Those two violin cases are quite heavy.
Her mother's advice echoes in her ears.
Barcarola's Mother: Take this violin with you too.
Barcarola's Mother: There are pieces that only shine when played with the right instrument.
Barcarola's Mother: Maybe the right piece for it is still out there waiting for you.
Barcarola's Mother: If you find that piece, you can let me know when you come home to Cremona, va bene?
Barcarola's Mother: It's been a long time since you've played it.
Barcarola's Mother: But even so, it makes your PapĂ and I so happy to see how much you love your Crackling Box.
Barcarola's Mother: Keep exploring. The best instrument will be the one that suits you best.
What was once a proud declaration has now become a tender form of encouragement.
She repeats the words she shared at the time of her exam.
Barcarola's Mother: Good luck, Stellina.
Crew Member II: Let's say goodbye now, Mamma. The ship is about to set sail.
Mother: My child, I'm going to miss you. Let me hold you one more time, my child.
Crew Member II: Mamma, don't be like that. I'll be back before you know it.
The "Free Breeze" is scheduled to embark at noon. All those departing aboard it exchange their final goodbyes.
Barcarola: Mamma mia! IâI forgot to give them a hug!
Barcarola: And I didn't say goodbye to Maestro Battista either. I haven't even seen him since the exam!
Barcarola: And there's still so many sounds left in Cremona.
Suddenly, all those unrecorded sounds grow unbearably loud, like rolling thunder in a storm.
The noise rushes over her, leaving her feeling suffocated and alone.
Farewells can feel so cold, like iron and rain, like a violin string drawn taut and silent.
Barcarola: ...
Barcarola: No, this can't be happening.
In a panic, she turns around and dashes out through the door.
