Strictly speaking, the “barcarolle” is an Italian boat-song—“barca”
being the Italian word for boat. But in musical terminology it has been
localized and signifies distinctly a Neapolitan boat-song associated as
exclusively with the Vesuvian bay as is the gondoliera with the lagoons
and canals of Venice. In each case it is the song of the local boatman,
sung to the rhythmical accompaniment of the swinging oar, and enhanced
in poetic charm by the beauty and romantic atmosphere of the
surroundings. In each case also it has served as a suggestive and
grateful artistic subject for musical treatment, used by nearly all the
modern composers, great and small, and one which is particularly suited
to the pianoforte and facilely adapted to its characteristic resources.
In many respects the barcarolle, in this its idealized form as a musical
art work, closely resembles the gondoliera, similarly developed; for
instance, in its graceful six-eight rhythm, its gliding, swaying
boat-like movement, its suggestions of dipping oar and rippling water,
and in its sustained song-like melody which we may easily consider as
representing the voice of the boatman.
These descriptive elements are common to all works of both classes, but
the characteristic mood of the typical barcarolle is less tender and
passionate, more cheery and fanciful than that of the gondoliera. It has
less of the human element, more of the sea and its slumbering mystery;
less of the lover’s sigh, and more of the half-seen witchery of
sea-sprites and mermaids in the clear depths of inverted sky beneath. To
appreciate this mood to the full, one must have drifted, with suspended
oars, in a small boat, upon the far-famed bay of Naples, just as evening
fell, with the lofty banner of blue-black smoke waving majestically
above the summit of Vesuvius, in the distance, like the pennon of some
mighty earth giant, an ominous reminder of his terrible, through
slumbrous, power; with the city rising in the background, terrace on
terrace, from the water’s edge to the stern old ducal castle, which
crowns the height and looms dark and forbiddingly against the sky, a
memory in stone, with the fairy island of Capri lying to seaward and the
cool breath of the Mediterranean filling the sails of the countless
fishing-boats gliding shoreward, while the boatmen sing to the subdued
accompaniment of the evening chimes softened by distance. Seen at midday
from the height, under the glare and scorch of the noonday sun, with the
discordant, jangling sounds of busy life rising harshly to one, like the
cries from some pit of torment, Naples seems a hell; but at the evening
hour, viewed from the bay, it is a veritable dream of heaven.
No one has caught and embodied in music the mood and scene of this hour,
with its caressing coolness, its murmuring ripples, whispering secrets
of other days, like Rubinstein, though many have attempted it with more
or less success. Of his five barcarolles, all beautiful and
characteristic, the most faultlessly typical seems to me the one in G
major which I have selected for special mention.
This is not only one of the most graceful and characteristic, as well as
most perfect in form and finish, but also decidedly the most realistic
of the five. The rhythmic play of the oars, the undulating movement of
the boat, and the constant plash of the water, are all vividly
suggested, and the melody of the boatman’s song, original with
Rubinstein, is very appropriate and typical, heard in intermittent
fragments as if sung fitfully in broken snatches. The chords
accompanying the melody should be given lightly, though in nearly strict
time, in regular, rhythmic pulsations, but with a broken arpeggio
effect, that may well coincide with the representation of rippling
water, which idea is to be kept in mind.
The passages in double-thirds, which form the principal difficulty of
the work, must be rendered with the utmost smoothness and delicacy. It
is a good plan to begin each passage with a very low and extremely loose
wrist, raising it gradually till quite high toward the middle of the run
and then lowering it as gradually and easily to the end. This insures
absolute flexibility and enhances the undulating effect. The following
little verses, by T. Buchanan Read, express exactly in words the mood of
this barcarolle, and I never play it without thinking of them:
“My soul to-day
Is far away,
Adrift upon the Vesuvian bay.
My winged boat,
A bird afloat,
Glides by the purple peaks remote.
Across the rail
My hand I trail
Within the shadow of the sail.
With bliss intense
The cooling sense
Glides down my drowsy indolence.”