The Early Works Of Arnold Schoenberg 18931908

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THE EARLY WORKS OF ARNOLD SCHOENBERG, 1 8 9 3 - 1 9 0 8
 Walter Frisch

T H E EARLY W O R K S of
ARNOLD SCHOENBERG
1893-1908

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS BERKELEY LOS ANGELES LONDON

University of California Press
Berkeley and Los Angeles, California

University of California Press, Ltd.

London, England

© 1993 by
The Regents o f the University of
California

Library o f Congress Cataloging-in-

Publication Data

Frisch, Walter.
T h e early works of Arnold Schoenberg,
1 8 9 3 - 1 9 0 8 / Walter Frisch.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and
indexes.
I S B N 0-520-07819-5 (alk. paper)
1. Schoenberg, Arnold, 1 8 7 4 - 1 9 5 1 —
Criticism and interpretation.
I. Title.
ML410.S283F75 1993
780'.92—dc20 92-43829
CIP

Printed in the United States of America

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

T h e paper used in this publication meets

the minimum requirements of American
National Standard for Information
Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed
Library Materials, A N S I Z39.48-1984.
For Anne
I'm very glad you received an offer to write a book about me. . . . That you
wish to write only on the music is in accordance with my wishes. In my
opinion: my biography as such is highly uninteresting and I consider the
publication of any details embarrassing. A few place names, dates of
composition, there's really nothing more to say. . . . It would be interesting to
outline my development through the music.

SCHOENBERG
postcard to Berg, 8 December 1920, about a book project never completed
C O N T E N T S

List o f L o n g e r Musical E x a m p l e s xi
Preface and A c k n o w l e d g m e n t s xiii
A N o t e on Abbreviations xix

PART I: S C H O E N B E R G AND THE BRAHMS TRADITION, 1893-1897

1. T h e " B r a h m s F o g " : A C o n t e x t for Early Schoenberg 3

2. T h e Instrumental Works 20
3. T h e Songs 48

P A R T IT. E X P A N D E D T O N A L I T Y , EXPANDED FORMS, 1899-I9O3

4. T h e D e h m e l Settings of 1899 79
5. Verklärte Nacht, op. 4 (1899) 109
6. Gurrelieder (1900-1901) 140
7. Pelkas und Melisande, op. 5 (1902-1903) 158

PART i n : "THE DIRECTION MUCH M O R E MY O W N , " I904-I908

8. T h e First String Q u a r t e t , op. 7 (1904-1905) 181

9. T h e First C h a m b e r S y m p h o n y , op. 9 (1906) 220
10. T h e Second C h a m b e r S y m p h o n y , op. 38,
and the Second String Q u a r t e t , op. 10 (1906-1908) 248

A p p e n d i x of L o n g e r Musical E x a m p l e s 273
B i b l i o g r a p h y of Works Cited 311
Index of Schoenberg's C o m p o s i t i o n s and Writings 321
General Index 323
L I S T OF L O N G E R M U S I C A L E X A M P L E S

A. Piano Piece in Ctt M i n o r (1894), m m . 1-23 274

B. Scherzo for Piano in Fit M i n o r (ca. 1894), m m . 1 - 4 4 275
C. Scherzo for String Q u a r t e t in F M a j o r (1897), m m . 80-128 277
D. Schilflied (1893), m m . 1 - 1 3 279
E. Ecloge (1895), mm. 1-51 280
F. Mädchenlied (1897), mm. 1-13 283
G. Waidesnacht (1897), mm. 1-24 284
H. Mädchenfrühling (1897), complete 286
I. Nicht doch! (1897), m m . 1 - 1 2 289
J. Nicht doch! (1897), m m . 7 3 - 8 4 290
K. Mannesbangen (1899), complete 291
L. Warnung (1899), m m . 1-15 294
M. Im Reich der Liebe (1899), m m . 1 - 8 295
N. " S o tanzen die E n g e l , " f r o m Gurrelieder (1900-1),
piano-vocal score, m m . 4 4 3 - 8 8 296
O. " D u sendest mir einen Liebesblick," f r o m Gurrelieder,
mm. 653-67 299
p. " D u sendest mir einen Liebesblick," m m . 6 7 6 - 9 7 300
Q. First String Quartet, op. 7 (1904-5), m m . 1-35 302
R. Second C h a m b e r S y m p h o n y , op. 38 (1906-8), I,
t w o - p i a n o arrangement, m m . 1-28 305
s. Second String Quartet, op. 10 (1907-8), I, m m . 1 - 5 5 307
T. Second String Quartet, op. 10, II, m m . 1 - 1 8 310

xi
P R E F A C E AND A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

In an afterword to a reprint of Egon Wellesz's book Arnold Schönberg (1921), Carl

Dahlhaus muses that since that first monograph, the literature on the composer
"has grown to such enormous dimensions that it almost seems that those w h o
read criticism about the music outnumber those w h o listen to the music itself"
(Wellesz 1985, 153). Although the Schoenberg bibliography is indeed vast, the
works of the earlier years, up to the so-called atonal compositions of 1908—9,
have received relatively little attention. For several reasons, the time is ripe for a
fresh investigation.
Aside from general surveys of Schoenberg's work, there are, to m y knowledge,
only five full-length studies that have focused in detail on this repertory: Fried-
heim 1963, Bailey 1979, Thieme 1979, Ballan 1986, and Hattesen 1990 (see B i b -
liography for complete citations). Each of these works originated as a master's or
doctoral dissertation, and three of them remain unpublished; each has something
of both the value and the limitations of the dissertation format.
In this book I have drawn readily and (I hope) appreciatively on some of these
earlier studies, as well as on other important literature, stretching f r o m Alban
Berg's early analyses to the present day. (Although Berg never completed the
book project mentioned in the epigraph to the present study, his o w n Führer to
several Schoenberg works, as well as his other writings, are invaluable.) O f spe-
cial value are the scores and critical reports that have appeared as part of Schoen-
berg's Sämtliche Werke. Most of the volumes pertinent to the music treated in this
book have been edited over the past decade or so by Christian M . Schmidt—and
edited for the most part in exemplary fashion. Schmidt's w o r k , together with the
generous policy adopted in the Sämtliche Werke of printing transcriptions o f
sketches, alternate or preliminary versions, and many fragments, has opened up
a gold mine for the critic-historian.

Xlll
 A p a r t f r o m the c o m m e n t a r y in the critical reports, w h i c h is n o r m a l l y brief, and
essentially d o c u m e n t a r y rather than analytical or interpretive, these sources h a v e
y e t to be explored. T h e present b o o k should be taken in part as a first step in that
direction. D u r i n g m y research I had occasion to examine, and d r a w m y o w n c o n -
clusions f r o m , most o f the primary manuscript sources to w h i c h I refer. I have
also not hesitated, w h e n it seemed appropriate, to m o d i f y or recast m y ideas in
light o f the Sämtliche Werke, v o l u m e s o f w h i c h continued to appear as I w o r k e d .
T h e bulk o f this b o o k consists o f close, detailed musical analysis o f selected
w o r k s . T h e c o m m e n t a r y attempts to take into account relevant aspects o f the
individual Entstehungsgeschichte and o f the context o f a c o m p o s i t i o n among
Schoenberg's other early w o r k s (and occasionally those o f other composers).
T h e r e are p r o b a b l y several hundred complete compositions or substantial f r a g -
ments f r o m Schoenberg's early years. To examine t h e m all w o u l d swell this b o o k
(and test the reader's endurance) w e l l b e y o n d reasonable proportions. I have c o n -
centrated o n those compositions that I believe are m o s t important and interesting,
and t h r o u g h w h i c h a d e v e l o p m e n t in Schoenberg's musical language can be
traced.
I also believe it is important not to let any search for " d e v e l o p m e n t " override
the aesthetic or technical qualities o f individual pieces. T o o often in m u s i c o l o g i c a l
w r i t i n g , compositions b e c o m e primarily stages or steps in s o m e broader e v o l u -
tion, either w i t h i n a composer's w o r k or w i t h i n an entire historical style. ( W i t h
his strong historicist orientation, Schoenberg himself w a s s o m e w h a t guilty o f
this attitude, a l t h o u g h he did, o f course, often analyze w o r k s , i n c l u d i n g his o w n ,
in l o v i n g detail.)
Theoretical w r i t i n g often falls prey to a different, and in m y v i e w equally in-
adequate, practice: individual compositions are pillaged or d i s m e m b e r e d f o r par-
ticular examples o f h a r m o n y , r h y t h m , m o t i v e , and so forth. A b o o k about the
early S c h o e n b e r g could indeed be organized that w a y (or could be w r i t t e n solely
about h a r m o n i c practice), but here again, I feel the q u a l i t i e s — b o t h strengths and
w e a k n e s s e s — o f the individual w o r k s w o u l d get lost in such a topical reshuffling.
T h e s e qualities also tend to disappear in analyses such as those o f A l l e n Forte
(1972, 1978), w h i c h have a m o r e specifically theoretical orientation.
T h e challenge, ultimately, is to find a balance b e t w e e n d o i n g justice to the the-
oretical, technical, and aesthetic dimensions o f the w o r k and placing it persua-
sively in its compositional and historical context. M y o w n s o l u t i o n — a n attempt
to provide detailed analyses in chronological or developmental o r d e r — i s to s o m e
extent based o n a fictional construct, but it is one that musical criticism is o b l i g e d ,
I think, to adopt.
A respected music theorist once told m e I w a s brave (read " f o o l h a r d y " ) to be
w o r k i n g o n a repertory as complicated as the early S c h o e n b e r g , w h e n Wagnerian

xiv PREFACE AND A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

chromatic practice is still so poorly understood. This remark reflects an unfor-
tunate mind-set. We shall probably have to wait many years before comprehen-
sive or systematic theories of Wagnerian and post-Wagnerian music emerge. And
then, precisely because of the diversity and complexity of the music itself, any
such theories would be so vast as to collapse under their own weight.
I make no claim to have invented or employed a theory in this sense for the
early Schoenberg. The closest thing to a fully formed theoretical viewpoint that
appears in this book is that of Schoenberg himself, upon whose writings I draw
frequently, especially the Theory of Harmony (whose English title is a misrepre-
sentation of Harmonielehre, a book that Schoenberg insisted embodied no "the-
ory"). However illuminating and stimulating, Schoenberg's theoretical writings
should not—and by their nature cannot—be applied like a template or key to his
own compositions. Although Schoenberg the theorist and Schoenberg the com-
poser were united in the same body, they were not always necessarily allied in
spirit. This has long been recognized in the case of the twelve-tone works, which
often violate the "theory," and it is true of the tonal works as well.
This book is fundamentally about Schoenberg the composer: about the com-
positional decisions he made and the compositional strategies he adopted or aban-
doned both in individual works and across or between works. The analyses rep-
resent my attempts to get inside the mind of Schoenberg—not systematically to
retrieve his creative process, which would be impossible, but to evaluate and as-
sess the results of that process. When Schoenberg the theorist can help, he is
brought in, but only as an advisor, not as commander. Inevitably, this and other
methods used in this study will seem ad hoc to more orthodox theorists still wait-
ing for the key to unlock the chromatic music of 1850—1910. For this I make no
apology; I wish only to make my own position clear.
The basic " s t o r y " told in this book is not a revisionist one. The three-stage
picture of Schoenberg's early development, from a Brahms-oriented period
(1893-97), t o o n e in which Wagnerian expanded tonality becomes allied to
Brahmsian techniques (1899-1903), to a more wholly individual synthesis (1904—
8), has been adumbrated before, not least by the composer himself. The interest
of the book will lie not in the periodization (three-stage, early-middle-late divi-
sions seem to be universal in music-historical writing), but in the analyses of the
compositional techniques Schoenberg employs within each of the three periods.
If there is one overarching concept, it is that through the first movement of the
Second Chamber Symphony and up to the beginning of the Second Quartet—
thus until about the spring of 1907—Schoenberg is a profoundly tonal composer,
one who manipulates theme, harmony, phrase design, and large-scale form to
create coherent yet varied tonal structures.
This will certainly not be the last book written on Schoenberg's early tonal pe-

PREFACE AND A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S XV
riod. If it serves primarily as a stimulus for historical musicologists to tell a newer
story, or for theorists to continue the search for a more systematic (but still, it is
hoped, humane) approach to this repertory, it will have served its purpose.
A word is appropriate here about the musical examples transcribed from orig-
inal sources. All transcriptions in this book are, except where specifically noted,
my own and may differ in some details from those in the Sämtliche Werke. Since
this book is a critical-historical study, and not a scholarly edition, my goal has
been practical, rather than purely diplomatic and rigorous. Orchestral or chamber
works (from both manuscript and printed sources) have been reduced to one or
two staves and have sometimes been excerpted; occasionally, an ellipsis has been
made in portions of a larger continuous sketch or draft. Details such as stem di-
rections or accidentals have been adapted for these purposes. Where a significant
ambiguity as to meaning may arise, my own editorial suggestions, such as clefs,
time and key signatures, and accidentals, are placed in square brackets. In order
to keep the examples free from unnecessary clutter, however, such markings have
been used sparingly.

Portions of chapter i of this book have appeared in different form in Brahms and
His World (Frisch 1990a); portions of chapters 3, 4, and 8 in the Journal of the
Arnold Schoenberg Institute (Frisch 1986, 1988b); and other portions of chapter 8
in the Journal of the American Musicological Society (Frisch 1988a). I am grateful to
Princeton University Press, the Arnold Schoenberg Institute, and the American
Musicological Society, respectively, for permission to adapt this material.
The planning, researching, and writing of this book extended over many years
and several grant periods and leaves; the work took place in various locations,
with the support of numerous institutions and individuals. Rather than trying to
formulate my gratitude too discursively, I offer my sincerest thanks in a more
compact form to:

• The Schoenberg family, especially Lawrence, for generously author-

izing access to many primary sources.
• Belmont Music Publishers, Pacific Palisades, California, for permis-
sion to use Schoenberg's music in musical examples within the text of
the book and in the appendix.
• The staff of the Arnold Schoenberg Institute in Los Angeles, includ-
ing its director (until the end of 1991), Leonard Stein, its associate di-
rector, Heidi Lesemann, and three successive archivists, the late Clara
Steuermann, Jerry McBride, and Wayne Shoaf.

XVÍ P R E F A C E AND A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S
• T h e staff at the Library of Congress, especially Elizabeth A u m a n .
• T h e staff of the Austrian National Library, especially (during 1986)
R o s e m a r y Hilmar.
• J . Rigbie Turner of the Pierpont M o r g a n Library.
• T h e Music Division of the N e w York Public Library for the P e r f o r m -
ing Arts at Lincoln Center.
• A number of components of m y home institution, C o l u m b i a U n i -
versity, including the Council for Research in the Humanities (for
summer funds), the Arts and Sciences (for junior faculty leave), and
the Music Department (for leave and sabbatical time).
• T h e National E n d o w m e n t for the Humanities for a fellowship during
1985—86, during which much of the preliminary research was accom-
plished.
• T h e Alexander v o n Humboldt-Stiftung in B o n n for a grant, which
brought me to the Musikwissenschaftliches Seminar of the University
of Freiburg during 1 9 9 0 - 9 1 ; and to Hermann Danuser, w h o served
as welcoming Gastgeber.
• Reinhold Brinkmann, Ethan Haimo, Martha M. Hyde, Oliver
Neighbour, and Richard S w i f t for insightful readings of all or part o f
the manuscript and for other advice generously offered.
• D o n Giller, for preparation of the handsome musical examples.
• Karen Painter, for careful and perceptive research assistance in the
preparation of the final manuscript.
• Michael Rogan, for the helpful transcriptions of passages f r o m the au-
tograph of Verklärte Nacht, prepared in conjunction with an M . A . es-
say at Columbia University in 1986.
• Ruth Spevack, for help in preparing the index.
• T h e staff at the University of California Press, including Pamela
MacFarland H o l w a y , Doris Kretschmer, Jane-Ellen L o n g , and Fran
Mitchell, all of w h o m helped guide this book through the treacherous
seas of production.
• M y family, Anne, Nicholas, and Simon, the most wonderful, nour-
ishing alternative to scholarly w o r k imaginable.

P R E F A C E AND A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S XVII
A N O T E ON A B B R E V I A T I O N S

Frequent reference is made in this book to Schoenberg's collected works, the

Sämtliche Werke (Mainz and Vienna: Schott and Universal, 1966—). This publi-
cation is divided into two "series" (Reihen), A for scores, B for critical reports.
Volume numbers are coordinated between the two series: thus, for example, vol-
ume 20 represents string quartets in both. The edition is separated by genre into
Abteilungen, or divisions, indicated by Roman numerals.
In order to avoid cumbersome citations of the Sämtliche Werke, I have through-
out this book employed the abbreviation SW^, which is followed first by a letter
indicating the series, A or B, then the volume number, then a colon and the page
number. An indication of the Abteilung is not necessary, since the volumes are
numbered consecutively throughout the edition.
Thus SW A4: 25—35, indicates the score series, volume 4, pages 25—35. If the
volume itself has two parts, this is indicated by a Roman numeral: SW B 1 1 / I I :
35-37, thus indicates part II of the critical report for the chamber symphonies,
vol. 1 1 . In the case of the two volumes of Lieder, the editors of the Sämtliche
Werke have issued a two-part critical report that serves for both volumes in the
A series, numbered 1 and 2. This report is thus cited as SW B 1 / 2 / I or S W
B1/2/II.

XIX
C H A P T E R O N E

The "Brahms Fog":

A Context for Early Schoenberg

In a letter written in A p r i l 1894 to his friend Adalbert Lindner, the t w e n t y - o n e -

year-old M a x R e g e r (1873—1916) staunchly defended B r a h m s against obstreper-
ous journalistic opponents. R e g e r conceded that Brahms's music m i g h t at first be
difficult to grasp, but noted:

B r a h m s is nonetheless n o w so a d v a n c e d that all t r u l y i n s i g h t f u l , g o o d m u s i -

cians, unless t h e y w a n t to m a k e f o o l s o f t h e m s e l v e s , m u s t a c k n o w l e d g e h i m
as the greatest o f l i v i n g c o m p o s e r s . . . . E v e n i f L e s s m a n takes such pains
to disperse B r a h m s and the B r a h m s f o g [Brahmsnebel] (to use Tappert's
term), the B r a h m s f o g w i l l remain. A n d I m u c h prefer it to the w h i t e heat
[Gluthitze] o f W a g n e r and Strauss.
REGER 1 9 2 8 , 39-40

R e g e r refers here to O t t o Lessmann, editor o f the Allgemeine Musik-Zeitung in

Berlin f r o m 1881 to 1907, and to W i l h e l m Tappert, a p r o m i n e n t Wagnerian critic.
I have not been able to locate w h e r e Tappert coined the term Brahmsnebelbut it
is not hard to see (or guess) w h a t h e — a n d R e g e r q u o t i n g h i m — m a y have meant
b y it. W h e n paired w i t h Reger's description o f the " w h i t e h e a t " o f Wagner and
Strauss, Lessmann's phrase makes for an attractive characterization o f the n o t o -
rious dialectic that dominated A u s t r o - G e r m a n music in the later nineteenth cen-
tury. Instead o f the m o r e c o m m o n military m e t a p h o r — Brahmsians d o i n g battle

1. U n t i l 1888 T a p p e r t w a s a r e g u l a r c o n t r i b u t o r t o t w o m u s i c j o u r n a l s , t h e L e i p z i g Musikalisches
Wochenblatt a n d t h e B e r l i n Allgemeine Musik-Zeitung. T h e t e r m Brahmsnebel does n o t appear in any o f
h i s w r i t i n g s f o r t h e s e j o u r n a l s t h a t I h a v e b e e n a b l e t o d i s c o v e r . N o r d o e s it a p p e a r i n h i s s e v e r a l b o o k s
on Wagner.

3
with Wagnerians—one composer and his followers are seen shrouded in a cold,
dense mist, the other group radiating intense warmth and light.
Most scholars (and performers) have been attracted more readily to the brighter
glow, to the phenomenon of Wagnerism and post-Wagnerism in Europe at the
end of the nineteenth century. There has been less appreciation of the extent to
which the "Brahms f o g " penetrated to the heart of Austro-German music during
the same period. "Brahms is everywhere," Walter Niemann remarked in 1 9 1 2
near the end of an article in which he had briefly surveyed no fewer than fifty
European composers whose piano music he said bore the unmistakable traces of
the master's influence (Niemann 1912, 45). Hugo Leichtentritt observed similarly
that " f r o m about 1880 all chamber music in Germany is in some way indebted
to Brahms" (Leichtentritt 1963, 449). The comments of Niemann and Leichten-
tritt could be applied equally to the vast quantities of Lieder issued by German
and Austrian publishing houses in the same years. 2
Perhaps as never before in the nineteenth century did young composers in
German-speaking lands adhere so closely—and so proudly—to a single model
when working in these genres. Reger could actually boast to Lindner in 1893 that
"the other day a personal friend of Brahms's mistook the theme from the finale
of my second violin sonata [op. 3] for a theme from one of Brahms's recent
works. Even Riemann [Reger's teacher] told me that I really know Brahms
through and through" (Reger 1928, 33). 3 Other testimony to Reger's Brahms-
Begeisterung comes from the music critic Leopold Schmidt:

W h a t b r o u g h t us t o g e t h e r w a s o u r j o i n t enthusiasm [Schwärmerei] for

B r a h m s . A t that t i m e this feeling w a s s t r o n g e r in R e g e r than even his u n -
denied l o v e f o r B a c h . H e s a w in B r a h m s a protector, a f i g u r e w h o c o u l d
f i g h t against the " p r o g r a m m u s i c " that he [ R e g e r ] so hated, against e v e r y -
thing that h a d n o f o r m , n o limits. A t that t i m e there w a s n o trace o f the
e a s y g o i n g m a n n e r one c o u l d o b s e r v e in the later R e g e r . E s p e c i a l l y o v e r a
glass o f w i n e , he c o u l d b e c o m e a b s o r b e d in l o n g , serious c o n v e r s a t i o n s .

2. Although there has been some investigation of individual Nachfolger of Brahms (mostly in rou-
tine life-and-works accounts, such as Deggeller-Engelke 1949, Holl 1928, and Kohleick 1943), no-
where do w e get a genuinely critical or comparative account of Brahms's reception among composers
of the period: of how his music affected that of his followers. Comprehensive bibliographies of
Brahms-Forschung, arranged topically, may be found in Fellinger 1983, 1 9 2 - 9 6 , and id., 1984, 2 0 3 - 6 .
3. The main theme of Reger's finale echoes a number of Brahms themes; in particular, its
rhythmic profile recalls the theme from the finale of Brahms's Cello Sonata N o . 2 in F Major, op.
99, which could certainly count as one of Brahms's "recent" works (published in 1887). These t w o
themes are shown together by Wirth 1974, 100 (who does not, however, note Reger's letter). M o r e
generalized Brahmsian " s y m p t o m s " of Reger's theme include the harmonic motion to chords a third
away from the tonic, the dip down to B at the end of m. 1, and the complementary move up to Ftt
at the beginning of the second phrase. The strongly Brahmsian features of Reger's first published
works were remarked by Smolian 1894, 5 1 8 - 1 9 , 597.

4 S C H O E N B E R G AND THE B R A H M S T R A D I T I O N
 A n d his eyes w o u l d a l w a y s shine brighter as soon as the discussion came
around to " o u r J o h a n n e s . "
SCHMIDT 1 9 2 2 , 1 6 0

Arnold Schoenberg would also in later years acknowledge his early admiration
for and emulation of Brahms, not (as far as we know) over a glass of wine, but
in essays, textbooks, and the classroom. 4 His earliest compositions also bear
proud witness to this phenomenon. In the years through 1897, Schoenberg's
works fall squarely into the three Brahmsian genres mentioned above: piano mu-
sic, Lieder, and chamber music. From the point of view of style and technique,
too, these works are very much enveloped in a Brahmsian fog. Evaluating and
analyzing Jugendwerke like these compositions—the task of chapters 2 and 3 of
the present study—gives rise to certain methodological problems. When a young
composer turns to a powerful model, his works often become interesting more
for what they reveal of his response to and assimilation of the model than for
their own inherent aesthetic qualities. Study of such works may tend more to-
ward reception history than to musical analysis. In the best music criticism, of
course, the two endeavors should not be separated: a composition cannot easily
be understood in isolation from its context, from its influences. In the commen-
tary that forms the bulk of the next two chapters, I shall try to strike a balance
between the two approaches—between an appreciation of the ways in which
Schoenberg's earliest music is indebted to Brahms and an assessment of its more
intrinsic qualities and merits.
In this regard it is worth letting the composer himself speak. The later Schoen-
berg would probably have been impatient with much of the Brahmsian imitation
evident in his own early works and in those of other composers enveloped in the
"Brahms f o g . " He had little respect for the imitation of a "style" in this sense,
as he noted in an essay of 1934: "To listen to certain learned musicians, one would
think that all composers did not bring about the representation of their vision,
but aimed solely at establishing a style—so that musicologists should have some-
thing to do." Schoenberg felt that a work's "personal characteristics"—the style
manifest in it—are merely "symptoms" laid over the essential "idea": "To over-
look the fact that such personal characteristics follow from the true characteristic
idea and are merely the symptoms—to believe, when someone imitates the
symptoms, the style, that this is an artistic achievement—that is a mistake with
dire consequences!" (Schoenberg 1975, 177-78).

4. Schoenberg's 1947 essay " B r a h m s the Progessive" (Schoenberg 1975, 3 9 8 - 4 4 1 ) is only the most
famous o f his numerous appreciations of Brahms. See my o w n discussion of Schoenberg's Brahms-
Kenntnis in Frisch 1984, 1 - 1 8 . A comprehensive account is Musgrave 1980.

THE " B R A H M S F O G " $

 This formulation—style versus idea—was central to Schoenberg's thought
throughout much of his life, and, of course, it furnished the title for his collected
essays, Style and Idea, in 1950. 5 It also furnished the ostensible justification for
much of his music, in which he often resolutely refused to follow any " s t y l e . "
But a young composer—perhaps especially a self-taught one like Schoenberg,
whose only textbooks were scores, whose principal teachers were the great mas-
ters—will almost always forge his own style out of that of an important prede-
cessor or contemporary. 6
Something like the style/idea distinction can be a valuable heuristic tool in un-
derstanding the early works of Schoenberg and his contemporaries. There are
composers and works that seem clearly more caught up in trying to " s o u n d " like
Brahms on a superficial level (the "style"); and there are those that try to plumb
Brahmsian depths by employing more subtle technical and expressive devices
(the "ideas"). A s a preliminary to examining Schoenberg's early works, it will be
useful to assess a small control group of Brahmsian pieces composed by t w o of
his most talented contemporaries, Zemlinsky and Reger, from these perspectives.
Although the sample cannot claim to be objectively "representative" (whatever
that may mean in the aesthetic realm), it may nevertheless serve to shed light on
the Brahmsian context from which Schoenberg emerged.

Zemlinsky

Alexander von Zemlinsky ( 1 8 7 2 - 1 9 4 2 ) , w h o in the period 1 8 9 5 - 9 7 or 1 8 9 6 - 9 7

became Schoenberg's only teacher in composition (we can be sure of neither the

5. Schoenberg fought hard to retain this title, about which the original publishers at Philosophical
Library were not enthusiastic (see McGeary 1986, 184-88). The concept of a musical "idea," which
Schoenberg reformulated many times, was to find its most complete exposition in a large manuscript,
which remained unfinished, entitled " D e r musikalische Gedanke und die Logik, Technik und Kunst
seiner Darstellung." A scholarly edition of this work, the so-called Gedanke manuscript, will appear
as Schoenberg 1994. For a survey of its contents, see Goehr 1977. On the various possible meanings
of "idea" in Schoenberg's writings, see Cross 1980.
6. It is possible that Schoenberg's strong reaction against " s t y l e " as both a creative tool and critical
yardstick was owing to his proximity in Vienna to the music historian Guido Adler (with w h o m he
actually shared students, including Webern and Wellesz). Adler's highly influential methodological
studies (see, for example, Adler 1 9 1 1 ) form part of a much broader phenomenon of style conscious-
ness among both practitioners and critics of the arts at the end of the nineteenth century. In German-
speaking areas, especially, the visual arts and architecture were dominated by the notion of Stilkunst
and of art having its own " w i l l to style" (Stilwollen). In art history these concepts were given their
strongest formulation by the Viennese curator and writer Alois Riegl, whose ideas are discussed by
Schapiro (1953, 301-2) and Alpers (1987, 140-47); Riegl had a powerful influence on his compatriot
and contemporary Adler. There is no evidence of animosity on Schoenberg's part toward Adler's
method. (On the relationship and surviving correspondence between Schoenberg and Adler, see
Reilly 1982, 99-100.) The composer may nevertheless later have felt that the contemporary obsession
with " s t y l e " was excessive and misdirected.

6 S C H O E N B E R G AND THE B R A H M S T R A D I T I O N
exact dates nor the content of the instruction), was one of the most promising
young musicians in Vienna in the the last decade of the century. After an auspi-
cious study period at the Conservatory under such Brahms cronies as Anton
Door and Robert Fuchs, he served as a conductor in several Viennese theaters and
opera houses (including a stint under Gustav Mahler at the Hofoper in 1907) and
was widely admired as pianist and accompanist. In 1 9 1 1 he moved to Prague as
opera director of the German theater.7
In his early Viennese period, Zemlinsky was fully, and willingly, enveloped in
the "Brahms f o g . " In his brief memoir of Brahms, he reports: " I remember how
even among my colleagues it was considered particularly praiseworthy to com-
pose in as 'Brahmsian' a manner as possible. We were soon notorious in Vienna
as the dangerous 'Brahmins'" (Zemlinsky 1922, 70). Zemlinsky recalls that he
had first been introduced to the master in 1895. 8 In the following year, Brahms
took enough interest in a string quintet by Zemlinsky to invite the younger com-
poser around to his apartment to discuss it (a devastating experience, described
vividly in Zemlinsky's memoir). Shortly thereafter, at a competition of the Wie-
ner Tonkunstlerverein, Zemlinsky's Clarinet Trio in D Minor won the third
prize, for which Brahms himself had put up the money. This time, Brahms
thought highly enough of the composition to recommend it to his own publisher,
Fritz Simrock, in a letter that also praised Zemlinsky as "a human being and a
talent" (Brahms 1908-22, 4: 212). Simrock issued the Clarinet Trio as Zemlin-
sky s op. 3 in 1897.
The period of Zemlinsky's personal contact with Brahms and of his most ar-
dently Brahmsian works coincided directly with the beginning of his own rela-
tionship with, and instruction of, Schoenberg. These compositions thus merit
careful consideration by anyone interested in Schoenberg's early development. 9 It
is striking that the compositions of the more accomplished and highly trained
Zemlinsky, although ec/ii-Brahms in "style," actually show less real understand-
ing of Brahms than the best works by the more intuitive, largely self-taught
Schoenberg. We can see this phenomenon better by examining a small sam-
pling—one song and one movement of a string quartet—from Zemlinsky's
Brahms period.
Zemlinsky was proud enough of the song Heilige Nacht to place it at the head
of his first collection of Lieder, op. 2, published in 1897 (see ex. 1 . 1 ) . The anon-
ymous poem, a hymn of praise to night, which covers everything in a cloak of

7. For further biographical information on Zemlinsky, see Weber 1977.

8. The occasion was the premiere of Zemlinsky's Orchestral Suite at a concert of the Gesellschaft
der Musikfreunde on 18 March. Brahms led his own Academic Festival Overture in the same pro-
gram. The event is described in Kalbeck 1904—14, 4: 400—401.
9. A recent comprehensive study of Zemlinsky's early chamber works is contained in Loll 1990.

THE " B R A H M S F O G " 7

EXAMPLE I . I A l e x a n d e r v o n Z e m l i n s k y , Heilige Nacht, op. 2, no. 1.

Ruhig, hinträumend
PP .

R u - he hei - l i - g e Nacht! Däm -

PP
m e - rig scheint der Mond.

1
! PP
QJi m —

f u ¥
Tempo I
PP

m
5 lebhafter '

Süss ist o M ä d - c h e n dein Kuss, dein Kuss w ä h - rend der ru - hi - gen

3*
fm m
lebhafter
s PP
m
i
? I*
Nacht. wäh - rerid der hei - Ii - gen i 1Jacht.

. espr.^
ri oTf ,fi> r i^JTHI
~r
•j f P

1
ììtfT £ 1 «
s.
V

2y sehr ruhig
dolce

Du bist das lieb - ste, das lieb - ste mir doch.

tranquility ("even sorrow is sweet"), is of a type that attracted Brahms strongly. 10
The characteristics of Zemlinsky's song that derive from Brahms are (to this lis-
tener) so palpable that they can be itemized:

• the broad, descending triadic melody, mm. 1 - 4 . Cf. Brahms's Sehn-

sucht, op. 49, no. 3, where the slow ascending arpeggios of the open-
ing are inverted in the faster middle section. There are also ascending
arpeggios at the opening of Wie Melodien zieht es mir, op. 105, no. 1,
and Maienkätzchen, op. 107, no. 4.
• the strong, stepwise bass line, especially in mm. 1 - 6 . Cf. Dein blaues
Auge, op. 59, no. 8.
• the arpeggiated figuration in the right hand of the accompaniment,
which is shaped as a diminution of the vocal rhythm and motives,
mm. 1—8. Cf. Mein wundes Herz, op. 59, no. 7. (On this technique of
"harmonic congruence," see Cone 1990.)
• the dip toward the subdominant at the very beginning, mm. 1-2.
Cf. An ein Veilchen, op. 49, no. 2, where, however, the tonic root
remains in the bass underneath the subdominant triad. (See also the
discussion of sub- and pre-dominant chords in Brahms's intermezzi
below.)
• the sudden move by third, from a G to an Et harmony in 4 position,
mm. 6 - 7 . Cf. "Wie bist du, meine Königin," op. 32, no. 9, and Die
Mainacht, op. 43, no. 2, where the shift is from El> (via E!> minor) to
B major. In many instances, Brahms approaches the new key area
through its own 4 harmony, as in "Von waldbekränzter Höhe," op.
57, no. 1, m. 20.
• the extension or augmentation of "während der heiligen Nacht" to
create an irregular three-measure phrase, mm. 24-26. Cf. the aug-
mentation of the phrase "tonreichen Schall" in An die Nachtigall, op.
46, no. 4, mm. 5 - 7 . "
• the strong plagal cadence at the end of the song, mm. 29-30. Cf. the
final cadence of Die Mainacht.

10. At least twelve of Brahms's works are set to such texts, including (in alphabetical order) Der
Abend, op. 64, no. 2; Abenddämmerung, op. 49, no. 5; Abendregen, op. 70, no. 4; An den Mond, op. 7 1 ,
no. 2; Dämmrung senkte sich von oben, op. 59, no. 1; Gestillte Sehnsucht, op. 91, no. 1; In stiller Nacht,
WoO 33, no. 42; Die Mainacht, op. 43, no. 2; Mondenschein, op. 85, no. 2; Mondnacht, WoO 2 1 ; O
schöne Nacht! op. 92, no. 1; and Sommerabend, op. 85, no. 1.
1 1 . This and other examples of such phrase extension in Brahms's songs were pointed out admir-
ingly by Schoenberg in "Brahms the Progressive" (Schoenberg 1975, 418—22).

THE " B R A H M S F O G " 9

 Despite the distinguished, documentable pedigree of its technical devices,
Zemlinsky's Heilige Nacht comes across as a pallid imitation of the master. First,
the phrase structure is uncomfortably square. T h e rather rigid succession of
two-measure units in the opening section, through m. 8, is scarcely concealed
by the small modifications, such as in m. 6, where Z e m l i n s k y repeats the words
"dein K u ß " in order to extend the phrase another half measure. There is little
here of the subtle asymmetry fundamental to Brahms's language. N o r w o u l d
Brahms himself have undermined what is supposed to be a magical moment,
the shift to the El»® chord in m. 7, with an almost verbatim repetition of the
opening theme. In Brahms, harmonic expansions of this kind are almost always
accompanied by, or coordinated with, a farther reaching melodic or thematic
development."
Despite its apparent resemblance to Brahms, the harmonic syntax of Heilige
Nacht also betrays awkwardness. Instead of an inflection toward the subdomi-
nant such as w e might find in a Brahms song, the IV chord in m. 2 appears in
root position; it is too emphatic, bringing the harmonic motion to a virtual
standstill. Zemlinsky's actual cadence to F in m m . 8 - 9 , though perhaps intended
as a fulfillment of the opening harmonic gesture, is also unconvincing. T h e
tonic has barely been reestablished in m. 7 when it is transformed into an aug-
mented chord that is made to function as a dominant. T h e augmented sonority
with an added seventh sounds especially bizarre in the prevailingly consonant
context.
If I seem to be too hard on what is in many outward respects an attractive song,
it is to point up that Z e m l i n s k y is good at appropriating superficial stylistic traits
f r o m Brahms without really absorbing his fundamental compositional principles.
This aspect of Zemlinsky's musical personality was recognized by T h e o d o r
A d o r n o , w h o in his penetrating essay of 1959 suggests that Z e m l i n s k y was a gen-
uine eclectic, "someone w h o borrows all possible elements, especially stylistic
ones, and combines them without any individual tone" (Adorno 1978, 3 5 1 ) .
A d o r n o tries to strip the term eclectic of its pejorative connotations, arguing that
Z e m l i n s k y was in fact something of a genius in his " t r u l y seismographic capacity
to respond to all the temptations with which he allowed himself to be inundated"
(354). I would argue that this "seismographic" receptivity actually prevented
Z e m l i n s k y f r o m absorbing the essence of Brahms. He registered the aftershocks,
so to speak, but failed to locate the epicenter of the tremor.
T h e same tendency can be seen in the first movement of Zemlinsky's String
Quartet in A Major, which was published by Simrock as op. 4 in 1898. In the

12. See, e.g, the perceptive analysis of such techniques in the song Feldeinsamkeit in Schmidt 1983,
146-54.

10 S C H O E N B E R G AND THE B R A H M S T R A D I T I O N
first group (ex. 1.2), the notated meter | is continually subverted so as to yield a
virtual encyclopedia—grab bag might be a more appropriate term—of Brahmsian
metrical devices. At the very beginning, in mm. 1 - 2 , the | measure unfolds as if
in 4. In the next measure, the two lower parts move in {j, the second violin in
4, and the first violin somewhere in between. At the climax of the first group in
mm. 9 - 1 2 , Zemlinsky presents (although he does not notate) a dizzying
alternation of | and 4 according to the pattern: 8-4-8-4-8-4-4- After the fer-
mata, the metrical roller coaster gets under way once again.
In his commentary on this movement, Rudolf Stephan has suggested that
"rhythmic complications of this kind point to the model of Brahms, who, how-
ever, does not employ them in this (almost) systematic fashion" (Stephan 1976,
128). The parenthetical "almost" betrays an appropriate diffidence, for I would
maintain that there is little that is truly systematic in Zemlinsky's procedures.
Indeed, it is Brahms who is more "systematic," if also more restrained, as can be
shown by a brief comparative glance at the first movement of his Third Quartet
in B t , op. 67 (ex. 1.3). Brahms also continually reinterprets the notated | meter.
But where his imitator dives headlong into complexity and conflict, Brahms un-
folds a gradual and subtle process. In mm. 1—2 he places accent marks on the
normally weak third and sixth beats. In m. 3 these accents are intensified by for-
zando markings. Only in m. 8 does Brahms introduce an actual hemiola, which
serves an important structural function: it marks the first arrival on the dominant
and the beginning of the B section of an A B A ' first group. The following tran-
sition flows unproblematically in the notated |, but the conflict between duple
and triple articulation of the measure surfaces again in the second group, which
is in 4 (ex. 1.3b). As in the first group, the shift of meter is carefully coordinated
with the thematic and formal procedures: the arrival of 4 coincides with a new
theme and with the confirmation of the key area of the dominant.
To return for a moment to Zemlinsky's A-Major Quartet: Brahmsian symp-
toms are also evident in the ostentatious invertible counterpoint in mm. 5—6 and
7 - 8 , and especially in the way in which the cadential neighbor-note motive of
m. 4 (ex. 1.2) is taken up again in the transition to the second group (ex. 1.4).
Here the motive, which sounds in 4 meter, is repeated and given in diminution,
thus creating an implied 2 meter across mm. 27-28. The motive then retreats to
the background in the viola and becomes the accompaniment to a new thematic
figure, presented in dialogue between the violins.
Brahms is the direct inspiration for this whole procedure. Indeed, Zemlinsky
must have had the first movement of the Second Symphony in his ears: his
neighbor-note figure bears a distinct resemblance to Brahms's basic motive, D -
Ctt-D, which is subjected to similarly intensive processes of metrical augmenta-
tion and diminution. At the approach to the second group, Brahms treats both

THE " B R A H M S F O G " II

example 1.2 Zemlinsky, String Quartet No. I in A Major, op. 4, I.

Allegro con f u o c o

m
F==
4 4
/
i n j n

fm

'fill i-

mw
1 IT\

•
p ir r p
àM
7 T 7 7 7

^ Hi >
j 7 7 7 7
example 1.3 Johannes Brahms, String Quartet N o . 3 in B t Major,
op. 67, I.

a.
Vivace
JL

w Tf\M^fj
i 1 « «

p •
t >
/
. J . /
fi .j «
P

9-

5 1 >

1'
|JP LI. ¡= r p — j) * A m
• »
- r - I " "I" "J" 9

1
i j * •

> > >

9 P C . —
r t - ^ 4 — J Ì
h E-f ^f ¿fr
•9-

/ p

è è
>
-
 EXAMPLE 1 . 4 Zemlinsky, String Quartet N o . 1 in A Major, op. 4, I.

1
r^
a.
; M J- L>-
— D J— I^J J J «-
fl " — T
» J-
ff espress.

... » . I N - , . ^ » J
^
fc^ , g

K
s T

jp M T ^ .1 1 f ^ T = 4 = LJ.
» J J " ' V
pp doice —

the neighbor-note figure and its triadic companion in diminution and then moves
the latter into the background to become the accompaniment for the new theme.
At precisely the analogous moment in the sonata form, Zemlinsky adopts this
same technique using the neighbor-note motive.
The conclusion to be drawn from these analyses may seem self-evident: no one
could compose Brahms as well as Brahms himself. But I am suggesting that a
superbly equipped composer like Zemlinsky can actually manage to sound very
like Brahms—as he put it, "to compose in as 'Brahmsian' a manner as possi-
ble"—without showing a deeper grasp of what "Brahmsianness" really is or
could be.

Reger

Like Zemlinsky, the young Reger wrote his share (more than his share) of pieces
that imitate many of the master's "symptoms." 1 3 But there is also one brief, and
for Reger rather restrained, work that does something more (and less). It is a
short piano piece written after Brahms's death on 3 April 1987 and intended spe-
cifically as a memorial tribute. Reger published it in 1899 as op. 26, no. 5, with

13. On the Reger-Brahms relationship, see especially Wirth 1974.

14 S C H O E N B E R G AND THE BRAHMS T R A D I T I O N

EXAMPLE 1 . 5 M a x R e g e r , Resignation, o p . 2 6 , n o . 5.

the title Resignation and the subtitle 3 April 1897—-J. Brahms f." A s a tombeau spe-
cifically intended to e v o k e the departed master, Resignation can hardly be taken
as representative o f Reger's w o r k , or o f that o f other c o m p o s e r s in the " B r a h m s
f o g " o f the decades around 1900. Yet it s h o w s perhaps better than any other in-
dividual w o r k the different w a y s in w h i c h B r a h m s could be " r e c e i v e d " c o m p o -
sitionally.
W e m a y distinguish f o u r levels or degrees o f B r a h m s reception in Resignation.
A r r a n g e d in order f r o m the most o b v i o u s or blatant to the m o s t subtle, these
m i g h t be called quotation, emulation, allusion, and absorption. T h e piece c o n -
cludes w i t h a direct, clear quotation o f the theme f r o m the A n d a n t e o f Brahms's
Fourth S y m p h o n y (ex. 1.5a). T h e reference could not be m o r e patent; R e g e r even
derails the tonic o f Resignation, w h i c h u p to this point has been A major, in order
to b r i n g the final quotation into its original key, E major, thus ending Resignation
in the dominant!

14. Resignation has a k i n d o f c o m p a n i o n piece, entitled Rhapsodie and subtitled Den Manen Brahms
(To the M e m o r y o f B r a h m s ) , w h i c h is a large, t u r b u l e n t w o r k m o d e l e d closely o n B r a h m s ' s R h a p -
sodies, o p . 79. It w a s published in 1899 as R e g e r ' s o p . 24, no. 6. B o t h pieces are discussed b r i e f l y b y
L i n d n e r 1938, 165, w h o notes their " s t r o n g l y B r a h m s i a n s t a m p . " B o t h are p r i n t e d in R e g e r 1957,
w h e r e the editor, H e l m u t W i r t h , attributes t h e m to the s u m m e r o f 1898, e v e n t h o u g h the a u t o g r a p h s
bear n o dates. I suspect that at least Resignation m a y h a v e been w r i t t e n a year earlier, perhaps j u s t after
R e g e r heard a b o u t B r a h m s ' s death.

THE " B R A H M S F O G " 15

example i.s continued

b.

I J) j T j i\,ffT,
É^ H' t
p ü ü
pp —1: j f u r

nfltt 2 -1
^ : J 1 1 i s J p— 17 .
—' X.

I>

* t rJ p w
»hl ^ I
1'
F—> P^ ^ P 3
_ _ 1 arrival

y extension ' on V

« • "T "

" " « M & r -T t i f 3

,
^
PP - _ i»

*r
1 j rfj * 1
J -
z : ~r
-*•
J -r -»

The body o f the piece that precedes this coda shows a considerable degree o f
emulation, by which I mean a general stylistic imitation of what Schoenberg
w o u l d call the " s y m p t o m s . " Such broader features o f Brahms's piano style were
aptly described by Niemann in 1912 as "motion by thirds and sixths, their or-
chestral doublings, the preference for wide spacings and for a sonorous, dark,
low register, [and] a self-willed rhythmic language, with a tendency toward syn-
copated and triplet figures o f all kinds" (Niemann 1912, 39). Reger's Resignation
clearly strives for this more superficial kind of emulation, as can be seen in ex.

16 SCHOENBERG AND THE BRAHMS T R A D I T I O N

1.5b, w h i c h presents the o p e n i n g portion o f the piece. ( T h e overall A B A ' form
o f Resignation is also typical o f Brahms's late piano w o r k s . )
B u t R e g e r also goes b e y o n d emulation to allude m o r e specifically to at least
three late B r a h m s intermezzi that share the t w o k e y s o f Resignation: op. 116, nos.
4 and 6, b o t h in E major; and op. 118, no. 2, in A m a j o r (see e x x . 1.6a—d). Reger's
deep bass octaves recall 1.6b; the distinctly p o l y p h o n i c texture, w i t h active m i d -
dle voices, is a feature o f b o t h 1.6a and c. R e g e r also adopts the o p e n i n g gesture
characteristic o f all three intermezzi: Resignation begins o n an upbeat w i t h a r o o t -
position tonic chord, w h i c h m o v e s on the subsequent d o w n b e a t to a pre-
d o m i n a n t sonority, ii6. B r a h m s uses similar harmonies o n the d o w n b e a t : in ex.
1.6a, vi 6 ; in ex. 1.6b, first a passing chord o n A , then ii; and in ex. 1.6c, a IV®
chord. A l t h o u g h the actual configuration o f the chord differs in each case, the
basic gesture o f an initial m o v e f r o m the tonic to s o m e t y p e o f p r e - d o m i n a n t is
the same.
In Reger, as in e x x . 1.6a and b, the precise configuration o f the p r e - d o m i n a n t
chord is obscured b y appoggiaturas and (as in 1.6a) b y the h o l d i n g o f notes o v e r
the bar line. T h e s e r h y t h m i c and/or melodic devices serve in each case to create
h a r m o n i c a m b i g u i t y : w e d o not k n o w w h e t h e r to interpret the first c h o r d as a
tonic or as V o f IV. In ex. 1.6b, B r a h m s also generates considerable metrical a m -
biguity. O u r ear tends to hear the strong root-position c h o r d as a d o w n b e a t , and
the subsequent phrasing suggests a broad 2 meter that contradicts the notated 4.
A bit later in op. 118, no. 2 (ex. i.6d), B r a h m s introduces a similar k i n d o f a m -
b i g u i t y : the notated third beat begins to take o n the character o f a d o w n b e a t . (We
cannot speak here, h o w e v e r , o f a real metrical displacement, since the hairpins sup-
port the d o w n b e a t , w h i c h is in any case fully restored b y m . 20.)
A t the approach to the dominant in Resignation, m m . 6 - 9 , R e g e r d r a w s u p o n
precisely these kinds o f metrical a m b i g u i t y or conflict. A s w e l i s t e n — a t least f o r
the first t i m e — m m . 5 - 6 suggest a 2 hemiola superimposed over the notated 4,
an effect v e r y characteristic o f B r a h m s . B u t the d o w n b e a t o f m . 7 does not, as
w e m i g h t expect, restore the notated meter unequivocally. Instead, the implied
2 measure is, as it were, stretched to a c c o m m o d a t e the cadential approach to E
t h r o u g h the circle o f fifths, C t t - F j t - B - E (as s h o w n in ex. 1.5b). R e g e r n o w ac-
celerates the h a r m o n i c r h y t h m , so that w h i l e the Ctt lasts a half note, or a full
beat in \, the Fit and B are o n l y a quarter note each. T h e cadential goal, E, thus
arrives o n the notated last beat o f m. 7. T h e t w o subsequent measures c o n f i r m
E w i t h the P h r y g i a n cadence made f r o m F and C , a gesture that f o r e s h a d o w s the
actual quotation f r o m Brahms's Fourth S y m p h o n y and also o w e s s o m e t h i n g to
the similar harmonies in op. 118, no. 2 (ex. i.6d). T h i s P h r y g i a n passage extends
the metrical a m b i g u i t y l o n g e n o u g h to b r i n g the phrase to a close o n the notated
second beat o f m . 9, thus a l l o w i n g the varied restatement o f the o p e n i n g to b e g i n
in its proper position, on beat 3. T h e tonic n o w reappears w i t h another B r a h m s -

THE " B R A H M S F O G " 17

EXAMPLE 1 . 6 Brahms Intermezzi.

a. Intermezzo in E Major, op. 116, no. 4

% 11 * *
0 -
^ r^rHJ- 7 rTp
p dolce

»J J a m
- 9-

m.d.

b. Intermezzo in E Major, op. 116, no. 6

A n d a n t i n o teneramente

c. Intermezzo in A Major, op. 118, no. 2

A n d a n t e teneramente

ii»i'i
^ * niLf -
V> f — r -H^-t
( i H i i
1 i
p

4 v r
-¿H*—
1

d. Intermezzo in A Major, op. 118, no. 2

ian gesture: the A enters a half-beat too " e a r l y , " sounding deep in the bass un-
derneath the prevailing dominant harmony. 1 5
T h e elegant procedures involving meter, harmony, and phrase structure that I
have analyzed in m m . 6 - 9 of Reger's Resignation fall into the last, most subtle
category, absorption. Reger is making no apparent quotation of, or allusion to, any
specific passage in Brahms; rather he has fully internalized some of Brahms's
most characteristic compositional techniques. This is the kind of "influence" that
Charles Rosen has characterized as the most profound, and also the least easily
detected: no precise model can be found, and the search for one becomes essen-
tially an endeavor of "pure musical analysis" (Rosen 1980, 100).

Resignation obviously appeared too late to have served as any kind of model for
Schoenberg's early Brahms assimilation. A further investigation of possible " i n -
fluence" in this traditional sense would have to examine the w o r k s of Reger that
appeared before 1897, thus his opp. 1 - 1 6 ( 1 8 9 3 - 9 6 ) . (Unlike in the case of Z e m -
linsky's music, where w e can assume that Schoenberg w o u l d have been familiar
with w o r k s composed or published in the mid 1890s, w e cannot be sure just what
early Reger w o r k s Schoenberg might have known.) M y point in examining Res-
ignation has not been to claim that Reger served as model for Schoenberg, but
rather to suggest how Brahms may really have served as model f o r them both.
E v e n at its most " s y m p t o m a t i c , " a w o r k like Resignation can show deeper points
of contact with the compositional essence of Brahms, as in m m . 6 - 9 . It is this
kind of absorption, rather than the more superficial imitation evident in some of
the Z e m l i n s k y works, toward which the young Schoenberg strove; this will be
the essential subject of the next t w o chapters.

15. Although I have found no specific instance of this procedure in Brahms's piano music, the over-
lapping of dominant and tonic at moments of return occurs in a variety of ways in the orchestral and
chamber music. See Frisch 1984, 1 3 8 - 3 9 , for a discussion of this procedure in the Andante of
Brahms's Third Symphony.

THE " B R A H M S F O G " 19

C H A P T E R T W O

The Instrumental Works

A substantial number of compositions, both instrumental and vocal, survive

complete from Schoenberg's Brahmsian period; there are also many fragments
and torsos. Because some of the works and most of the fragments were not dated
by the composer and are not firmly datable by either internal musical or external
biographical means, it is impossible to construct anything like a definitive chro-
nology. But a survey of the surviving juvenalia suggests that it was through his
assimilation of Brahms that Schoenberg really began to grow as a composer. 1
This process started at least as early as 1893, with the first datable Lieder, was
well under way with the Piano Pieces of 1894, and culminated in 1897 with two
Lieder based on poems by Paul Heyse (to be examined in chapter 3) and the D -
Major String Quartet. The principal instrumental compositions of Schoenberg's
early period through 1897, not including the smaller fragments, are listed in table
i. 2 In this chapter we trace an ever more sophisticated assimilation of Brahmsian
principles across three of the main works, the Piano Pieces of 1894 (and a frag-
mentary scherzo probably composed at the same time), the Serenade of 1896, and
the D-Major Quartet and F-Major Scherzo for Quartet of 1897.

1. Biographical information on Schoenberg's early years is scarce. Aside from such standard sec-
ondary sources as Stuckenschmidt 1978 and valuable but brief memoirs like Zemlinsky 1934 and Bach
1924, Schoenberg's 1949 essay/lecture " M y Evolution" (in Schoenberg 1975, 7 9 - 9 2 ) is the best
known and most often cited account of his youth. See also the autobiographical remarks in Schoen-
berg's 1949 " N o t e s on the Four String Quartets" (in Rauchhaupt 1 9 7 1 , 35—36).
2. The most extensive inventory of compositions and fragments from this period is given in Mae-
gaard 1972, 1: 26-28 and 1 4 7 - 6 6 . In compiling his catalogue from materials in the United States
(mainly in the Schoenberg Nachlaß in Los Angeles), Maegaard did not have access to the Nachod
collection (originally from Schoenberg's brother-in-law Hans Nachod), which is now at North Texas
State University and is catalogued in K i m m e y 1979. More recently, a small portion of the Nachod
collection that had been retained by the last private owners has come into the possession of the Arnold
Schoenberg Institute.

20
TABLE I Schoenberg's Principal Completed Instrumental Works through 1897

Date Work Maegaard 1972, 1 Publication

1894 Three Piano Pieces p. 26 SW A4: 73-83

C a . 1895 Presto, string
quartet, C major p. 151 S W A 2 0 : 143:64
Dedicated, 14 February 1896 Six Piano Pieces,
four hands p. 26 S W A 5 : 81-92
Fall 1896 Serenade for Small
Orchestra (only
1 st m v t . complete) p. 26 facs. T h i e m e 1979,
98-102
M a r c h 1897 Gavotte and
Musette for String
Orchestra p. 27 facs. T h i e m e 1979,
108-10
Fall 1897 Scherzo, string
quartet, F major P- 7 SWA20: 167-76;
Schoenberg 1984
Fall 1897 String Quartet,
D major pp. 2 7 - 2 8 SH^A2o: 179-215;
Schoenberg 1966

The Three Piano Pieces and Scherzo of 1894

A s I have suggested elsewhere, a symphony theme cited by Schoenberg as having

been written by him in about 1892 already shows a familiarity with Brahms's
Tragic Overture specifically, and with Brahms's procedures of thematic evolution
more generally (Frisch 1984, 159). Schoenberg's Three Piano Pieces of 1894
(printed complete in S W A4: 7 3 - 8 3 ) , the first substantial instrumental compo-
sitions that survive, show that the twenty-year-old composer had continued to
study Brahms intensively—in this case, the short piano works published recently
in Brahms's collections opp. 1 1 6 , 1 1 7 , 1 1 8 , and 1 1 9 (1892-93).
What is striking in the first of Schoenberg's 1894 pieces, an Andantino in Ctt
minor, is the concentration with which he pursues one particular technical ele-
ment of Brahms, here metrical displacement, to the virtual exclusion o f others.
Although the piece is notated in 4, it unfolds from the very beginning as if in
I (Appendix ex. A). Both hands fully support the £ until mm. 9—10, where
Schoenberg disrupts the pattern. The Ctt chord in m. 9 is not followed, as w e
would expect, by an eighth note upbeat. Instead, the next phrase begins an

THE I N S T R U M E N T A L WORKS 21
eighth note " e a r l y " on the notated downbeat of m. 10. Although notated and
perceived downbeats coincide here, the I meter is not unequivocally restored,
since the rhythmic pattern of the melody and accompaniment continues to sug-
gest t.
T h e last t w o sixteenth notes of m. 10 hover uneasily in a kind of metrical
void: they sound neither like the last beat of a 4 measure (since the preceding
rhythmic figure has come to be heard solely in £) nor the fourth beat of a | pat-
tern (since the notes are given no bass support, as w e might expect on the strong
fourth beat, and as has been the case earlier, for example, on the notated d o w n -
beat of m. 2). T h e last beat of m. 10 thus conforms to what D a v i d L e w i n has
called a "transformational beat," one that serves to mediate between t w o differ-
ent metrical frameworks (Lewin 1982, 25). The | pattern begins again on the
downbeat of m. 1 1 . Unlike in m. 10, the last eighth note of this measure does
n o w fit into the established | pattern; as in m m . 2 - 3 it is tied to the succeeding
downbeat.
Schoenberg's complex metrical procedures derive directly f r o m Brahms, w h o
often shifts the entire framework by a beat so that notated and perceived meters
are out of phrase for long stretches. 3 B u t in his almost single-minded concentra-
tion on the metrical dimension of the music, Schoenberg tends to leave the others
underdeveloped. T h e harmonic language of the Andantino remains very conven-
tional, as does the basic phrase structure. Despite the metrical blip in m m . 9 - 1 1 ,
the whole first section of the piece, up to the double bar, comprises four phrases
in | arranged according to a traditional pattern resembling what Schoenberg in
his Fundamentals of Musical Composition would call a "sentence" (Schoenberg
1967, 20-24). A sentence generally consists of a two-measure idea, its restate-
ment (often on the dominant), and a four-measure continuation and close; the
whole is thus in the proportion 1 : 1 : 2 .
In Schoenberg's Andantino, m m . 1 - 3 constitute the first statement, beginning
and closing on the tonic; m m . 4 - 6 are the "complementary repetition," begin-
ning on the tonic and moving to III; 4 m m . 7 - 1 2 , comprising twice as many mea-
sures as each of the preceding parts, are the developmental continuation and

3. See m y discussions o f metrical procedures in Brahms's Piano Quintet, op. 34, and T h i r d S y m -
p h o n y , op. 90, in Frisch 1984, 8 7 - 9 5 and 1 3 3 - 3 9 . Schoenberg w o u l d surely, f o r e x a m p l e , h a v e stud-
ied the w a y B r a h m s displaces the notated 4 meter b y a quarter note at the close o f the exposition o f
the first m o v e m e n t o f the piano quintet, and then at m . 96 returns to the original f r a m e w o r k w i t h a
" t r a n s f o r m a t i o n a l b e a t . " A n o t h e r e x a m p l e o f large-scale metrical displacement is to be f o u n d in the
exposition o f the first m o v e m e n t o f Brahms's Second S y m p h o n y , m m . 136—52.
4. In Schoenberg's f o r m u l a t i o n (1967, 2 1 - 2 4 ) the second phrase is called the " d o m i n a n t f o r m , "
n o r m a l l y b e g i n n i n g on V (his locus classicus is the opening o f Beethoven's Piano Sonata in F M i n o r ,
op. 2, no. 1). H e also acknowledges other possible h a r m o n i c schemas, including b e g i n n i n g the second
phrase on the tonic and concluding it in a contrasting key.

22 S C H O E N B E R G AND THE BRAHMS T R A D I T I O N

e x a m p l e 2.1 Schoenberg, Piano Piece in Ctt Minor (1894).

conclusion (ending on V I ) . Schoenberg observes in Fundamentals of Musical Com-

position that the " d e v e l o p m e n t " in the last portion o f a sentence usually consists
o f reducing the thematic material to its smallest c o m p o n e n t s , a process he calls
" l i q u i d a t i o n " (1967, 58). Liquidation is lacking in the piano piece, h o w e v e r : the
basic three-measure unit (in notated measures) remains essentially intact and is
g i v e n t w o full presentations in m m . 7 - 1 2 . 5 W h a t is " d e v e l o p e d " is clearly the
metrical aspect: the " e a r l y " arrival in m . 10 and the mysterious " e x t r a " beat at
the end o f the same measure constitute the m o s t dramatic changes in the basic
unit.
L i k e m a n y o f Brahms's short pieces, and like Reger's Resignation, the A n d a n t i n o
has a ternary f o r m ; in this instance the middle section ( m m . 13-26) serves as a
kind o f d e v e l o p m e n t o f the o p e n i n g material. A s in m m . 7 - 1 2 , the d e v e l o p m e n t
is primarily metrical in nature. Indeed, it is the same Ctt-major triad (cf. m m . 9
and 14) that seems to trigger the change o f pattern. S c h o e n b e r g interprets this
chord on the d o w n b e a t o f m . 14 as the proper first beat o f a 4 measure, and the
notated 4 meter seems to g o v e r n the right hand t h r o u g h m . 16, w h i l e the left-
hand arpeggios continue in the £ pattern. T h e d o w n b e a t o f m . 17 is, like the last
beat o f m . 10, an a m b i g u o u s " e x t r a " or transformational beat g i v e n no chordal
or accompanimental support; it leads us back to the original £ pattern ( w h i c h is,
h o w e v e r , immediately disrupted in the same w a y ) .
S c h o e n b e r g varies the return o f the opening section in m . 27 (ex. 2.1): the main
t h e m e n o w appears in canon b e t w e e n the t w o hands, decorated w i t h an inner part
m o v i n g in triplets. T h e canon here serves not purely as a contrapuntal variation
o f the material, but as further metrical manipulation, w h i c h n o w obscures b o t h
the notated and perceived f r a m e w o r k s .
Schoenberg's A n d a n t i n o , then, can be said to adopt certain o u t w a r d " s y m p -

5. The sixteenth-note ornamentation of the neighbor-note figure in the right hand of m. 11,
where the original is transferred to the left hand (C-DI|-C), would be considered a "variant," not a
real development (Schoenberg 1967, 9).

THE I N S T R U M E N T A L WORKS 23
toms" of Brahms's style, evident in the arpeggiated bass and in the piano texture
in general, and one more specific technical aspect, that of metrical development.
But the piece may be said to founder precisely because the areas of motivic de-
velopment, harmony, and phrase structure are not treated at the same level as,
and are not adequately coordinated with, the metrical procedures (as happens, for
example, in the first movement of Brahms's B!> Quartet, examined briefly in
chapter i).
In these respects the third of the piano pieces, a Presto in A minor, is more
ambitious and, it might be said, more successful. In his brief memoir of Schoen-
berg's youth, David Josef Bach makes the intriguing remark that "with its re-
markable rhythm" this piece "already contains the seed of the later Schoenberg"
(Bach 1924, 318). Unfortunately, Bach specifies neither what aspect of its rhythm
is remarkable nor what prefigures the later Schoenberg. But he is right to imply
that the piece is the most advanced of the three.
The progressiveness is not apparent in the phrase structure, which, as in the
Andantino, is in itself quite square. The opening eight measures (ex. 2.2a) form
what Schoenberg calls a "period" (Schoenberg 1967, 2 5 - 3 1 ) , comprising a four-
measure phrase and its varied restatement, or what we can call an antecedent and
a consequent. (A period generally has two phrases of equal length, unlike a sen-
tence.) In the Presto, both antecedent and consequent end on the dominant; the
antecedent begins on the tonic, the consequent on a diminished seventh. The pro-
gressive aspect consists of the way this traditional design is filled out with chro-
matic harmony, specifically with what Schoenberg would later call "vagrant"
chords (Schoenberg 1978, 134, 257-67); these are harmonies, such as diminished
or half-diminished ones, that are ambiguous and can be led in different directions.
Although the tonic is clearly implied by the bass in the first half of m. 1, it is
nevertheless obscured by the right-hand arpeggiation of the diminished triad, F -
Gtt—B, and by the chromatic descent in both hands in m. 2. The second half of
the antecedent (m. 3) begins on a remote V 7 /II, and moves through II and iv 6
before settling on the dominant at the end of m. 4. The identity of the tonic is
never in doubt, but the tonic is enriched by the annexation of other chromatic
degrees, either as passing tones or (in the case of the Alt in m. 3) actual chord
tones. (In fact, all degrees of the chromatic scale are touched upon in mm. 1-4.)
Brahms is an obvious source for this kind of controlled, intense chromaticism,
as, for example, in the Capriccio, op. 1 1 6 , no. 3, where the tonic G minor is
continually subverted until the end of the A section.6 The Brahmsian pedigree of
the Presto is even more evident in Schoenberg's striving to make the entire tex-

6. Thieme 1979, 8 1 - 8 2 , has pointed to the importance of Brahms's Capriccio, op. 76, no. 1, as a
model for the texture and figuration of the middle section of Schoenberg's Presto.

24 S C H O E N B E R G AND THE BRAHMS T R A D I T I O N

EXAMPLE 2.2 Schoenberg, Piano Piece in A Minor (1894).

a.
1 Pr«'Sto
R—1
¡r i»n/ifTf
r m
J

t'r
m JBP=
H l
¥—

nMi
=
i^fYt T^rnf
^-rt
tfr
M
ra £ ¡ÉÌP
c V

b.
19 Più l e n t c ì ^

li J = r V ^ — r r ~ 7 T 7 i

tA k ì -J J J y J jJ
J
7 J r

c.

;
i rF hJ —

P
marcato

Whhfi\ fj ^ f f — f r — M ìp

d.
63 accelerando
EXAMPLE 2 . 2 continued

e.

ture "thematic." The alto inner voice of the B section is derived from the main
theme of the A section (ex. 2.2b). Later, the B theme moves into the bass and is
presented simultaneously in diminution in the right hand (ex. 2.2c). 7
The middle section lies in the key of the dominant; but Schoenberg avoids any
strong cadential V—i motion at the return to the A. Instead, the return is made
via the half-diminished ii7 chord, a vagrant harmony that is sustained for ten mea-
sures (mm. 6 3 - 7 2 ) by means of the energetic working of a descending motive
A - F - E - D (ex. 2.2d). 8 The coda (mm. 92-101; ex. 2.2e) is built from the same
harmony and motive; the motive is now compressed or diminuted even further
and is subject to rhythmic displacement similar to that used in the Andantino in
Ctt minor. (As Thieme [1979, 83] asserts, the coda may well contain the "re-
markable" rhythm to which Bach was referring.) At m. 94 the \ meter appears
to shift one eighth note to the right: the right-hand cluster B—D—E takes on the
quality of a downbeat (this becomes especially apparent in mm. 95—96, when the
bass note B reappears, now on the perceived downbeat). The final beat of m. 96

7. For the first procedure, see, for example, the first movement of Brahms's Second Symphony,
where the arpeggio of the first theme forms (in diminution) the accompanying inner part to the sec-
ond theme (as mentioned in the previous chapter). For the second, see Brahms's song Mein wundes
Herz, op. 59, no. 7, where both voice and accompaniment are derived from the same material.
8. As Thieme has pointed out (1979, 82-83), this motive is a variation of the final theme of the
middle section (A-Gtt-E-CIt).

26 SCHOENBERG AND THE BRAHMS TRADITION

acts as the transformational beat, and the notated meter returns on the first beat
o f m . 97. T h e final cadence to the tonic in m m . 100-101 is m a d e not via the
dominant, but f r o m a final appearance o f the half-diminished ( n o w in first in-
version).
T h e intensity w i t h w h i c h the ii7 chord is manipulated, b o t h m o t i v i c a l l y and
harmonically, suggests s o m e t h i n g o f the later early Schoenberg: in the next chap-
ter w e shall see h i m exploiting the same sonority t h r o u g h o u t the s o n g Madchen-
friihling (1897). Yet because the phrase structure tends to remain four-square
(even the B section unfolds in rigid four-measure units) and because the melodic
invention is less than inspired, our final impression is one o f a rather static, u n -
developmental f o r m .
A m o r e fluid and sophisticated approach to phrase structure is evident in an
eighty-measure fragment in Fit minor, labeled a scherzo b y Schoenberg. 9 T h e
f r a g m e n t , w h i c h w a s probably drafted at about the same time as the three piano
pieces, has a rondo-like f o r m , w i t h a main theme and t w o contrasting themes.
T h e eight-measure main theme and its slightly varied repetition extend f r o m m .
1 to m . 16 (see A p p e n d i x ex. B). A l t h o u g h the theme and its repetition c o m p r i s e
a regular n u m b e r o f measures (8 + 8), the h a r m o n y and meter are out o f phase:
each eight-measure unit begins w i t h a measure o f a dominant h a r m o n y , w h i c h
resolves to the tonic in the second measure ( m m . 2 and 10). T h e first measure is
therefore in a strong metrical position, but a w e a k h a r m o n i c one. T h e conflict
b e c o m e s apparent after m . 17. A t first, this measure o f d o m i n a n t h a r m o n y w o u l d
appear to be analogous to m m . 1 and 9, and thus to b e g i n a n e w g r o u p like the
first t w o . T h e h a r m o n y does in fact resolve to the tonic in m . 18, but the m o v e
is accompanied b y a sudden diminuendo and a change in texture.
T h e first contrasting theme begins w i t h this measure o f tonic (not w i t h the
preceding dominant) and, like the main theme, consists o f t w o parallel g r o u p s
o f eight measures. T h e first ( m m . 18-25) m o v e s f r o m the tonic to its relative
major, A , the second ( m m . 25—32) back to the dominant. B u t these g r o u p s o v e r -
lap, so that the final measure o f the first (m. 25) is also the initial measure o f the
second. T h e a m b i g u i t y is heightened b y the initial measure o f each phrase (18
and 25), w h i c h remains in a sense athematic: the principal m o t i v e appears o n l y
in the second measure (19 and 26). T h e result is that m . 18 tends to s o u n d like an
introduction and m . 25 like a transition, even t h o u g h these measures f o r m an
integral part o f the overall phrase structure.
T h u s , although they add up to an even n u m b e r on the largest scale, the first
t h i r t y - t w o measures o f the scherzo do not divide squarely into 8 + 4, as tends to

9. See Maegaard 1972, 1: 149. T h e piece, edited by Reinhold B r i n k m a n n , is published in SW B4:

101-4.

THE I N S T R U M E N T A L WORKS 27
 happen in the Three Pieces o f 1894. Rather, the "extra" measure, m. 17, and the
compensating overlapping measure, m. 25, make the internal division asymmet-
rical:

MAIN THEME

Unit 1: mm. 1-8

Unit 2: mm. 9 - 1 6
" E x t r a " measure: m. 17

FIRST CONTRASTING THEME

Unit 1: mm. 18-25

(Overlapping measure: m. 25)
Unit 2: mm. 25-32 10

Within the contrasting theme, the motivic working seems more fluid than in
the other pieces o f 1894. In the first phrase (mm. 18-21), as w e have seen, the
basic motive appears in the second measure (accompanied by figuration derived
from m. 2 of the main theme) and then is rhythmically augmented and trans-
formed across the third and fourth (20-21). In the second phrase the motive ap-
pears in the first t w o measures (22—23), but is absent from the cadential motion
o f the second t w o (24-25). The t w o phrases are thus not simply parallel, as is
often the case in the piano pieces of 1894.

Serenade for Small Orchestra (1896)

In 1895 Schoenberg joined the small amateur orchestra Polyhymnia as cellist. It

may well have been for this group that he began to compose what appears to be
his first large-scale instrumental w o r k , the Serenade in D Major. Schoenberg
completed only the first movement; a scherzo, slow movement, and finale sur-
vive as fragments. The first movement is dated 1 September 1896 on the first page
and 3 September on the last. The scherzo was begun on 30 November. The slow
movement and finale bear no date. 11

10. B y repetition Schoenberg extends the cadence past m . 32; the first theme reappears in m . 38.
11. T h e slow m o v e m e n t fragment (microfilm no. U 2 6 5 - 6 7 at the Schoenberg Institute), w h i c h
bears no date, has not previously been identified as belonging to the Serenade. Maegaard 1972, 1: 26,
includes only the other three m o v e m e n t s in his entry for the Serenade; the slow m o v e m e n t is de-
scribed on p. 152 as a separate w o r k . T h i e m e 1979, 94, also identifies only three m o v e m e n t s . A l -
t h o u g h it is not dated, the Andante clearly belongs to the Serenade. It has the same instrumentation
as the other movements. It also has similar handwriting and is copied on the same kind o f 28-stave
paper as the scherzo m o v e m e n t (the other t w o movements are on 24-stave paper).

28 SCHOENBERG AND THE BRAHMS T R A D I T I O N

 T h e orchestral serenade was a popular medium within the A u s t r o - G e r m a n -
Bohemian sphere in the last decades of the nineteenth century. Schoenberg w o u l d
surely have been acquainted not only with the t w o early serenades of B r a h m s
(opp. i i and 16), but also with more recent ones by Robert Volkmann, Antonin
D v o r a k , Josef Suk, and Robert Fuchs. A well-worn score of Fuchs's Serenade f o r
Strings in D Major, op. 9 (published 1874), filled with performance indications
in an unidentified hand, survives in the archives of the Schoenberg Institute. This
may well have been a score used by Polyhymnia and may also have provided
inspiration for Schoenberg's o w n w o r k in the same key. For his first movement,
however, he found a more compelling structural-technical model in B r a h m s , and
in particular in the first movement of Brahms's Second S y m p h o n y , also in the
key of D major.
T h e overall design of Schoenberg's movement owes little directly to B r a h m s ;
it takes the f o r m of a small-scale and somewhat oddly proportioned sonata, with
a very brief exposition (mm. 1 - 1 2 ) , consisting of a single long phrase m o v i n g
a
f r o m tonic to dominant; a substantial modulatory development ( 1 3 - 4 4 ) ; con-
12
ventional recapitulation (45-58); and a lengthy coda ( 5 8 - 7 7 ) . B u t the actual the-
matic ideas and their treatment are strikingly close to Brahms's first movement.
B o t h movements begin with a theme (marked a in ex. 2.3a) in the l o w strings
(violas in Schoenberg, cellos in Brahms) consisting of a neighbor-note figure that
surrounds the tonic; the theme falls to the dominant note A . Unlike B r a h m s ,
however, Schoenberg accompanies this theme f r o m the outset with a repeated
rhythmic figure in the w o o d w i n d s (marked b). After t w o bars (one in Brahms),
a new triadic idea (c) enters above motives a and b. This theme is treated imita-
tively by the violins while being accompanied continuously by the other t w o
ideas. A t the climax of the short exposition, the violin theme takes on the rhythm
of motive b.
What is especially distinctive here is Schoenberg's creation of a texture in
which—as in Brahms—each part is given a motivic or thematic function. T h e
effort is more successful than in the A - m i n o r Presto for piano. A l s o impressive
is Schoenberg's handling of the retransition and arrival of the recapitulation. This
is always a crucial moment in Brahms's sonata forms, one for which he developed
many elegant and ingenious procedures that Schoenberg must have studied care-
fully. B y m. 33, in the development section, Schoenberg has modulated to G\>
major, which is then reinterpreted enharmonically as Fit, or V of B minor.
Schoenberg cadences in this key at m. 34 (ex. 2.3b), where the actual retransition
can be said to begin. T h e B in the bass becomes part of a seven-measure prepa-
ration of the dominant A , which is circumscribed by its diatonic upper neighbor,

12. See Thieme 1979, 97, for a formal diagram of the movement, as well as an analysis.

THE I N S T R U M E N T A L W O R K S 29
EXAMPLE 2.3 Schoenberg, Serenade for Small Orchestra (1896), I.

cl., bsn. 1 y

rrp rrp mi i
Tempo I"
EXAMPLE 2.3 continued

71

œ
fl-i- 7 Ü-" -i- 7 tJ-

£1 ¿4
hn.

B , and its chromatic lower neighbor, Git. In mm. 39-40 the Gtt supports a
diminished-seventh chord, which resolves onto a tonic 4 harmony in m. 41. In
m. 43 this becomes a dominant seventh, leading to the entrance of the recapitu-
lation at m. 45.
The motivic-thematic process complements this harmonic one. For the ten
measures preceding the retransition, Schoenberg has avoided developing motive
c, which now reemerges at the arrival on B minor, accompanied by motive b in
the cellos and basses. At the climax of the crescendo, in m. 40, the theme is dis-
solved or "liquidated" in diminution—much as Brahms treats his own analogous
triadic theme at various points in the first movement of his Second Symphony
(cf. mm. 59ff.). Throughout this passage, c has been presented by the strings (first
violins and violas), while the horns reiterate only the dotted upbeat figure as a
kind of ostinato on octave Fits. In mm. 39—40 the Fit drops to F^, which forms
part of the diminished-seventh harmony over Git. In the next measure, at pre-
cisely the moment when the strings liquidate motive c and sustain a high A (mm.
4 0 - 4 1 ) , the horn resolves the F>1 back up to Ftt and takes over the theme. Schoen-
berg shifts the dotted figure from the second beat, where it has appeared in mm.
34-39, to the last beat, where it becomes the proper upbeat to c. The theme is
thus taken up by the horns, while diminution continues in the strings. The actual
recapitulation begins at m. 45, where c moves to the cellos and bassoons. This
whole process recalls some of Brahms's smoothest and most elegant retransitions,
where the main theme appears to evolve gradually out of its various compo-
nents. 13
The other portion of this movement that deserves commentary is the conclu-

13. See, for example, the retransition and entrance of the recapitulation in the Andante of Brahms's
Third Symphony, discussed in Frisch 1984, 137-40.

THE I N S T R U M E N T A L W O R K S 3 I
 sion of the coda, where the tonic is reached not via the dominant, but directly
from an augmented sixth chord (a German sixth, spelled B!>, D , F, At), which
resolves over a D pedal (ex. 2.3c). Hardly unusual in itself, the harmonic device
in this context represents a conscious intensification of, and complement to, the
harmonic process of the retransition. There, we recall, the chord was ap-
proached from a diminished-seventh chord built on Git (mm. 3 9 - 4 1 , ex. 2.3b).
The German sixth of m. 7off. differs from that diminished seventh by only one
note; and its Bl> comes to sound like a chromatic intensification of the diatonic
sixth degree, B^l. The final cadence recalls the earlier process of resolving the dis-
sonant harmony by neighbor motion.
Although the harmonic vocabulary is relatively simple, the association between
the two passages, retransition and coda, shows Schoenberg already thinking of
harmonic function in terms of large-scale structure. The retransition and coda
occupy analogous, or perhaps complementary, places within the sonata form: the
retransition represents the moment of greatest harmonic tension, the coda the
moment of least tension. To point up the relationship, Schoenberg employs dis-
sonant harmonies that resolve by means of neighbor motion.
In the ways just analyzed, the first movement of the Serenade in D Major is
a great step forward from the piano works of 1894. The work is a more effec-
tive, persuasive composition largely because Schoenberg has begun to internal-
ize, to make his own, some of Brahms's more important techniques. In terms
of the spectrum proposed in chapter 1, w e might say that Schoenberg's emula-
tion and allusion are now giving w a y to absorption. A s w e listen to the first
movement o f the serenade, w e are less aware of the model than of the skill
and naturalness with which Schoenberg manipulates the principles taken over
f r o m it.

The D-Major String Quartet and F-Major Scherzo (i8gj)

Many of the formal, thematic, and harmonic techniques that are beginning to
bud in the Serenade in D Major come to fruition in the first large-scale instru-
mental w o r k that Schoenberg was actually to complete (or allow to survive com-
plete), the D - M a j o r String Quartet. We can be certain that the quartet was revised
extensively with Zemlinsky's advice. According to E g o n Wellesz—and the in-
formation was confirmed by the composer—Schoenberg wrote the w o r k in V i -
enna in the summer of 1897, then showed it to Zemlinsky upon the latter's return
from a holiday. The first and last movements were considerably rewritten, and a
new movement was composed in place of the original second one. Apparently at
the time he showed Zemlinsky the quartet, Schoenberg had only just begun a
third movement (it is not clear whether the fourth was complete); here too an-

32 S C H O E N B E R G AND THE BRAHMS T R A D I T I O N

o t h e r m o v e m e n t w a s s u b s t i t u t e d f o r the p l a n n e d o n e . 1 4 A t the i n s t i g a t i o n of
Z e m l i n s k y , the q u a r t e t w a s g i v e n a p r i v a t e p e r f o r m a n c e at an e v e n i n g o f t h e W i e -
n e r T o n k i i n s t l e r v e r e i n o n 1 7 M a r c h 1 8 9 8 . T h e p u b l i c p r e m i e r e w a s g i v e n b y the
F i t z n e r Q u a r t e t at the B o s e n d o r f e r s a a l o f the G e s e l l s c h a f t d e r M u s i k f r e u n d e o n
2 0 D e c e m b e r o f the s a m e y e a r . 1 5
F o r the D - M a j o r Q u a r t e t , there exist an a u t o g r a p h a n d a set o f p a r t s (at the
L i b r a r y o f C o n g r e s s ) , neither o f w h i c h s h o w s s i g n s o f the e x t e n s i v e r e v i s i o n s o r
substitutions mentioned b y Wellesz and S c h o e n b e r g . T h e original s e c o n d m o v e -
m e n t s u r v i v e s , h o w e v e r , as a S c h e r z o in F M a j o r , f o r w h i c h the m a n u s c r i p t is
d a t e d 2 7 J u l y 1 8 9 7 at the b e g i n n i n g a n d 7 A u g u s t 1 8 9 7 at the e n d . 1 6
T a k e n t o g e t h e r , the D - M a j o r Q u a r t e t a n d the F - M a j o r S c h e r z o c o n s t i t u t e the
m o s t s u c c e s s f u l i n s t r u m e n t a l w o r k s o f S c h o e n b e r g ' s B r a h m s i a n p e r i o d , a n d as
s u c h t h e y b e a r m o r e e x t e n d e d a n a l y s i s . T h e first m o v e m e n t o f the q u a r t e t w a s
S c h o e n b e r g ' s m o s t e x p a n s i v e sonata f o r m t o date. T h e e x p o s i t i o n , w h i c h is e s -
p e c i a l l y rich in t h e m a t i c m a t e r i a l , has the f o l l o w i n g s h a p e :

T h e m e ia, m m . 1—12

T h e m e ib, mm. 13-16

Theme ia', mm. 17-28

Transition, m m . 29-38

T h e m e 2a, m m . 39-46

14. This information about the genesis of the quartet is gleaned from Wellesz 1925, 12—13, supple-
mented by information that Schoenberg provided Wellesz after the appearance of the latter's book in
German in 1 9 2 1 . In the book Wellesz reports that the third movement remained unchanged, but
Schoenberg wrote to him that "auch hier kam ein ganz anderer Satz an Stelle des geplanten." Schoen-
berg's remarks to Wellesz were passed on by Wellesz in 1965 to Oliver Neighbour, w h o reports them
in the preface to Schoenberg 1966. (They also appear in SW B20: XII.) It should be noted that the
English translation of Wellesz's biography, first published in 1925, already contained some corrections
that Schoenberg had furnished to the author (and that the author had passed on to the translator),
although not the information about the third movement of the D - M a j o r Quartet. These other cor-
rections are reported by Carl Dahlhaus in his afterword to a reprint of the German edition of the
Wellesz biography (1985, 158-59). I am grateful to Neighbour for providing me with a photocopy
of Wellesz's letter to him and for suggestions regarding the genesis of the D - M a j o r Quartet.
15. See Maegaard 1972, 1: 27-28; Hilmar 1974, 163. See also Zemlinsky 1934, 34.
16. Published as Schoenberg 1984 and in SPf A20. For further information on this scherzo, see also
Maegaard 1983. Oliver Neighbour has suggested (personal communication) that a brief sketch con-
tained near the bottom of the scherzo manuscript might have been intended originally as the theme
for the third movement. This sketch is reproduced in S W B20: 222; another, much longer version of
it is found at the bottom of a leaf containing a fragmentary Heyse setting, Vorfriihling, in the Nachod
Collection in Texas (reproduced in K i m m e y 1979, 222, item 97; mentioned in SW B 1 / 2 / I : 45). A l -
though Neighbour's notion is potentially attractive, it seems unsupported by the theme itself, which
is in 4 meter and the key of Eb major. It bears a resemblance to neither the eventual third movement
nor the Intermezzo that replaced the Scherzo. This El> theme seems to demand a relatively rapid
tempo (none is actually indicated by Schoenberg) and would thus be unsuitable for a slow movement,
which is what w e would expect to follow a scherzo.

THE I N S T R U M E N T A L W O R K S 33
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Se päivä oli todellakin kärsimyksen päivä Stasille. Hän ei saanut

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kuolee matkalla, jollei Gebrin ruoskan iskuista, niin väsymyksestä.

Kaikeksi onneksi tuli hyväsydäminen kreikkalainen hyvästelemään

lapsia ja antamaan neuvoja. Hän toi heille myös kiniinipulveria,
lasihelmisen rukousnauhan ja vähän evästä. Saatuaan kuulla, että
Idrys on sairas, kreikkalainen kääntyi Gebrin, beduiinien ja
Chamiksen puoleen sanoen:

— Tietäkää, että olen tullut tänne Mahdin käskystä.

Kun he kuulivat sen, he koskettivat otsallaan maata.

— Teidän täytyy antaa lapsille matkalla ruokaa, jatkoi

kreikkalainen, — ja kohdella heitä hyvin. He saavat kertoa Smainille
teidän kohtelustanne, ja Smain kirjoittaa sitten profeetalle. Jos sieltä
tulee kirje, jossa teitä moititaan, tuo seuraava posti teille
kuolemantuomion.

Uusi kumarrus oli ainoa vastaus. Gebr ja Chamis olivat nolon

näköisiä.

Kreikkalainen käski heidän poistua. Sitten hän sanoi lapsille

englanniksi:
 — Olen keksinyt tämän kaiken, sillä Mahdi ei ole antanut minulle
mitään määräystä teidän suhteenne. Mutta koska hän on sanonut,
että teidän pitää matkustaa Fashodaan, niin teidän pitää saapua
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puheille ennen matkalle lähtöä.

Sitten hän sanoi Stasille erikoisesti:

— Olen ollut sinulle suutuksissani ja olen vieläkin. Tiedätkö, että

olit vähällä syöstä minut perikatoon? Mahdi närkästyi minullekin ja
minun täytyi antaa Abdullahille suuri osa omaisuuttani voittaakseni
Mahdin armon, enkä tiedä auttaako se pitkäksikään aikaa. Missään
tapauksessa en tule auttamaan vankeja niinkuin tähän saakka. Mutta
minä säälin teitä ja etenkin (hän osoitti Neliä) häntä… Minulla on
samanikäinen tytär, jota rakastan enemmän kuin omaa elämääni.
Hänen tähtensä olen tehnyt kaiken tämän… Hän kantaa vieläkin
povellaan pientä hopeista ristiä… Hänellä on sama nimi kuin sinulla,
pikku tyttöseni. Jollei häntä olisi, kuolisin minäkin mieluummin kuin
eläisin tässä helvetissä.

Hän liikuttui ja vaikeni hetkeksi hieroen kädellä otsaansa, ja alkoi

sitten puhua muusta:

— Mahdi lähettää teidät Fashodaan siinä uskossa, että kuolette

siellä. Siten hän kostaa sinun itsepäisyytesi, poika, sillä sinä olet
loukannut häntä syvästi. Tällä tavalla menetellen hän ei menetä
armeliaisuuden mainetta. Sellainen hän on aina… Mutta kuka tietää,
kenet kuolema ensin korjaa! Abdullah antoi hänelle vihjeen lähettää
teidän mukaanne samat roistot, jotka ovat teidät varastaneetkin.
Hän on palkinnut heidät kitsaasti ja pelkää nyt, että se tulee yleisesti
tiedoksi. Teillä on nyt rasittava matka edessä. Te tulette kulkemaan
autioitten ja epäterveellisten seutujen kautta — hoitakaa siis kuin
silmäteräänne niitä pulvereita, joita annoin teille matkalle.

— Sanokaa kerran vielä Gebrille, ettei hän saa lyödä eikä pitää
Neliä nälässä, Stas pyysi.

— Älkää pelätkö. Olen uskonut teidät sen vanhan sheikin

huostaan, joka kuljettaa postia. Hän on minun vanha tuttavani. Olen
antanut hänelle taskukelloni ja siten saanut hänet pitämään teistä
huolta.

Kreikkalainen alkoi hyvästellä. Hän sulki Nelin syliinsä, painoi

hänet rintaansa vasten ja lausui useampaan kertaan:

— Jumala sinua siunatkoon, lapseni!…

Sillä välin aurinko oli laskenut. Yö oli tähtikirkas. Pimeässä kuului

hevosten ja kuormattujen kamelien pärskyntää.

20

Vanha sheikki Hatim piti kreikkalaiselle antamansa lupauksen ja

huolehti tunnollisesti lapsista. Matka Valkoisen Niilin vartta ylöspäin
oli rasittava. He ajoivat Ketain Ed-Ducim ja Kana seutujen läpi,
sivuuttivat Abban, Niilissä sijaitsevan metsäisen saaren, jolla Mahdi
oli asunut ennen sotaa dervishierakkona ontossa puussa. Karavaanin
täytyi usein kiertää papyrusta kasvavat vetiset painanteet, niin
sanotut suddit, joilta tuuli toi myrkyllistä huurua. Englantilaiset
insinöörit olivat aikoinaan tehneet laivaväylän halki rämeiden, jotta
laivat saattoivat kulkea Khartumista aina Fashodaan, vieläpä
ylemmäksi. Mutta nyt oli uoma mennyt umpeen ja vesi noussut yli
rantojen. Korkeata dshunglaa (pensasta ja ruohotiheikköä) kasvoi
virran kahden puolen. Dshunglasta kohosi termiittikekoja ja
jättiläispuita. Paikoin metsä ulottua virtaan saakka. Kuivilla paikoilla
oli akaasialehtoja. Ensimmäisinä viikkoina he näkivät arabialaisia
kyliä omituisine, pulleakattoisine taloineen, mutta Abban takana oli
Mustien maa. Se oli hyvin autiota, sillä dervishit olivat vanginneet
alkuperäisen neekeriväestön ja myyneet sen orjiksi Sisä-Afrikan
markkinoilla. Ne alkuasukkaat, joiden oli onnistunut välttää orjuus
piileskelemällä metsissä ja tiheiköissä, tuhosi Valkoisen ja Sinisen
Niilin seuduilla raivoava isorokko tai nälkä. Sorgo-, maniokki- ja
banaani-istutukset olivat dshunglan peitossa. Villit eläimet
lisääntyivät, kun niitä ei kukaan pyydystänyt. Illan suussa lapset
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joka aikoinaan oli kaupitellut norsunluuta, moksautti suullaan,
huokasi ja kuiskasi Stasille luottamuksellisesti:

— Mashallah! Mikä rikkaus! Mutta nyt täällä ei kannata metsästää,

koska Mahdi on kieltänyt englantilaisia kauppiaita tulemasta
Khartumiin, joten kukaan ei kysy norsunluuta, paitsi jotkut emiirit
joskus umbaha-torvia varten.

He näkivät myös kirahveja, jotka karavaania säikkyen pakenivat

kaula huojuen. Goz-Abu-Gumasta eteenpäin näkyi yhä useammin
puhveleita ja antilooppeja, joita karavaanin kuljettajat kävivät
metsästämässä toivoen saavansa tuoretta lihaa; useimmin heillä oli
huono metsästysonni.

Elintarvikkeita oli niukasti, sillä näiltä hävitetyiltä seuduilta ei

saanut viljaa, banaaneita eikä kalaa. Ennen olivat neekerit kernaasti
vaihtaneet ruokatavaroita lasihelmiin ja messinkilankaan. Hatim ei
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vähemmällä ruoalla. Kun tämä kerran yöllä löi Stasia, Hatim käski
panna sudanilaisen pitkälleen maahan ja lyödä häntä
kolmekymmentä kertaa bamburuo'olla jalkapohjiin. Rangaistu, joka
kahtena seuraavana päivänä joutui hiiviskelemään varpaisillaan,
kirosi sitä hetkeä, jolloin oli jättänyt Medinet-el-Fajumin.

Stas oli aluksi iloinen siitä, että he olivat päässeet ruttoisesta

Omdurmanista ja että hän sai nähdä seutuja, joista hän oli aina
uneksinut. Hänen voimakas elimistönsä oli tähän saakka kestänyt
hyvin matkan rasitukset, ja runsaampi ravinto palautti tarmoa. Nyt
hän rupesi taas kuiskailemaan pikku siskon korvaan, että paeta
saattoi myös Valkoisen Niilin seuduilta. Tytön terveys huolestutti
häntä. Kolme viikkoa oli kulunut siitä, kun he olivat Omdurmanista
lähteneet, mutta Nel ei ollut vieläkään sairastunut kuumeeseen,
vaikka olikin laihtunut ja muuttunut kasvoiltaan yhä
läpikuultavamman näköiseksi; hänen kätösensä olivat kuin vahasta
valetut. Tytöltä ei puuttunut apua eikä hoitoa, siitä pitivät Stas,
Dinah ja Hatim huolen, mutta täällä ei ollut enää erämaan
terveellistä ilmaa. Kostea ja kuuma ilmasto yhdessä matkan
rasitusten kera kulutti yhä enemmän heikon tytön voimia.

Goz-Abu-Gumasta lähtien Stas antoi hänelle päivittäin puoli

pulveria kiniiniä, mutta poika tuli surulliseksi ajatellessaan, ettei tätä
lääkettä riittänyt pitkällekään ja ettei sitä voi saada mistään. Mutta ei
ollut muuta keinoa, sillä täytyi näin estää kuumetta tulemasta.
Toisinaan Stas oli hyvin levoton. Hän toivoi kuitenkin, että Smain
etsisi heille terveellisemmän paikan kuin Fashoda, jos hän kerran
tahtoo vaihtaa heidät omiin lapsiinsa.
 Mutta onnettomuus vaatii uhrinsa. Päivää ennen tuloa Fashodaan
Dinah, joka jo Omdurmanissa oli tuntenut olevansa heikossa
kunnossa meni tajuttomaksi ja putosi kamelin selästä maahan. Stas
ja Chamis saivat hänet suurella vaivalla tajuihinsa. Illalla Dinah sanoi
kyynelsilmin jäähyväiset rakastamalleen pikku neidille ja kuoli.

Kun Dinah oli kuollut, tahtoi Gebr leikata häneltä korvat

näyttääkseen Smainille toteen matkalla sattuneen kuoleman ja
vaatiakseen korvausta siitäkin, että oli ryöstänyt Dinahin. Niin tehtiin
tavallisesti matkalla kuolleille orjille. Mutta Stasin ja Nelin pyynnöstä
Hatim ei suostunut siihen, ja Dinah haudattiin kunniallisesti ja hänen
hautansa peitettiin hyeenoilta kivillä ja okaisilla pensailla.

Lapset tunsivat nyt olevansa entistä enemmän yksin, sillä he olivat

kadottaneet ainoan läheisen ja heihin kiintyneen ihmisen. Etenkin
Nel masentui. Turhaan Stas lohdutteli häntä koko yön ja vielä
seuraavan päivänkin.

Matkan kuudes viikko alkoi. Seuraavana päivänä auringon ollessa

korkeimmillaan he saapuivat Fashodaan, mutta näkivät vain tuhkaa
ja raunioita. Mahdilaiset pitivät leiriä taivasalla pikaisesti kyhätyissä
ruokoteltoissa. Siellä täällä törrötti ympyränmuotoisia nokisia
saviseiniä ja virran partaalla muuan puinen rakennus, joka
egyptiläisten hallitessa oli ollut norsunluuvarasto. Nyt siinä asusti
dervishien johtaja, emiiri Seki-Tamala. Tämä mies oli hyvin huomattu
mahdilaisten keskuudessa ja kalifi Abdullahin salainen vihollinen,
mutta sitä vastoin Hatimin hyvä ystävä. Seki-Tamala otti vanhan
sheikin ja lapset erittäin vieraanvaraisesti luokseen, mutta kertoi
heille hyvin ikävän sanoman: Smain ei ollut Fashodassa. Hän oli
kaksi päivää sitten lähtenyt etelään päin hankkimaan orjia, ja
vaikeata oli sanoa milloin hän palaisi, koska lähin ympäristö oli autio
alkuasukkaista, joita siis täytyi etsiä hyvin kaukaa. Jonkin matkan
päässä Fashodasta alkoi Abessinia, jota vastaan dervishit myöskin
kävivät sotaa, mutta Smain, jolla oli vain kolmesataa miestä, ei
uskaltanut lähestyä Abessinian rajaa.

Seki-Tamala ja Hatim alkoivat harkita, mitä tehdä lapsille.

Neuvottelua kesti vielä illallisaterialle, jolle myös Stas ja Nel oli
kutsuttu.

— Hatim, sinä olet tuonut minulle käskyn, puhui Seki-Tamala, —

hyökätä etelään päin Ladossa asuvaa Emin passaa vastaan, jolla on
höyrylaivoja ja sotajoukko mainitussa paikassa. Sinun täytyy palata
Omdurmaniin, koska Fashodaan ei siis jää ainoatakaan elävää sielua.
Täällä ei ole missä asua, mitä syödä, mutta taudit täällä raivoavat.
Minä tiedän, että rokko ei koske valkoihoisiin, mutta kuume tappaa
nämä lapset kuukauden kuluessa.

— Minun on käsketty tuoda heidät Fashodaan, vastasi Hatim. —

Olen sen tehnyt eikä minun siis tarvitse heistä enää välittää. Mutta
koska ystäväni Kaliopuli, joka on kreikkalainen, uskoi heidät
huostaani, en soisi lasten liiaksi kärsivän.

— Sen sijaan että jätämme heidät autioon Fashodaan, lähetämme

heidät
Smainin luo näitten samojen miesten mukana, jotka ovat tuoneet
heidät
Omdurmaniin. Smain on mennyt korkeille, vuorisille ja kuiville
seuduille, missä kuume ei tapa ihmisiä, kuten täällä virran varrella.

— Entä miten he löytävät Smainin?

 — Tulen jälkiä pitkin. Hän polttaa dshunglaa ajaakseen villieläimiä
kallioiden väliin, missä on helppo tappaa niitä, tai karkottaakseen
neekerejä tiheiköistä, joihin nämä piiloutuvat vainoojiaan pakoon…
Smainia ei ole vaikea löytää.

— Entä voivatko he saavuttaa hänet?

— Viikon päivät hän viipyy samalla paikalla savustaakseen lihaa.

Vaikka he lähtisivät parin kolmen päivän päästä, niin sittenkin he
saavuttaisivat Smainin.

— Mutta miksi lähteä sinne häntä hakemaan, kun hän muutenkin

palaa
Fashodaan?

— Ei suinkaan, sillä jos orjapyydystys onnistuu hyvin, vie hän

saaliinsa suoraan markkinoille.

— Mitä on siis tehtävä?

— Muista, että kun me molemmat lähdemme Fashodasta, niin

lapset kuolevat nälkään, jollei kuumetauti heitä tappaisikaan.

— Kautta profeetan, se on totta!

Eipä todellakaan ollut muuta keinoa kuin lähettää lapset uudelle

vaellukselle. Mutta hyväsydäminen Hatim oli huolissaan siitä, että
Gebr kohtelisi lapsia pahasti. Ankara Seki-Tamala, jota hänen omat
sotamiehensäkin pelkäsivät, käski tuoda Gebrin luokseen ja sanoi
tälle, että hänen täytyi viedä lapset elävinä ja hyvissä voimissa
Smainin luo, muuten hänet hirtetään. Hyvä Hatim sai emiirin
antamaan pikku Nelille orjattaren, jonka tuli palvella tyttöä matkalla
ja Smainin leirissä. Nel tuli sangen iloiseksi lahjasta, etenkin kun
orjatar oli aivan nuori dinkasukuinen neekerityttö, jonka
kasvonpiirteet olivat hauskat ja ilme lempeä.

Stas tiesi, että Fashodassa asuminen olisi kuolemaksi, eikä siis

vastustanut lähtöä uudelle, kolmannelle retkelle.

Gebr, Chamis ja beduiinit eivät myöskään olleet matkaa vastaan,

koska arvelivat Smainin avulla saavansa hekin haltuunsa orjia, joita
voisivat voitolla myydä markkinoilla. He tiesivät, että orjakauppiaat
useasti rikastuvat, ja läksivät siitäkin syystä mieluummin matkalle
kuin jäivät tänne Hatimin ja Seki-Tamalan silmälläpidon alaisiksi.

Matkavalmistelut veivät paljon aikaa ja lastenkin täytyi saada

levätä tarpeeksi. Kameleja ei voinut enää käyttää ja sen tähden
lähdettiin hevosilla. Mutta Mea, Nelin palvelijatar, ja Kali, Gebrin
orjapoika, saivat kävellä hevosten vierellä. Nimet Mea ja Kali oli Stas
antanut heille. Hatim hankki vielä aasin kantamaan Nelille varattua
telttaa ja ruokaa lapsille kolmeksi päiväksi. Enempää ei Seki-Tamala
voinut antaa heille mukaan. Nelille tehtiin naisten satula huovasta,
palmumatoista ja bambusta.

Kolme päivää lapset viipyivät Fashodassa, jossa virralta nousevat

suunnattomat moskiittoparvet tekivät olon sietämättömäksi. Päivällä
lenteli myös suuria, sinisiä kärpäsiä, jotka eivät tosin pistäneet,
mutta tunkeutuivat korviin, silmiin ja suuhun. Stas oli jo Port Saidissa
kuullut, että sääsket ja kärpäset levittävät kuumetta ja
silmätulehdusta. Lopulta hän pyysi Seki-Tamalaa lähettämään heidät
matkalle mahdollisimman pian, koska kevätsateet lähenivät.

21
 — Stas, mistä se johtuu, että vaikka me ajamme ja ajamme
Smainia ei kuitenkaan näy.

— En tiedä. Hän kulkee varmaankin ripeästi eteenpäin ehtiäkseen

pian niille seuduille, missä vielä on neekerejä. Tahtoisitko sinä jo
päästä hänen luokseen?

Tyttö nyökäytti vaaleata päätään.

— Miksi sitten?

— Smainin läsnäollessa Gebr ei varmaankaan uskaltaisi lyödä Kali

parkaa niin julmasti.

— Tuskin Smain itse on sen parempi. He ovat kaikki armottomia

orjilleen.

— Niinkö? Kaksi kyyneltä vierähti tytön poskipäiltä.

Yhdeksäs päivä tätä matkaa oli kulumassa. Gebr, joka nyt johti
karavaania, löysi helposti Smainin jäljille. Poltettu dshungla ja
nuotioiden tuhka, jyrsityt luut ja muut jätteet osoittivat hänelle tien.
Mutta viisi päivää myöhemmin he joutuivat suurelle arolle, jonka tuli
oli polttanut joka suuntaan. Jäljet tulivat epäselvemmiksi ja
saattoivat johtaa harhaan, etenkin kun Smain, kuten näytti, oli
jakanut miehistönsä pienempiin osastoihin löytääkseen helpommin
metsänriistaa ja syötävää. Gebr ei tiennyt, mihin suuntaan mennä, ja
karavaani palasi usein samaan paikkaan, mistä oli lähtenytkin. Sitten
he ajoivat suurehkon metsän halki ja saapuivat seudulle, missä
maaperä oli kivistä ja kasvillisuus niukkaa. Vain muutamin paikoin
kasvoi euforbioita, mimosia ja hoikkia, vaaleanvihreitä puita, joitten
lehtiä syötettiin hevosille. Ei ollut jokia eikä puroja, mutta onneksi
satoi silloin tällöin, joten kallioiden koloista löytyi vettä.

Smainin miehet olivat karkottaneet metsänriistan, ja karavaani olisi

saattanut kuolla nälkään, jollei hevosten jaloista olisi tuon tuostakin
pyrähtänyt lentoon lintuja, joita sitten iltaisin oli puissa niin sakeasti,
että tarvitsi vain ampua sinne päin, niin sai varmasti joitakuita. Ne
olivat siksi kesyjä ja lensivät niin raskaasti, että karavaanin edellä
juokseva Saba puri joka päivä useita kuoliaaksi. Chamis ampui niitä
toistakymmentä päivittäin vanhalla pyssyllä, jonka hän oli
houkuttelemalla saanut eräältä Hatimin dervishiltä matkalla
Omdurmanista Fashodaan. Mutta hänellä ei ollut hauleja kuin
kahteenkymmeneen panokseen ja hän oli levoton siitä, miten kävisi,
kun varasto loppuisi. Kallioilla oli varmaankin antilooppeja, mutta
niitä ei voinut ampua muulla kuin luodikolla. Mutta he eivät osanneet
käyttää Stasin luodikkoa, eikä Gebr uskonut sitä pojan käsiin.

Gebr alkoi tulla levottomaksi matkan pitkittymisestä ja arveli jo

kääntyä takaisin Fashodaan, sillä elleivät he löytäisi Smainia, he
voisivat eksyä näille asumattomille seuduille, missä petoeläimet ja
orjanmetsästyksestä vihastuneet neekerit olivat heidän uhkanaan.
Mutta koska Gebr ei ollut kuullut mitään emiiri Seki-Tamalan retkestä
Emin passaa vastaan, hän ei uskaltanut näyttäytyä ankaralle
emiirille, joka oli käskenyt viedä lapset Smainille.

Kaikki tämä täytti Gebrin mielen katkeruudella ja vihalla. Hän ei

enää uskaltanut kostaa Stasille eikä Nelille, mutta Kali paran selkään
ilmaantui joka päivä verisiä ruoskannaarmuja. Nuori orja lähestyi
pelosta vavisten ankaraa herraansa. Turhaan hän syleili Gebrin
jalkoja ja suuteli käsiä, turhaan hän lankesi kasvoilleen tämän eteen,
sillä tuska ja valitus eivät liikuttaneet kivistä sydäntä. Yöksi Kali
pantiin jalkapuuhun, jottei hän voisi paeta. Päivällä hän käveli Gebrin
hevosen vieressä, mikä huvitti Chamista.

Nel itki pojan kärsimyksiä. Stas puhui usein Kalin puolesta, mutta
kun hän huomasi sen vain yllyttävän Gebriä, hän vaikeni hammasta
purren.

Mutta Kali oli ymmärtänyt lasten tahtovan hänen parastaan ja

rakasti heitä syvästi.

Viimeisinä kahtena päivänä he olivat ajaneet pitkin kivistä notkoa,

jonka kahden puolen oli korkeat kalliot. Sateisena aikana notko oli
täynnä vettä, mutta nyt oli maa melkein kuivaa. Gebr oli lähtenyt
kulkemaan notkoa pitkin, koska se vähitellen kohosi, ja tästä syystä
hän otaksui joutuvansa korkealle paikalle, josta päivällä saattaisi
nähdä savut ja yöllä tulet Smainin leiristä. Notko oli paikoin niin
ahdas, että vain kaksi hevosta saattoi kulkea vierekkäin, mutta toisin
paikoin se levisi laaksoiksi, joita korkeat kalliot ympäröivät. Näillä
kallioilla istui paviaaneja, jotka leikittelivät keskenään ja näyttivät
hampaitaan karavaanille.

Iltapäivän viides tunti oli kulumassa. Aurinko teki laskua. Gebr

ajatteli yömajaa, mutta hän tahtoi etsiä laakson, johon voisi laittaa
zeriban, aitauksen, okaisista mimosa- ja akaasiapensaista karavaanin
suojaksi petoeläimiä vastaan. Saba juoksi edellä haukkuen apinoita,
ja sen haukunta kajahteli kallioitten välissä.

Mutta yhtäkkiä haukunta lakkasi, ja hetken kuluttua koira karkasi

täyttä laukkaa hevosten luo selkäkarvat pystyssä ja häntä koipien
välissä. Beduiinit ja Gebr ymmärsivät, että se pelkäsi jotakin, mutta
ratsastivat eteenpäin nähdäkseen, mikä siellä oli.
 Vähän matkaa ratsastettuaan he pysäyttivät hevosensa ja jäivät
kuin kivettyneinä katsomaan kauhistuttavaa näkyä.

Pienellä kalliolla keskellä laajaa laaksoa makasi leijona. Se oli

korkeintaan sadan askelen päässä heistä. Kun tuo mahtava eläin
huomasi ajajat ja hevoset, se nousi istumaan ja katsoi tulijoihin.
Laskeva aurinko valaisi sen suuren pään ja kiharaisen rinnan, ja
tässä punertavassa valaistuksessa se muistutti sfinksejä, jotka
koristavat vanhojen egyptiläisten temppelien käytäviä.

Hevoset rupesivat peräytymään, eivätkä kauhistuneet ratsastajat

tienneet mitä tehdä. Kuului avuttomia ja tuskaisia huudahduksia:
"Allah! Bismillah! Allah Akbar!"

Erämaan kuningas katsoi heihin kallioltaan liikkumattomana kuin

pronssiveistos. Gebr ja Chamis olivat kuulleet kauppamiehiltä, jotka
ostavat norsunluuta ja kumia, että leijonat usein sulkevat tien
karavaaneilta, joiden tästä syystä täytyy tehdä suuria kierroksia.
Mutta nyt se oli mahdotonta. He saattoivat kääntyä ja paeta, mutta
siinä tapauksessa olisi peto varmaan lähtenyt ajamaan heitä takaa.

Kuului hätäisiä kysymyksiä ja huudahduksia:

— Mitä tehdä?

— Allah! Ehkä se väistyy!

— Ei väisty!

Taas oli aivan hiljaista. Kuului vain hevosten korskuntaa ja

ihmisten hätäistä hengitystä.
 — Päästetään Kali irti, Chamis sanoi kiireesti Gebrille, — ja
paetaan hevosilla, niin leijona tappaa hänet ja jättää meidät
rauhaan.

— Niin! Niin! vahvistivat beduiinit.

Mutta Gebr arveli, että Kali kiipeäisi heti jyrkälle kallioseinämälle,

ja leijona lähtisi ajamaan hevosia takaa. Sitten hän aikoi surmata
orjan ja jättää siihen, ja kun peto hyökkäisi heidän peräänsä, se
tuntisi veren hajua ja pysähtyisi syömään.

Gebr veti köyteen sidotun Kalin luokseen ja nosti jo veitsensä,

mutta
Stas tarttui yhtäkkiä hänen väljään hihaansa.

— Mitä sinä teet, roisto?

Gebr aikoi riuhtaista kätensä irti, mutta hiha oli niin suuri, ettei se
niinkään helposti onnistunut. Hän sähisi raivoisasti:

— Koira, jollei yksi riitä, pistän sinutkin kuoliaaksi! Kautta

Allahin minä pistän sinutkin kuoliaaksi!

Stas kalpeni pelosta, että Gebr panisi uhkauksensa täytäntöön, ja

hän kiskoi hihasta kahta voimakkaammin sanoen:

— Anna pyssyni, niin ammun leijonan! Beduiinit pelästyivät

kuullessaan nämä sanat, mutta Chamis, joka oli nähnyt Stasin
ampuvan Port Saidissa, huusi samassa:

— Anna pyssy hänelle! Hän tappaa leijonan!

 Gebr muisti, kuinka Stas oli ampunut Karun-järvellä ja luopui
vaaran uhatessa heti vastarinnasta. Hän antoi luodikon pojalle ja
Chamis aukaisi patruunalaukun, josta Stas sieppasi kouransa täyteen
ja alkoi ladata pyssyä astuen samalla eteenpäin.

Ensi askeleilla hän oli kuin huumaantunut ja näki vain itsensä ja

Nelin ja tytön kaulassa Gebrin veitsen jäljen. Mutta pian sai läheinen,
hirvittävä vaara hänet unohtamaan kaiken muun. Hänen edessään
oli leijona.

Kun Stas näki pedon, hänen silmissään musteni, kasvot kylmenivät

ja jalat tulivat lyijynraskaiksi. Hengitys salpautui. Hän oli Port
Saidissa lukenut leijonanmetsästyksestä, mutta oli aivan toista lukea
kirjoista kuin katsoa petoa silmästä silmään. Arabit pidättivät
hengitystään, sillä he eivät olleet ikinä nähneet mitään tällaista.
Toisella puolella pieni poika, joka korkeitten kallioitten keskellä näytti
vieläkin pienemmältä, toisella auringon kultaama, ylivoimainen,
julma petoeläin.

Tahtonsa lujuudella Stas voitti pelon aiheuttaman tunnottomuuden

jaloissaan ja astui eteenpäin. Hetken aikaa hänestä tuntui kuin
hänen sydämensä olisi noussut kurkkuun, ja sitä kesti kunnes hän oli
nostanut pyssynperän olkapäätään vasten. Nyt hän ajatteli muuta.
Mennäkö vielä lähemmäksi vai ampuako jo? Mihin tähdätä? Mitä
lyhyempi matka, sitä varmemmin sattuu… Siis lähemmäksi!
lähemmäksi! Neljäkymmentä askelta… liian paljon…
kolmekymmentä… kaksikymmentä… Tuuli toi jo väkevää
petoeläimen hajua…

Stas pysähtyi.
 — Kuula silmäin väliin, muuten hukka minut perii! ajatteli hän. —
Nimeen Isän ja Pojan…

Leijona ojensihe ja painoi sitten päänsä alas. Sen huulet

avautuivat ja kulmakarvat rypistyivät. Jokin kehno olento oli
uskaltanut lähestyä sitä liian lähelle — ja se valmistautui
hyökkäykseen vetäytyen hiukan takakäpälilleen…

Stas näki pedon pään tähtäimen keskellä — ja veti liipasimesta.

Pamahti. Leijona nousi täyteen korkeuteensa ja kaatui sitten

taaksepäin.

Kuolemankouristuksissaan se putosi kalliolta maahan.

Stas piti kivääriä vielä hetken ampuma-asennossa, mutta kun hän

näki kouristusten loppuvan ja kellertävän ruumiin makaavan
hervottomana, hän aukaisi kiväärinsä lukon ja pani uuden patruunan
ammutun sijaan.

Gebr, Chamis ja beduiinit eivät nähneet heti, mitä oli tapahtunut,

koska kaikki oli vielä savun peitossa. Kun savu oli hälvennyt, he
alkoivat huutaa aikoen rientää Stasin luo, mutta mikään voima ei
olisi saanut hevosia astumaan askeltakaan eteenpäin.

Stas kääntyi ympäri, silmäili neljää arabialaista ja iski katseensa

Gebriin.

— Nyt on mittasi täynnä, ajatteli hän. — Nyt sinä et surmaa enää

Neliä etkä ketään muutakaan.

Stas tunsi taaskin poskiensa ja nenänsä kylmenevän, mutta ei

pelosta, vaan järkähtämättömästä päätöksestä, joka muutti hänen
sydämensä rautapalaseksi.

— He ovat roistoja pyöveleitä, murhamiehiä, ja Nel on heidän

käsissään!… Tämä ei ole murha! ajatteli hän.

Stas lähestyi heitä, jäi seisomaan ja vei salaman nopeasti

pyssynperän poskelleen.

Kaksi laukausta, toinen heti toisen jälkeen, kajahti kallioitten

keskellä. Gebr kaatui maahan kuin hiekkasäkki, ja Chamis kyykähti
eteenpäin painaen verisen otsansa hevosen harjaan.

Molemmat beduiinit huusivat kauheasti, hyppäsivät alas hevosilta

ja hyökkäsivät Stasia kohti. Stas toivoi, että he olisivat paenneet ja
siten pelastaneet henkensä, mutta sokean raivon valtaamina he
luulivat ehtivänsä hakata pojan kappaleiksi, ennenkuin tämä saisi
pyssynsä uudestaan ladatuksi. Mutta he olivat juosseet tuskin paria
kymmentä askelta, kun kivääri pamahti kaksi kertaa pahaenteisesti,
ja beduiinit kaatuivat kasvoilleen maahan.

Toinen, jota hätäinen laukaus ei ollut heti tappanut, kömpi

seisomaan, mutta samassa silmänräpäyksessä Saba puri hampaansa
miehen niskaan.

Seurasi kuolonhiljaisuus.

Sen keskeytti Kalin tuskallinen huuto. Hän heittäytyi polvilleen,

ojensi kätensä ja huusi ki-suahelin kielellä:

— Bwana Kubwa! (Suuri herra!) Tapa leijona, tapa pahat ihmiset,

mutta älä tapa Kalia!
 Stas ei kuullut hänen huutoaan. Hän tuijotti hetken aikaa
mielettömästi eteensä, mutta huomattuaan Nelin kalpeat kasvot ja
pelokkaat silmät hän juoksi tytön luo:

— Nel! Älä pelkää!… Nel! Me olemme vapaat!…

He olivat todellakin vapaat, mutta he olivat eksyksissä autiossa

Mustien maassa.

22

Ennenkuin Stas ja nuori neekeri olivat siirtäneet arabien ja leijonan

ruumiit notkon laitaan, oli aurinko laskeutunut vieläkin alemmaksi, ja
kohta olisi yö. Orja osoitti rintaansa, sitten kuollutta leijonaa ja sanoi
suutaan maiskutellen: "Msuri njama" (hyvää lihaa). Mutta lähelle
ruumiita ei voinut jäädä yöksi. Stas käski hänen ottaa kiinni hevoset,
jotka olivat paenneet laukauksia.

Musta poika menetteli viisaasti. Sen sijaan, että olisi ajanut

hevosia takaa notkoja pitkin, jolloin nämä olisivat paenneet yhä
kauemmaksi, hän kiipesi kallionseinämän yli ja sai saarretuksi neljä
niistä. Mutta Gebrin ja Chamiksen hevosia ei näkynyt. Mutta hyvä
näinkin: neljä hevosta ja muuliaasi, joka järkyttävien tapausten
aikana oli pysynyt täysin rauhallisena. Se löytyi solan mutkan takaa,
missä se söi ruohoa. Sudanilaiset hevoset näkevät usein petoeläimiä,
mutta leijonaa ne pelkäävät kuitenkin. Oli siis vaikea viedä ne kallion
ohi, jonka juurella oli suuri vesilätäkkö. Hevoset nuuskivat ja
korskuivat, mutta kun aasi meni ohi korvat luimussa, seurasivat
ratsut sen esimerkkiä.
 Vaikka oli jo yö, he ajoivat vielä noin kilometrin matkan ja
pysähtyivät amfiteatterin tapaiseen laaksoon, jossa kasvoi
orjantappuroita ja pistäviä mimosapensaita.

— Herra, nuori neekeri sanoi, — Kali tekee tulen, suuren tulen!

Hän veti esiin leveän sudanilaisen miekan, jonka oli ottanut

kuolleelta Gebriltä, ja alkoi sillä katkoa pensaita ja pieniä puita. Kun
hän oli sytyttänyt tulen, hän varasi polttopuita vielä yönkin varalle.

Yhdessä Stasin kanssa hän pystytti teltan Nelille korkean

kallioseinän viereen ja teki teltan ympärille zeriban, aitauksen
okaisista pensaista. Hevoset eivät mahtuneet zeriban sisään, ja kun
metalliastiat ja säkit oli otettu niiden selästä, niiden etujalat sidottiin
jotteivät ne poistuisi liian kauaksi ruohoa ja vettä hakemaan. Mea
muuten löysikin kallionkolosta vettä, joka riitti sekä hevosille että
Chamiksen ampumien lintujen keittämiseen. Aasin kuormasta löytyi
durraa, vähäsen suolaa ja kuivattua maniokkijuurta.

Illallinen oli runsas, ja Kali ja Mea soivatkin aika lailla. Nuori

neekeripoika, jota Gebr oli kiusannut nälällä söi kahden edestä. Hän
oli täydestä sydämestään kiitollinen uusille isännilleen ja lankesi
illallisen syötyään kasvoilleen Stasin ja Nelin eteen merkiksi, että
tahtoi olla koko ikänsä heidän orjanaan. Sitten hän yhtä nöyrästi
osoitti kunnioitustaan Stasin pyssylle, koska hän nähtävästi arveli,
että oli paras pysyä hyvissä väleissä niin julman aseen kanssa. Kali
sanoi valvovansa vuorotellen Mean kanssa, jottei tuli pääsisi "suuren
herran" ja "bibin" nukkuessa sammumaan. Ja hän istuutui Stasin
viereen ja alkoi hyräillä laulua, jossa tuon tuostakin toistuivat sanat:
"Simba kufa!", mikä ki-suahelin kielellä merkitsee: leijona on tapettu.
 Mutta "suuri herra" ja "bibi" eivät saaneet unta. Stasin pyynnöstä
Nel söi vähäsen linnunlihaa ja keitettyä durraa. Tyttö sanoi, ettei
hänen ole nälkä eikä uni, vaan jano. Stas pelkäsi hänen sairastuneen
kuumeeseen, mutta tytön kädet olivat kylmät. Stas sai hänet
menemään telttaan, johon hän oli valmistanut tytölle makuusijan,
tarkastettuaan ensin, ettei ruohossa ollut skorpioneja. Itse hän
istuutui pyssy kädessä kivelle vartioimaan pikku siskoa petoeläimiltä
siltä varalta, ettei nuotio peloittaisi niitä pois.

Sanomaton väsymys valtasi hänet. Itsekseen hän ajatteli: "Minä

olen tappanut Gebrin ja Chamiksen, olen tappanut beduiinit ja
leijonan — me olemme vapaat." Mutta oli kuin joku muu olisi
kuiskannut hänen korvaansa ne sanat, eikä hän olisi tiennyt, mitä ne
merkitsivät. Hän tunsi olevansa vapaa, mutta tunsi myös, että
jotakin kauheata oli tapahtunut, ja se painoi hänen rintaansa kuin
raskas kivi.

Vihdoin hänen ajatuksensa pysähtyivät. Hän katseli pitkän aikaa

suuria yöperhosia, jotka lentelivät tulen ympärillä, hänen päänsä
alkoi painua, ja hän nukahti. Kali nukkui myös, mutta hän heräsi
tuon tuostakin, ja lisäsi oksia nuotioon.

Ympärillä vallitsi syvä, öinen hiljaisuus, mikä on tropiikissa

harvinaista. Kuun valo ei yltänyt notkon pohjalle, mutta ylhäällä
taivaalla tuikkivat oudot tähtisikermät. Ilma kävi niin kylmäksi, että
Stas heräsi, pudisti unet silmistään ja rupesi pelkäämään, että Nel
saattaisi vilustua. Hän meni telttaan katsomaan, nukkuiko Nel ja
istuutui sitten lähemmäs tulta, rupesi torkkumaan ja nukahti sikeään
uneen.

Yhtäkkiä hän heräsi jalkojensa juuressa nukkuneen Saban

murinaan. Kali havahtui myös. He katsoivat levottomina koiraa, jonka
korvat liikkuivat sinnepäin, mistä he olivat saapuneet. Koira tuijotti
pimeyteen ja sen selkäkarvat pörhistyivät. Nuori orja heitti vikkelästi
kuivia oksia nuotioon.

— Herra, hän kuiskasi, — ota pyssy, ota pyssy! Stas otti

luodikkonsa ja asettui paikkaan, josta saattoi nähdä kauemmaksi
notkelmaan. Saban murina kiihtyi. Ensin oli pitkän aikaa hiljaista,
sitten kuului kolkkoa jyminää ikään kuin lauma suuria eläimiä olisi
ollut tulossa nuotiolle päin.

Stas ymmärsi heti, että vaara oli uhkaamassa. Mitä oli tehtävä?
Ehkä ne olivat puhveleita tai sarvikuonoja, jotka etsivät tietä ulos
notkosta. Jollei pyssynlaukaus säikähdyttäisi niitä pakoon, olisi
karavaani hukassa, sillä nämä eläimet tallaavat alleen kaiken, mitä
eteen osuu.

Entäpä jos kysymyksessä on jo Smainin osasto, joka on löytänyt

ruumiit notkosta ja lähtenyt ajamaan murhamiehiä takaa? Stas ei
itsekään tiennyt, kumpi olisi parempi, pikainen kuolema vai uusi
orjuus. Hän ajatteli, että jos Smain itse on mukana, hän ehkä
armahtaa heidät, mutta villit dervishit varmasti joko tappavat heidät
tai, mikä pahempi, kiduttavat julmasti. "Suokoon Jumala", hän
ajatteli, "niitten olevan petoeläimiä eikä ihmisiä!"

Jyminä kasvoi. Kuului jo kavioitten töminää. Vihdoin sukelsi

pimeydestä esiin eläimiä, jotka laukkasivat heitä kohti silmät kiiluen,
sieraimet pullistuneina ja harja koholla.

— Hevosia! huusi Kali.

Ne olivat todellakin Gebrin ja Chamiksen hevoset, jotka olivat

peloissaan juosseet täyttä laukkaa, mutta tultuaan valopiiriin ja
nähtyään toverinsa pysähtyivät.

Stas ei laskenut pyssyä olkapäältään, sillä hän odotti kohta

näkevänsä hevosten takana leijonan kiharaisen pään tai pantterin
laakean otsan. Mutta hän odotti turhaan, sillä hevoset rauhoittuivat
nopeasti ja Saba lakkasi murisemasta. Se pyöri muutaman kerran
paikallaan ympäri, laskeutui maahan, veti itsensä sykkyrään ja sulki
silmänsä. Jos joku petoeläin oli ajanut hevosia takaa, se oli
kääntynyt ympäri tunnettuaan savun hajua ja nähtyään tulen loimut
kallioilla.

— Kylläpä mahtoivatkin pelästyä, virkkoi Stas Kalille, — kun

juoksivat leijonan ja ihmisten ruumiitten ohi.

— Herra, neekeri vastasi, — Kali luulee, että niin on tapahtunut.

Paljon, paljon hyeenoja ja sakaaleja on tullut notkoon syömään
ruumiita. Hevoset pakenevat niitä, mutta ne eivät ahdista hevosia,
sillä ne syövät Gebriä ja niitä muita…

— Ehkä. Mutta menepä nyt riisumaan satulat hevosten selästä ja

tuo ne tänne. Älä pelkää, kyllä pyssyni suojelee sinua.

— Kali ei pelkää, vastasi neekeri. Työnnettyään oksakasaa syrjään

hän astui zeribasta ulos. Samassa tuli Nelkin teltasta.

Saba nousi heti ja meni tytön silitettäväksi, mutta tyttö vetikin

takaisin kätensä, jonka oli jo ojentanut koiraa kohti.

— Stas, mitä on tapahtunut? Nel kysyi.

— Ei mitään. Ne kaksi hevosta tulivat tänne. Herättikö niitten

töminä sinut?
 — Minä olin herännyt sitä ennen ja aioin tulla ulos teltasta,
mutta…

— Mutta mitä?

— Minä ajattelin, että sinä suutut.

— Minä? Sinulle?

Nel nosti silmänsä ja katsoi Stasiin toisin kuin koskaan ennen.

Tämä ihmetteli, sillä huomasi tytön äänessä ja ilmeessä pelkoa.

— Hän pelkää minua! Stas ajatteli.

Aluksi tämä ajatus hiveli suloisesti pojan mieltä. Nelin mielestä hän
siis oli enemmän kuin täysikasvuinen mies: julma soturi, joka levittää
pelkoa ympäristöönsä. Mutta sitä kesti vain hetken, sillä hänen
huomiokykynsä oli kouliintunut. Hän pani merkille, että tytön
ilmeessä ei ollut ainoastaan pelkoa, vaan myös inhoa kaikkea sitä
verenvuodatusta kohtaan, minkä hän oli joutunut näkemään. Hän
muisti, että tyttö ei ollut tahtonut hyväillä Sabaa siksi, että tämä oli
purrut toisen beduiinin kuoliaaksi.

Stas tunsi sydäntään ahdistavan. Aivan toista oli ollut lukea Port
Saidissa kirjoista, kuinka amerikkalaiset turkismetsästäjät
kaukaisessa lännessä tappoivat tusinoittain intiaaneja, kuin itse
tehdä niin ja nähdä ihmisten makaavan verissään ja vääntelehtivän
kuoleman tuskissa. Ei ollut ihme, että Nelin sydän oli täynnä tuskaa
ja inhoa. Katkeruus valtasi Stasin, sillä hän oli varma siitä, että ellei
Neliä olisi ollut, hän olisi aikoja sitten saanut surmansa tai paennut.
Nelin tähden hän oli kärsinyt kaiken, minkä oli kärsinyt, ja kaikesta
oli seurauksena se, että tyttö seisoi hänen edessään peloissaan ikään
kuin ei enää olisikaan entinen pikku sisko. Hän ei katsonut poikaa
enää luottavaisesti silmiin kuten ennen, vaan omituisen tuskaisesti.
Samassa Stas tunsi itsensä onnettomaksi. Ensi kerran hän oli
liikuttunut ja alakuloinen. Hänen silmänsä kyyneltyivät, ja jos
"julman soturin" vain olisi sopinut, hän olisi itkenyt ääneen. Mutta
hän hillitsi itsensä, kääntyi tytön puoleen ja kysyi:

— Pelkäätkö, Nel? Tyttö vastasi hiljaa:

— On niin… kauheaa!

Stas käski Kalin tuoda huopapeitteitä satuloista, levitti ne kivelle,

jolla hän oli istunut, ja sanoi:

— Istu tähän, Nel, nuotion viereen… Yö on kylmä. Kun sinun tulee

uni, niin nojaa pääsi minuun ja nuku.

Mutta Nel toisti:

— On niin kauheata!…

Stas kääri tytön viittaan, ja he istuivat pitkän aikaa ääneti nojaten

toisiinsa tulen punertavassa valossa. Zeriban takaa kuului hevosten
pärskyntää ja ruohon rouskuntaa niitten hampaissa.

— Kuule Nel, Stas sanoi, — minun täytyi tehdä niin… Gebr uhkasi
tappaa meidät jollei leijona pysähtyisi syömään Kalia, vaan lähtisi
ajamaan meitä takaa. Kuulitko? Muista, ettei hän uhannut
ainoastaan minua, vaan sinuakin. Minä vakuutan sinulle, että jollei
hän olisi uhannut, niin minäkään en olisi ampunut heitä, vaikka kyllä
olin sellaista ajatellut. Luulen, etten olisi voinut ampua. Mutta hänen
raakuudellaan ei ollut rajoja. Näithän itse, kuinka hän iloitsi Kalin
kärsimyksistä. Ja Chamis? Hän oli halpamaisesti pettänyt meidät!
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