Preface
James William Sobaskie
Constraints and Misconceptions
As Lorraine Byrne Bodley suggests in the first chapter of our volume, Franz Schubert was thought a failure in the field of dramatic music throughout much of the twentieth century.1 This perception stemmed in part from the lack of critical acclaim for certain of his large-scale stage works, as well as ignorance of other projects that were never performed nor closely studied. For instance, the melodrama Die Zauberharfe (D. 644) and the Singspiel Die Zwillingsbrüder (D. 647) were briefly staged in Vienna during 1820, but they attracted little attention and enjoyed no revivals during the composer’s lifetime.2 Regrettably, the more substantial operas Alfonso und Estrella (D. 732; 1822)3 and Fierabras (D. 796;
1 Consider the following observation, published in 1982, which exemplifies a belief once commonly held: ‘Neither influence nor historical importance can be claimed for Schubert’s operas. […] Of the seventeen projects on which he embarked, seven were never finished and one survives incomplete. Four of the remainder are light pieces in a single act, but three –Des Teufels Lustschloss (1813–14), Alfonso und Estrella (1821–22) and Fierrabras (1823) – are among the most ambitious of Romantic operas. As works of art they are total failures. Like Haydn, but to an even greater degree, Schubert had no innate gift for the theatre. He was either unaware of this or thought it of no importance, for he never attempted to gain practical experience; and he compounded the deficiency by accepting librettos from personal friends with even less flair for drama or literature. […] A glance at the three big operas shows that, except in quality of musical invention, Schubert scarcely developed at all. Fierrabras is as disproportionately misshapen and as dramatically preposterous as Des Teufels Lustchloss [sic], the first opera he completed’; see Winton Dean, section X, ‘German Opera’, in The New Oxford History of Music, Vol. 8: The Age of Beethoven, 1790–1830, ed. Gerald Abraham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982), pp. 515–17.
2 For discussions of Schubert’s operatic projects, see Elizabeth Norman McKay, ‘Schubert as a Composer of Operas’, and Peter Branscombe, ‘Schubert and the Melodrama’, both in Schubert Studies: Problems of Style and Chronology, ed. Eva Badura-Skoda and Peter Branscombe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), pp. 85–104 and 105–41, respectively.
3 On Alfonso und Estrella, see Thomas A. Denny, ‘Schubert’s Operas: “The Judgment of History?”’, in The Cambridge Companion to Schubert, ed. Christopher H. Gibbs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 230–33.
1823)4 were never produced, while several other promising theatrical endeavours, including Adrast (D. 137; 1817),5 Claudine von Villa Bella (D. 239; 1815),6 and Der Graf von Gleichen (D. 918; 1827),7 as well as the sacred oratorio Lazarus (D. 689; 1820),8 remained incomplete at his death. Without positive critical reception of these works, and no demonstrable evidence of their influence on later composers, the opinion arose that Schubert lacked the capacity for dramatic music.
Many factors seem to have conspired to limit Schubert’s success in the venerable vocal domain. Italian and French opera remained dominant in early nineteenthcentury Vienna, and new, home-grown works were hard-pressed to compete. The unique achievements of Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail (K. 384; 1782) and Die Zauberflöte (K. 620; 1791) were difficult to duplicate and had not yet led to a strong, clearly defined German tradition, while the implications of Carl Maria von Weber’s Der Freischutz (Op. 77; 1821) had not yet been fully realized. There was limited local financial support for opera at the time, and, quite understandably, benefactors hesitated to take chances on unproven artists. Certainly the implications of the newly emerging Romantic aesthetic for dramatic music were not quite clear. And of course, Schubert needed to earn a living and could not focus solely on opera.9 While this survey surely represents an over-simplification of the composer’s creative circumstances, it appears that the time just was not right for Schubert to contribute to traditionally recognized dramatic genres.
Other misconceptions arose during the twentieth century. For instance, it was commonly held that Schubert was suited to smaller forms because of his miraculous melodic gifts.10 His Lieder – profoundly innovative, strikingly personal, extraordinarily numerous, and exceptionally popular – offered immediate
4 S ee Christine Martin’s chapter, ‘Pioneering German Musical Drama: Sung and Spoken Word in Schubert’s Fierabras’, in this volume.
5 On Adrast, see Elizabeth Norman McKay, ‘Schubert and Classical Opera: The Promise of Adrast ’, in Der vergessene Schubert: Franz Schubert auf der Bühne, ed. Erich Wolfgang Partsch and Oskar Pausch (Vienna: Böhlau Verlag, 1997), pp. 61–76.
6 S ee Lorraine Byrne Bodley’s chapter, ‘Opera that Vanished: Goethe, Schubert, and Claudine von Villa Bella’, in this volume.
7 S ee Lisa Feurzeig, ‘Elusive Intimacy in Schubert’s Final Opera: Der Graf von Gleichen’, in Rethinking Schubert, ed. Lorraine Byrne Bodley and Julian Horton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), pp. 333–54.
8 For more on Lazarus, see Leo Black, Franz Schubert: Music and Belief (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2003), pp. 82–91.
9 S ee John Gingerich, Schubert’s Beethoven Project (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014).
10 For a survey of some of the myths surrounding Schubert’s abilities as a ‘natural’ composer, see Christopher Gibbs, ‘“Poor Schubert”: Images and Legends of the Composer’, in The Cambridge Companion to Schubert, ed. Christopher Gibbs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 36–55.
and convincing proof. Reinforcing that view was the contention that Schubert could not handle larger forms.11 Within instrumental genres, his penchant for lyrical, otherworldly themes, notably in sonata structures, was seen to negate the teleological trajectory of his music, emphasizing instead moments of stasis and retention. Connected to such elements is the opinion that the composer’s ‘heavenly lengths’, to borrow Schumann’s evocative description of Schubert’s generous instrumental essays, were too repetitive and lacking in structural cohesion.12 As is widely acknowledged, until late in the twentieth century, the general assumption was that Beethoven’s motivic and structural methods represented the benchmark against which to measure the work of his contemporaries.13 In such comparisons, Schubert’s instrumental music often was found wanting: the distinct compositional principles and procedures underpinning the ‘heavenly length’ of his larger instrumental works were overlooked.14
11 Consider Henry Heathcote Statham’s assertion that: ‘The materials for exquisite musical structures are there, but the will or the power to combine them into an effective whole is wanting; and even those of his longer compositions which are quite balanced and symmetrical in form almost always affect one as too long, owing to their loosely-knit structure and want of verve and finish of detail. […]’; see Statham, My Thoughts on Music and Musicians (London: Chapman & Hall, 1892), pp. 328–9, quoted in Suzannah Clark, Analyzing Schubert (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), p. 43. Such criticism persisted into the twentieth century: ‘Indeed a certain flabbiness, manifesting itself in lack of ambition or of definite purpose, as in other ways, is one of Schubert’s chief weaknesses’. See Arthur Hutchings, Schubert, 1st edn (London: J. M. Dent, 1945) and rev. edn (London: J. M Dent, 1973). Fortunately this opinion began to change near the end of the century; see Thomas A. Denny, ‘Too Long? Too Loose? And Too Light? Critical Thoughts about Schubert’s Mature Finales’, Studies in Music 23 (1989), pp. 25–52.
12 For a reappraisal of Schumann’s familiar epithet, see Scott Burnham, ‘The “Heavenly Length” of Schubert’s Music’, Ideas 6/1 (1999).
13 On Beethoven’s approach to formal and motivic economy, see Scott Burnham, Beethoven Hero (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995).
14 Cur ious – and fortunately now anachronistic – condescension appears in some midtwentieth-century writing on Schubert’s instrumental music, as the following excerpt shows: ‘Schubert’s piano writing, even at its best, is less varied in texture than Beethoven’s and he accepted the sonata form with far less intellectual curiosity. He handles it in his own inimitable way and often, as in the first movement of the B flat Sonata, shows wonderful imagination in presenting a theme against a completely new harmonic background. But his general effects are usually less cumulative than Beethoven’s, and it is the individual beauties rather than the whole design that remain in the memory. Schubert made no attempt to curb his exuberant lyricism and frequently allowed single episodes to form themselves into completes designs of their own, regardless of the effect on the general plan of the work’.
See Phillip Radcliffe’s account in section VIII, ‘Piano Music’, in The New Oxford History
In the last few decades, however, scholars have begun to recognize that Schubert pursued a unique approach to large-scale structure, premised on different principles from those expressed in Beethoven’s music.15 Arising from this gradual shift in scholarly perspective is, on the one hand, an assertion that preconceptions have obscured the dramatic aspects of Schubert’s oeuvre, and on the other, a suggestion that the composer developed distinctive ways of incorporating drama within genres other than those traditionally regarded as dramatic, such as opera, oratorio, passion, and cantata. In particular, it seems clear that Schubert’s vocal and instrumental music incorporates much more drama than previously recognized; his dramatic innovations were sensed yet not defined nor explained – awaiting appropriate contextualization. Such insights have contributed significantly to the enhanced view of Schubert’s music that has inspired the chapters of the present volume.
Evolving Images
While the emergence of new images of Franz Schubert and his music may be associated with the founding of the Neue Schubert-Ausgabe in 1965, and might be linked to the gradual increase in research that occurred thereafter, particularly with respect to sources, there is no doubt that scholarly interest in the composer has greatly accelerated in recent decades, leading to fundamental changes in our understanding of his artistic persona and compositional approach.16 These continue to evolve today and will do so for the foreseeable future as new research discoveries emerge. Several contributions have been especially consequential, particularly for those fascinated with the drama evident in Schubert’s music.
At the forefront of developments in Schubert scholarship has been the recognition of extreme expressive concentration in the composer’s Lieder. In this regard, Edward T. Cone’s essays on Schubert’s songs and instrumental music in the 1970s and 1980s set in motion a new scholarly trend, establishing frameworks for discussing issues of characterization, musical personae, and contextual processes.17
of Music, Vol. 8: The Age of Beethoven, 1790–1830, ed. Gerald Abraham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982), p. 374.
15 S ee Gordon Sly, ‘Schubert’s Innovations in Sonata Form: Compositional Logic and Structural Interpretation’, Journal of Music Theory 45/1 (2001), pp. 119–50, especially pp. 130–34. See also Hans-Joachim Hinrichsen, Untersuchungen zur Entwicklung der Sonatenform in der Instrumentalmusik Franz Schuberts (Tutzing: Hans Schneider, 1994); and Xavier Hascher, Schubert, la forme sonate et son évolution (Bern: Peter Lang, 1996).
16 For an overview see Lorraine Byrne Bodley and James William Sobaskie, ‘Introduction, Schubert Familiar and Unfamiliar: Continuing Conversations’, in Nineteenth-Century Music Review 13/1 (2016), pp. 3–9.
17 S ee Edward T. Cone, ‘Some Thoughts on “Erlkönig”’, ‘Persona, Protagonist, and Characters’, and ‘Text and Texture: Song and Performance’, in The Composer’s Voice (Berkeley:
Cone’s close focus on the idiosyncratic details of Schubert’s music, free of confining preconceptions, sketched an individuated approach to analysis whose influence may be detected throughout this book.
Since Cone’s pioneering studies, scholarship on Schubertian song has been thoroughly transformed by the magisterial work of Susan Youens. In her monographs, as well as sixty-some articles and book chapters, Youens probes beneath the musical surfaces of Schubert’s songs to uncover the psychology of the poetic texts and characters portrayed therein, prominently positioning his music within the history of human expression.18 No less influential has been her demonstration that for a rewarding interpretation, each Lied should be perceived within the deepest and richest context possible. Her contribution to this volume illustrates both pursuits, confirming that her ever-expanding influence should not be underestimated.
Subsequent studies by Lisa Feurzeig,19 Marjorie Hirsch,20 Richard Kramer,21 Lorraine Byrne Bodley,22 and Lawrence Kramer23 have further enhanced the critical discourse on the cultural history of Schubert’s songs. Embedded within their scholarship is the proposition that Schubert cultivated a personalized form
University of California Press, 1974), pp. 1–19, 20–40, and 57–80, respectively; see also Cone, ‘Schubert’s Promissory Note: An Exercise in Musical Hermeneutics’, 19th-Century Music 5/3 (1982), pp. 233–41; and ‘Schubert’s Unfinished Business’, 19th-Century Music 7/3 (1984), pp. 222–32.
18 S ee Susan Youens, Retracing a Winter’s Journey: Schubert’s Winterreise (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1991); Franz Schubert: Die schöne Müllerin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992); Schubert’s Poets and the Making of Lieder (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); Schubert, Müller, and Die schöne Müllerin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); Schubert’s Late Lieder: Beyond the Song Cycles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002).
19 S ee Lisa Feurzeig, Schubert’s Lieder and the Philosophy of Early German Romanticism (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014).
20 S ee Marjorie Hirsch, ‘Schubert’s Greek Revival’, in Romantic Lieder and the Search for Lost Paradise (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), pp. 33–62.
21 S ee Richard Kramer, Distant Cycles: Schubert and the Conceiving of Song (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994).
22 S ee Lorraine Byrne Bodley, Schubert’s Goethe Settings (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003); Byrne Bodley, ‘In Pursuit of a Single Flame? On Schubert’s Settings of Goethe’s Poems’, NineteenthCentury Music Review 13/2 (2016), pp. 11–33; and Byrne Bodley, ‘Challenging the Context: Reception and Transformation in Schubert’s “Der Musensohn”, D 764, Op. 91 No. 1’, in Rethinking Schubert, ed. Lorraine Byrne Bodley and Julian Horton (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), pp. 437–55.
23 Lawrence Kramer, Franz Schubert: Sexuality, Subjectivity, Song (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998).
of intellectualism imbued with profound psychological insight.24 Perhaps more than any other, this component of Schubert’s evolving image will drive forthcoming research, since it banishes any remnant of condescension that might yet remain while providing new avenues for enquiry.
Alongside these scholarly developments in song studies, our understanding of Schubert’s instrumental music has been greatly enriched by Susan Wollenberg’s work on his stylistic ‘fingerprints’.25 In her recent monograph, Wollenberg elucidates the ways in which Schubert took compositional inspiration from his predecessors, notably Mozart, while simultaneously crafting his own distinctive stylistic idiom based on such elements as ‘violent’ outbursts, ‘poetic’ transitions, and threefold constructions, together with his fondness for modal interchange, Neapolitan harmonies, and lyrical melody.26 What emerges from Wollenberg’s close investigations of these fingerprints is a compelling view that Schubert’s instrumental style is influenced above all by the musical and poetic worlds of song.
Equally illuminating are Robert Hatten’s semiotic readings of the topical and gestural universe of Schubert’s Piano Sonatas in A minor, D. 784, G major, D. 894, and A major, D. 959.27 Hatten’s work has drawn attention to the multilayered nature of Schubertian drama and its physicality, as well as more generally contributing fresh perspectives to the evolving image of Schubert’s compositional and artistic approach.28 His contextual approach, which recalls that of Cone, informs many studies within this volume.
24 On S chubert’s cultural milieu, see David Gramit, ‘“The Passion for Friendship”: Music, Cultivation, and Identity in Schubert’s Circle’, in The Cambridge Companion to Schubert, ed. Christopher H. Gibbs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 56–71; see also Christopher H. Gibbs and Morten Solvik, eds, Franz Schubert and His World (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press 2014); and Raymond Erickson, ed., Schubert’s Vienna (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1997).
25 S ee Susan Wollenberg, ‘Schubert’s Transitions’, in Schubert Studies, ed. Brian Newbould (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998), pp. 16–61; ‘The C major String Quintet D 956: Schubert’s “Dissonance” Quintet?’, Schubert durch die Brille 28 (2002), pp. 45–55; ‘“Dort, wo du nicht bist, dort ist das Gluck”: Reflections on Schubert’s Second Themes’, Schubert durch die Brille 30 (2003), pp. 91–100; ‘Schubert’s Poetic Transitions’, in Le style instrumental de Schubert: Sources, analyse, evolution, ed. Xavier Hascher (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2007); pp. 261–77; and ‘From Song to Instrumental Style: Some Schubert Fingerprints’, in Rethinking Schubert, ed. Lorraine Byrne Bodley and Julian Horton (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), pp. 61–76.
26 S ee Susan Wollenberg, Schubert’s Fingerprints: Studies in the Instrumental Works (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011).
27 S ee Robert Hatten, Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes: Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2004).
28 S ee Robert Hatten, ‘A Surfeit of Musics: What Goethe’s Lyrics Concede When Set to Schubert’s Music’, Nineteenth-Century Music Review 5/2 (2008), pp. 7–18; ‘Schubert’s
In the field of music theory, scholars have offered fruitful reappraisals of the tonal and structural principles that govern Schubert’s instrumental works, with recent contributions focusing on the juxtaposition of paratactic and hypotactic modes of planning,29 chromatic elements,30 hexatonic cycles,31 and three-key expositions.32 Besides attracting significant analytical and theoretical attention, Schubert’s instrumental music also has prompted the development of innovative hermeneutic approaches to musical meaning and the representation of subjectivity in nineteenth-century culture. Prominent in this regard are the recent studies devoted to the Romantic ‘wanderer’ figure,33 gender and sexuality,34 and memory and nostalgia.35 Collectively, these approaches offer a range of critical lenses through which to interpret the distinct features of Schubert’s compositional style and cultural milieu.
Alchemy: Transformative Surfaces, Transfiguring Depths’, in Schubert’s Late Music: History, Theory, Style, ed. Lorraine Byrne Bodley and Julian Horton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), pp. 91–110.
29 S ee Su Yin Mak, ‘Schubert’s Sonata Forms and the Poetics of the Lyric’, Journal of Musicology 23/2 (2006), pp. 263–306; and Anne Hyland, ‘The “Tightened Bow”: Analysing the Juxtaposition of Drama and Lyricism in Schubert’s Paratactic Sonata-Form Movements’, in Irish Musical Studies, Vol. 11: Irish Musical Analysis, ed. Gareth Cox and Julian Horton (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2014), pp. 17–40.
30 S ee David Damschroder, Harmony in Schubert (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010); and James William Sobaskie, ‘The “Problem” of Schubert’s String Quintet’, NineteenthCentury Music Review 2/1 (2005), pp. 57–92.
31 Richard Cohn, ‘As Wonderful as Star Clusters: Instruments for Gazing at Tonality in Schubert’, 19th-Century Music 22 (1999), pp. 213–32.
32 On approaches to form in Schubert’s music, see Suzannah Clark, Analyzing Schubert (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011).
33 S ee Charles Fisk, Returning Cycles: Contexts for the Interpretation of Schubert’s Impromptus and Last Sonatas (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001).
34 S ee (among others) Maynard Solomon, ‘Franz Schubert and the Peacocks of Benvenuto Cellini’, 19th-Century Music 13/3 (1989), pp. 193–206; and Susan McClary, ‘Constructions of Subjectivity in Schubert’s Music’, in Queering the Pitch: The New Gay and Lesbian Musicology, ed. Philip Brett, Gary Thomas, and Elizabeth Wood (New York and London: Routledge, 1994), pp. 205–33.
35 On S chubertian memory and temporality, see the essays by Walter Frisch, John Daverio, John Gingerich, Charles Fisk, and Scott Burnham in the special issue ‘Music and Culture’ of The Musical Quarterly 84/4 (2000); and Benedict Taylor, ‘Schubert and the Construction of Memory: The String Quartet in A Minor, D. 804 (“Rosamunde”)’, Journal of the Royal Musical Association 139/1 (2014), pp. 41–88.
Avenues and Contributions
Drama in the Music of Franz Schubert responds to the surge of scholarly activity surrounding the composer over the past two decades and opens up new avenues of intellectual enquiry centred on the dramatic innovations perceptible within his music. Our volume offers a timely re-evaluation of the reception history of Schubert’s operatic works, presenting fresh perspectives on their musical content, while also uncovering previously unsuspected locations of drama in the vocal and instrumental music. In what follows we outline the volume’s main areas of investigation, providing a brief overview that, together with Laura Tunbridge’s more detailed Introduction, prepares readers for the ensuing chapters.
Our colleagues demonstrate that Schubert’s operatic innovations reside in his novel reinterpretation and fusion of inherited traditions. Such is the case in Claudine von Villa Bella, a neglected work that, as Lorraine Byrne Bodley explains, can be viewed as an exercise in ‘stylistic pluralism’, its distinct blend of French and Italian models suggesting an endeavour to ‘discover a blueprint for German opera’. Christine Martin explores the topic of theatrical hybridity in connection with Fierabras, focusing closely on Schubert’s new ways of transitioning between song and spoken word within a musical language that incorporates references to the parlante style and techniques associated with melodrama. The result, Martin suggests, is a work that straddles the boundaries between opera and German music drama.
As the chapters in Part II illustrate, in Schubert’s music, operatic gestures are not exclusive to the theatre, but also represent a prominent source of drama within his Lieder. Among the contributions that highlight this aspect of Schubertian dramaturgy are Marjorie Hirsch’s discussion of the aria-like lyricism of ‘Gretchen im Zwinger’, D. 564, and Susan Wollenberg’s identification of aria and recitative styles within the expressive landscape of ‘Adelwold und Emma’, D. 211. Continuing the theme of generic interplay, Susan Youens reveals that in ‘Gruppe aus dem Tartarus’, D. 583, Schubert not only draws upon operatic conventions but invokes a specific opera familiar to all of his listeners, Mozart’s Don Giovanni, reflecting its damnation scene in both the surface and the structure.
Behind several of the chapters in this volume, particularly those in Part III, lies the view that, in contrast to late eighteenth-century compositional style, where dramatic action is often conveyed at the surface level through a swift succession of contrasting topics, Schubertian drama resides in curious places. Its locations range from passages of poetic introspection, such as those explored by Xavier Hascher in his reading of the A major Piano Sonata, D. 959, to strange moments of stylistic and harmonic disjuncture, as discussed by Joe Davies in connection with the slow movements of the String Quintet, D. 956 and D. 959. In all three cases, the drama reverberates beyond the boundaries of the music, drawing us into its internal worlds, and resisting straightforward notions of tension and reconciliation.
Another mode of drama in Schubert’s music pertains to storytelling and the incorporation of characters and narrative in both texted and un-texted works. James William Sobaskie proposes that Schubert’s Mass in A major tells the story of a
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appearance. Crossing this valley-plain, we gradually ascended higher ground, and reached a small deserted village, consisting of large spacious huts. But though we turned off from it to the north, in order to prevent our little troop from dispersing to make booty, the best-mounted and most daring of them started off on their light mehára to see if something might not have been left to suit them.
Some little cultivation was to be seen around the village; but in general the country continued to bear the most evident traces of desolation. At length its dreary aspect became relieved, and we descended into a regularly formed valley called Gésgi, about five hundred yards broad, and enclosed between high cliffs of sandstone. This was the first regular valley-formation which we saw on our journey to Kánem; for as yet all depressions in the ground presented rather the character of hollows without a regular shelving or sloping in any direction. This valley, on the contrary, extending from north to south, was apparently the occasional channel of a small torrent, and, on account of the moisture extending over the whole of it, was adorned with several groups of palm-trees, and in several places with cornfields.
But while this valley presented great attraction to the European traveller, it was not less attractive to the covetous Arab freebooter; and all order ceasing in our little troop, the young inexperienced lads who composed our cortége dispersed in all directions. Some small flocks of sheep had been observed in the valley; and they were now pursued by part of our companions, while others ransacked the huts of a small hamlet situated on the western brow of the vale. It was very fortunate for us that no natives were lurking hereabouts, as they might have done immense mischief to our troop, scattered as it was about the country. Overweg and I were almost left alone, when, after having looked about in vain for traces of the footsteps of the horsemen who had gone in advance, we ascended the eastern slope, which was extremely steep and very difficult for the camels. Gradually our companions, fearing to expose themselves by staying behind, collected around us, and we proceeded in a south-easterly direction, when we soon came to another and more favoured valley, called Hénderí Síggesí, its bottom adorned with a thicker grove of
date-trees and with beautiful cornfields—that is to say, fields of wheat with their golden stalks waving in the wind—while the high ground, being elevated above the bottom of the valley about one hundred and twenty feet, was planted near the brow with fields of millet, which was just ripe, but not yet reaped. What with the rich vegetation, the steep cliffs, the yellowish crop, the burning hamlet, and the people endeavouring to make their escape, it formed a very interesting scene.
Keeping along the western brow, which in some places, where the rock lay bare, was extremely steep, we observed that several natives, including even two or three horsemen, had taken refuge in the thickest part of the date-grove, watching our motions. A small hamlet of straw huts of a peculiar shape, not unlike those of the Koyám described on a former occasion, and lying at the very brink of the steep rocky declivity, had been set on fire. Our wild, lawless companions now began to descend into the valley at a spot where the slope was more gradual, raising a war-cry in order to frighten those people who were hid in the grove. Five good horsemen would have sufficed to overthrow this whole troop of young unbearded lads, who were snapping their firelocks without being in general provided with balls. It was very lucky, indeed, that Overweg and I with our people kept well together in the foremost part of the train, for the natives, rushing suddenly out from their hiding place upon the stragglers, laid hold of two camels, with which they immediately made good their retreat, their young riders, who a moment before had shown such courage, having betimes jumped off their animals and run away. Our companions were now full of gesticulations and warlike threats; but nobody dared to attack the small body of men, and dispute with them their booty. We soon reached the level on the eastern side of the valley; but if we had hesitated before what course to pursue, we were now quite puzzled to find the whereabouts of the horsemen. Wandering thus up and down without any distinct direction, we of course, as it was not safe for us to dismount and take a moment’s rest, suffered great fatigue, after a whole day and night’s journey Meanwhile the sun had almost reached the zenith, and I felt extremely weak and exhausted.
At length some of the horsemen were seen, at a great distance beyond a more shallow dell, driving before them a herd of cattle; and rescued at length from the dangerous position in which we had been, destitute as we were of any sufficient protection, we hastened to cross the valley, and to join our more warlike and experienced friends. Falling in with them, we went together to a place a little further down this wide flat valley, where there were a small hamlet and stubble-fields. Here at length I hoped to get a little rest, and lay down in the scanty shade of a talha; but unfortunately there was no well here, and after a very short halt and a consultation, the order was given to proceed. I was scarcely able to mount my horse again and to follow the troop. The Arabs called this valley, which was very flat and produced no date-trees, Wády el Ghazál, but what its real name is I did not learn; it has of course nothing to do with the celebrated and larger valley of this name. The well was not far off, in another fine valley, or rather hollow, deeper than Wády el Ghazál, but much flatter than either Síggesí or Gésgí, and called Msállat or Amsállat. It was adorned with a wild profusion of mimosa, and in its deepest part provided with “kháttatír” or draw-wells, irrigating a fine plantation of cotton, the first we had yet seen in Kánem.
The Arabs had not made a very considerable booty, the Woghda having received intelligence of their approach and saved what they could. The whole result of the expedition was fifteen camels, a little more than three hundred head of cattle, and about fifteen hundred sheep and goats. The Arabs were for some time in great anxiety about Ghét, and a party of horsemen who had gone with him to a greater distance; but he joined us here, driving before him a large flock of sheep. We were busy watering our horses, and providing ourselves with this necessary element. But there was not much leisure; for scarcely had we begun to draw water, when the alarm was given that the Woghda were attacking us, and three bodies of horsemen were formed in order to protect the train and the booty. The main body rushed out of the valley on the south-east side, and drove the enemy back to a considerable distance; but the intention of encamping on the slope near this well was given up as too dangerous, and it was decided to go to a greater distance, though the intention of penetrating to Mʿawó seemed not as yet entirely to
be abandoned. It took us a considerable time to get out of this wooded valley, the Arabs being afraid of being attacked and losing their booty.
At length, the cattle and flocks having been driven in advance, we started, and, leaving the vale, ascended elevated rocky ground, from which, following a south-westerly direction, we descended, a little before two o’clock in the afternoon, into the narrower eastern part of a deep and beautiful valley, which here is adorned by a pretty grove of date-trees, while its western part expands into fine cultivated ground. Here we made a halt of about half an hour, in order to water the animals and replenish our skins; for not even here was it thought advisable to encamp, as it is regarded as a very inauspicious place, this being the spot where, in 1850, the Kél-owí fell upon the Welád Slimán and almost exterminated them. After so short a halt we again pursued our march. I was now so totally exhausted that I was obliged to dismount at short intervals and lie down for a moment; and once when left alone, it was only with the utmost exertion that I was able to mount my horse again; but nevertheless I managed to drag myself along. At length, about sunset, we chose a place for our encampment on the brow of the slope descending into a deep valley. Having now been thirty-four hours on horseback with only short and insufficient intervals, I fell senseless to the ground, and was considered by Mr. Overweg and our people as about to breathe my last. But after an hour’s repose I recovered a little, and, having had a good night’s rest, felt myself much stronger on the following morning, so that I could even undergo some exertion which was not exactly necessary.
Monday, Oct. 20.—Descended with our people into the valley when they went to fetch water. It is called Áláli Ádia, or Jerád, from a small hamlet lying on the highest ground, and called Áláli. The well was very rich and plentiful; but no traces of cultivation appeared at the foot of the date-trees. The slope was rather steep, and about one hundred and thirty feet high. The Arabs, who had contracted their encampment or “dowar” within the smallest possible compass, barricading it with their baggage, as all the empty bags which they had taken with them on the expedition were now full of corn from the
magazines of the enemy, were not at all at their ease, and seemed not to know exactly what course to take, whether to penetrate further in advance or to return. Several Fugábú and people belonging to Hallúf came to pay their respects to Sheikh Ghét; and a person of considerable authority, called Keghámma, or rather Keghámmafutébe (Seraskier of the West), the very man of whom we before had heard so much talk, came also and paid me a visit in my tent; for, being in a weak state, I had been obliged, when the sun became oppressive, to pitch my tent, as there was no shade. There being no other tent in the encampment, I received visits from several parties who wished to breakfast a little at their ease, and among others from a man called Kédel Batrám, Hallúf’s brother. Keghámma stated that he was certainly able to bring us to Kárká; but this was a mere pretence, and he himself retracted his promise shortly afterwards before the sheikh. Our cherished object lay still before us, at a considerable distance; but our friend Ghét thought that he had brought us already far enough to deserve some more presents, and plainly intimated as much to us through ʿAbdallah. Fortunately I had a handsome yellow cloth caftan with me, embroidered with gold, and towards evening, when I had recovered from a severe fit of fever which had suddenly attacked me in the afternoon, we went to pay our compliments to the chief, and begged him to accept of it; at the same time we told him we should be satisfied if we were enabled to visit the district belonging to the Keghámma. But the situation of the Arabs soon became more dangerous, and nothing was thought of but to retrace our steps westward with the greatest possible expedition.
I was lying sleepless in my tent, in a rather weak state, having scarcely tasted any kind of food for the last few days on account of my feverish state, when, in the latter part of the night, a great alarm was raised in the camp, and I heard the Arabs mount their horses and ride about in several detachments, raising their usual war-cry, “Yá riyáb, yá riyáb;” but I remained quietly on my mat, and was not even roused from my lethargical state when I received the intelligence that a numerous hostile army, consisting of the Woghda, the Médelé, the Shíri, and the people of the Eastern Keghámma, was advancing against the camp. I received this news with that
indifference with which a sick and exhausted man regards even the most important events. Neither did I stir when, with the first dawn of day on the 21st, the enemy having actually arrived within a short distance, our friends left the camp in order to offer battle. I heard about ten shots fired, but did not think that the Arabs would be beaten. Suddenly Overweg, who had saddled his horse at the very beginning of the alarm, called out anxiously to me that our friends were defeated, and, mounting his horse, started off at a gallop. My mounted servant, Bú Zéd, had long taken to his heels; and thus, while Mohammed was hastily saddling my horse, I flung my bernús over me, and grasping my pistols and gun, and throwing my double sack over the saddle, I mounted and started off towards the west, ordering Mohammed to cling fast to my horse’s tail. It was the very last moment, for at the same time the enemy began to attack the east side of the camp. All the people had fled, and I saw only the chief slave of Ghét, who, with great anxiety, entreated me to take his master’s state sword with me, that it might not fall into the hands of the enemy.
But I had not gone a great distance when I heard firing close behind me, and, turning round, saw the Arab horsemen rallying, and with the cry, “He keléb, keléb,” turn round against the enemy, who had dispersed in order to collect the spoil. I went on in order to inform Mr. Overweg, who, together with the Arabs who were mounted on camels, and even several horsemen, had fled to some distance and posted themselves on a hill. Assuring him that the danger was over, I returned with him to the camp, where we were rather surprised to find that not only all our luggage was gone, but that not even a vestige of my tent was left.
The enemy, attracted only by the English tent and Sheikh Ghét’s baggage, had scarcely touched the effects of the other people, but considered my tent as a fair prize and ran away with it. But the Arabs pursuing them, we got back most of our things. A leathern English bag of mine which contained some articles of value had been cut open, just, as it seemed, at the moment when our friends came up with the enemy. Our chief loss consisted in our cooking utensils and provisions; I also much regretted the loss of an English Prayer-Book,
which had belonged to Mr Richardson. Four of the Arabs had been killed, and thirty-four of the enemy. Mr. Overweg was busily employed in dressing some severe wounds inflicted on our friends. The Arabs were furious at the insolence, as they called it, of the enemy who had dared to attack them in their own encampment, and they swore they would now go and burn down all their hamlets and their corn. The horsemen actually left, but returned in the course of the afternoon rather silently, with a sullen face and unfavourable tidings; and before sunset they were once more obliged to defend their own encampment against another attack of the energetic natives; they, however, succeeded in beating them off. Hallúf distinguished himself greatly by his valour, killing three or four of the enemy with his own hand.
But notwithstanding this little victory, the forebodings for the night were very unfavourable, and our friends would certainly have decamped immediately if they had not been afraid that in the darkness of the night the greater part might take to their heels, and that a shameful flight would be followed by great loss of life and property. Accordingly they determined to remain till the next morning. But an anxious and restless night it was; for they had received authentic news that a body of from thirty to forty Wadáy horsemen were to join their enemies that night and to make a joint and last attack upon them; and they were well aware that the enemy had only been beaten from want of horses. All the horses remained saddled, and the whole night they sounded the watchcry; but the most restless was the renegade Jew ʿAbdallah, who felt convinced that this would be his last night, and was most anxious to get a razor in order to shave his head before the hour of death.
Wednesday, Oct. 22.—The night passed on without the enemy appearing, and with the dawn of day the sign for decamping was given, when everybody endeavoured to get in advance of his neighbour. The enemy, as was positively stated afterwards, arrived there about an hour later; but seeing that we were gone, did not choose to pursue us. Thus we left the most interesting part of Kánem behind us, the country once so thickly studded with large populous and celebrated towns, such as Njímiye, Agháfi, and all those places
which I shall describe in the Appendix from the account of the expeditions of Edrís Alawóma, with many rich valleys full of datetrees.
Keeping first in a westerly, and afterwards in a more southwesterly direction, through a rather uninteresting country, we arrived about eight o’clock in the morning in a wide vale called Tákulum, full of rich succulent herbage and fine trees, where, it being supposed that we were out of danger, it was decided to give the horses and camels a feed after having watered them. I, for my part, was extremely thankful for getting a few hours’ rest in the shade of a venerable acacia, near the gentle slope surrounding the hollow. But just in the greatest heat of the day we left this pleasant resting-place, near which is the ordinary residence of the keghámma, in the valley Kárafu, and followed a more north-westerly direction, ascending gradually from the vale, and entering a well-wooded district, where all the grass had recently been burnt, or was still burning; and in one place it was even with some danger that we found our way through the flames. This burning of the grass, as I have stated above, seems to be a general practice all over Negroland. Towards evening the country became quite open, and ahead of us a small range was seen, at the western foot of which our resting-place was said to be; but it seemed very distant, and it was quite dark when we made halt in two separate encampments, not being able to reach the point of destination. Our supper was very simple indeed; for, having lost all our provisions at the taking of the camp at Áláli, we were obliged to content ourselves with a few bad dates, the only thing we were able to obtain from our friend Sheikh Ghét.
Thursday, Oct. 23.—While our camels and people kept along the direct road, together with the train and part of the horsemen, Overweg and I, following Sheikh Ghét and his troop, took a more northerly direction, and passed the heat of the day in a fine valley. It was certainly one of the finest vales we had seen in the country, except that it did not produce date-trees. But the district of Shitáti, which we again had entered here, seems not to be favourable for that tree, while Shíri and the neighbourhood of Mawó is very productive in date-trees. Part of the bottom was laid out in cornfields,
irrigated from Kháttatír, near which some huts were standing, while a larger village, at present deserted, is situated on the brow of the slope dominating the valley. It is called Burka-drússo, or Burkadrústo. Here we enjoyed a few hours of tranquil repose; but with the exception of this our enjoyment was very scanty, having nothing to breakfast upon but a handful of dates and some water. But our material wants were inconsiderable in comparison with the disappointment which we felt, as we clearly saw that all hope of reaching the Bahar el Ghazál, or even Mʿawó, was to be given up, and the hope of attaining those districts had been the only reason which had induced us to join our fate with this band of freebooters. We had spent all the property that remained to us to enable us to undertake this expedition, and our reflections therefore were far from pleasant.
When the heat of the day had passed by, the Arabs pursued their march, and we followed them, re-ascending the higher level and marching over a pleasant country well adorned with trees and bushes, while we left a hollow called Núkko on our left, one of the three vales of Shitáti which bear this name, and further on crossing another one called Arnánko. When night approached, our companions began to put their horses into a gallop in order to arrive betimes, while we preferred going on more slowly.
The country here became more undulating, and afterwards even rugged, and we made our way as well as we could in the dark, stumbling along over a rugged ground in a north-westerly direction, and were not a little delighted when at length we saw the fires of the encampment, which this time had not been pitched on the highest level, but rather in a hollow not far from the well. Its name is Bír el Hamésh, or Yégil, or, as it is generally pronounced, Yíggeli. We were the more delighted to reach it, as we found here, not only all our people and luggage, but also provisions, and we were nearly famished. Of course, we were most cheerfully hailed by those of our servants whom, with the remainder of the Arabs, we had left at the Bír el Kúrna, and who had felt the greatest anxiety about our safety, on account of the many unfavourable rumours which had reached them with regard to the proceedings and sufferings of our party. They
had transported the camp from Bír el Kúrna to this place several days previously, and were looking forward to our return most anxiously. We immediately attacked a bowl of camel’s milk, and, thus materially comforted, rested outside our tents enjoying the freshness of the evening. The camp or dowar was rather narrow, being encumbered by the booty which had been taken from the enemy; and the people, dreading lest the enemy might follow them, all huddled closely together, and kept strict watch. In such circumstances the wailings of the women over the dead, which sounded through the night, accompanied by loud, mournful strokes on the great drum, could not fail to make a deep impression. However, we passed here tranquilly the following day, and enjoyed rest and repose the more as the weather was very oppressive.
We received here the positive news that the body of Wadáy horsemen who had come to the assistance of the Woghda, and had caused the Arabs so much fear and anxiety the day before, had returned to Mʿawó; and a very curious story was told with regard to them, which at once shows how highly these horsemen of Wadáy are respected by the Arabs, and the esteem which they themselves entertain for the latter. Thirty Wadáy horsemen were said to have arrived with the Woghda in consequence of their entreaties, and to have followed with them the traces of our friends, the Woghda representing to them that many of the latter had been killed. Thus they arrived in the morning when we had just left the camp at Áláli, and the dust raised by our host was plainly visible in the distance; but when the Woghda instigated the Wadáy people to go and attack that host, they wanted to assure themselves how many of the Arabs had fallen in the last battle, in which thirty-four of the Woghda were said to have been slain, and when they found only two tombs, the latter told them that in each there were ten bodies; but the Wadáy people, being anxious to make sure of the valour of their friends, had the tombs dug up, and found only two buried in each. Whereupon they stigmatized the Woghda as liars, and felt little inclined to follow the valiant robbers who had killed so many of the enemy, while they had lost so few of their own. But this story may have been adorned by our friends the Welád Slimán, who could not even deny that, besides a great deal of other booty from their own camp, which the
enemy had succeeded in carrying away, the chief of the Woghda could pride himself on the red bernús which we had given as a present to Sheikh Ghét; nay, he could even boast of four horses taken from the Arabs.
Sunday, Oct. 26.—This and the following day the Arabs were all busy in writing, or getting letters written, to Kúkawa, as a courier was to leave. I myself was almost the only person who did not get a note ready; for I could not muster sufficient energy to write a letter. Had I been strong enough, I should have had sufficient leisure to make up the whole journal of my excursion to the eastern parts of Kánem; but I was quite unable, and the consequence was, that this part of my diary always remained in a very rough state. Sheikh Ghét, who thought that we were greatly indebted to him for having seen so much of the country, sent for a variety of things; but we were only able to comply with very few of his wishes. On our telling him that we were not at all satisfied with what we had seen, and that, in order not to waste more time, we had the strongest wish to return to Kúkawa as soon as possible, he wanted to persuade us that he himself was to leave for the capital of Bórnu in five or six days. But we prudently chose to provide for ourselves, and not rely upon his promise.
Monday, Oct. 27.—The courier for Kúkawa left in the morning, and in the evening a party of freebooters made an attack upon the camels of the Arabs, but, being pursued by the horsemen, whose great merit it is to be ready for every emergency, they were obliged to leave their booty, and be contented to escape with their lives. The vale in which the well is situated is rather more exuberant than is the case generally, and there were several pools of stagnant water, from which the cattle were watered. There was even a real jungle, and here and there the den of a ferocious lion, who did not fail to levy his tribute on the various species of animal property of our friends, and evinced rather a fancy for giving some little variety to his meals; for a horse, a camel, and a bullock became his prey.
Tuesday, Oct. 28.—Seeing that there was a caravan of people forming to go to Kúkawa, while the Arabs intended once more to return to Burka-drússo, we at once went to the chief to inform him that we had made up our minds to go with the caravan. A chief of the
Haddáda, or rather Búngo, arrived with offerings of peace on the part of the Shíri, and came to see us, together with the chief mentioned above, Kédel Batrám who was the father-in-law of the khalífa of Mʿawó; Kóbber, or rather the head man of the Kóbber, and other great men of the Fugábú; and I amused them with my musical box. Overweg and I, disappointed in our expectations of penetrating further eastward, prepared for our return journey, and I bought a small skin of tolerable dates for half a túrkedí; while to ʿAbdallah, who had been our mediator with the chief, I made a present of a jeríd, in order not to remain his debtor
All this time I felt very unwell, which I attribute principally to the great changes of atmosphere, the nights being cool and the days very warm.
Friday, Oct. 31.—Though we were determined to return to Kúkawa, we had yet once more to go eastward. The Arabs removed their encampment to Arnánko, the hollow which we passed on our way from Burka-drússo to Yégil. There had been a great deal of uncertainty and dispute amongst them with reference to the place which they were to choose for their encampment; but though, on the following day, very unfavourable news was brought with regard to the security of the road to Bórnu, the departure of the caravan nevertheless remained fixed for the 2nd November; for in the morning one of the Welád Slimán arrived from Kúkawa, accompanied by two Bórnu horsemen, bringing letters from the vizier, requesting the Arabs, in the most urgent terms, to remove their encampment without delay to Késkawa, on the shore of the lake, whither he would not fail to send the whole remainder of their tribe who at that time were residing in Kúkawa; for he had positive news, he assured them, that the Tuarek were meditating another expedition against them on a large scale.
The report seemed not without foundation; for the three messengers had actually met, on their road between Bárrowa and Ngégimi, a party of ten Tuarek, three on foot, and the rest on horseback, and had only escaped by retreating into the swamps formed by the lake. This news, of course, spread considerable anxiety amongst the Arabs, who were still more harassed the same
day by information received to the effect that a party of fifteen Wadáy horsemen were lying in ambush in a neighbouring valley; and a body of horsemen were accordingly sent out to scour the country, but returned without having seen anybody.
Sunday, Nov. 2.—The day of our departure from Kánem at length arrived. Sorry as we were to leave the eastern shore of the lake unexplored, we convinced ourselves that the character of our mission did not allow us to risk our fate any longer by accompanying these freebooters. The camels we had taken with us on this expedition were so worn out that they were unable to carry even the little luggage we had left, and Sheikh Ghét made us a present of two camels, which, however, only proved sufficient for the short journey to Kúkawa; for the one fell a few paces from the northern gate on reaching the town, and the other a short distance from the southern gate on leaving it again on our expedition to Músgu.
The caravan with which we were to proceed was numerous; but the whole of the people were Kánembú, who carried their little luggage on pack-oxen and a few camels, while, besides ourselves, there were only two horsemen. But there were some respectable people among them, and even some women richly adorned with beads, and, with their fine regular features and slender forms, forming a strong contrast to the ugly physiognomy and square forms of the Bórnu females. The difference between the Bórnu and Kánembú is remarkable, although it is difficult to account for by historical deduction.
We were so fortunate as to perform our home-journey without any serious accident, although we had some slight alarms. The first of these occurred when we approached the town of Berí, and found all the inhabitants drawn up in battle-array, at a narrow passage some distance from the town; and at the first moment there was considerable alarm on both sides: but we soon learned that they had taken us for Tuarek, of whom a numerous freebooting party, consisting of two hundred camels and about as many horses, had a short time previously carried away all the cattle belonging to the place. The state of the country was so insecure that the inhabitants would not allow Mr. Overweg to stay here, notwithstanding his
earnest protestations, so that he was obliged to make up his mind to proceed with the caravan, although he was sensible of the danger connected with such an undertaking; and certainly, if we had met with a tolerably strong party of the Tuarek, our companions would have afforded us very little protection. We were so fortunate, however, as to pass through this infested track just at the time when an expedition, laden with booty, had returned homewards.
We, however, met more than forty Búdduma half a day’s journey beyond Ngégimi, armed with spears and shields, and clad in nothing but their leather apron. They had been occupied in preparing salt from the roots of the siwák or Capparis sodata; and when they saw the first part of our caravan coming through the thick forest, they commenced an attack, so that Overweg and I were obliged to fire a few random shots over their heads, when, seeing that we were stronger than they had supposed, and recognizing some friends among the Kánembú, they allowed us to pass unmolested. But our whole march from Ngégimi to Bárrowa, through the thick underwood with which the shores of the lake are here overgrown, resembled rather a flight than anything else.
On the 10th we reached the komádugu; and after some lively negotiation with the governor or shitíma, who resides in the town of Yó, I and my companion were allowed to cross the river the same afternoon; for it has become the custom with the rulers of Bórnu to use the river as a sort of political quarantine, a proceeding which of course they can only adopt as long as the river is full. During the greater part of the year everybody can pass at pleasure. Even after we had crossed, we were not allowed to continue our journey to the capital, before the messenger, who had been sent there to announce our arrival, had returned with the express permission that we might go on. The shores round the komádugu were greatly changed, the river being now at its highest. Extensive patches were cultivated with wheat, being regularly laid out in small quadrangular beds of from four to five feet in diameter, which were watered morning and evening from the river by means of buckets and channels.
We reached Kúkawa on the 14th, having met on the road a party of about fifty Welád Slimán, who were proceeding to join their
companions in Kánem. We were well received by our host, the vizier of Bórnu. We had already heard from the governor of Yó, that the sheikh and his vizier were about to leave in a few days on an expedition; and, being desirous of employing every means of becoming acquainted with new regions of this continent, we could not but avail ourselves of this opportunity, however difficult it was for us, owing to our entire want of means, to make the necessary preparations for another campaign, and although the destination of the expedition was not quite certain.
