Erlkoenig WoO 131 (arranged by Béla Bartók for orchestra, BB A-3)
However, Becker strayed from the sketch in a number of important particulars. For example, after the boy's last cry, the sketch gives some notes described as "ritornello" by Beethoven; Becker changes them into a vocal line. Becker also amends the first note of the Erl-King's last verse by dropping it a fourth to an E instead of leaving it as an A with the rest of the first phrase. Finally, the final verse and the coda as completed by Becker are significantly different from the sketch. We present here 1) the unmodified skeleton of the sketch, as Beethoven wrote it and transcribed by Gustav Nottebohm (with the addition of a low D in the penultimate measure which is plainly visible on the autograph); 2) Becker's completion; and 3) Our modification of Becker's completion (based in large part upon suggestions by Alexander Singer in an article in the Musical Quarterly) to correspond more closely with the sketch.
The score of Becker's completion, with our modifications to match Beethoven's sketch more closely, may be downloaded here. This score is copyright The Unheard Beethoven, Inc. (BMI) and is for personal and educational use only. Please contact us for performance or recording information.
In about 1905, composer Béla Bartók (1881-1945) arranged Reinhold Becker's completion for orchestra, catalogued as BB A-3. The score is held by the University of Illinois, where we were able to examine it. He follows Becker very closely, and seems to have paid no attention to Beethoven's sketch materials, even though they were published together with Becker's completion. But Bartók's orchestration is undeniably creepy and effective. This is another world premiere for The Unheard Beethoven.
Erlkoenig
Wer reitet so spaet durch Nacht und Wind? Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind; Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm, Er fasst ihn sicher, er haelt ihn Warm. Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht? Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkoenig nicht? Den Erlenkoenig mit Kron und Schweif? Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif. "Du liebes Kind, komm, geh' mit mir, Gar schoene Spiele spiel' ich mit dir, Manch bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand, Meine Mutter hat manch guelden Gewand." Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hoerest du nicht, Wass Erlenkoenig mir leise verspricht? Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig mein Kind, In dueren Blaettern saeuselt der Wind. "Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir geh'n? Meine Toechter sollen dich warten schoen, Meine Toechter fuehren den naechtlichen Reihn, Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein." Mein Vater, mein Vater und siehst du nicht dort Erlenkoenigs Toechter am duestern Ort? Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh' es genau; Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau. "Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schoene Gestalt; Und bist du nicht willig so brauch ich Gewalt." Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt fasst er mich an! Erlkoenig hat mir ein Leids gethan! Dem Vater grausest's, er reitet geschwind, Er haelt in den Armen das aechzende Kind, Erreicht dem Hof mit Muehe und Noth - In seinen Armen das Kind war todt. Goethe.
The Erl-King
Who rides thro' the night, so dark and wild? A father bearing his darling child. He holds the boy in his shelt'ring arm, He holds him closely, to keep him warm. My son, why hid'st thou in terror thy face? The Erl-king, father, keeps with us pace, The Erl-king rides with a staff and shroud. My son, my son, 't is but a passing cloud. "My pretty boy, come home with me, The finest games I'll play there with thee; The fairest flowers are growing there, And my mother, too, has toys fine and rare!" O father, dear father, and canst thou not hear The Erl-king whispering now in mine ear? Hush, hush! my darling, be at ease, The wind is rustling thro' the bare trees. "Thou pretty boy, wilt thou with me go? Thee the finest toys shall my daughters show; Ev'ry night my daughters their revels their keep, They'll rock thee and pet thee and sing the to sleep!" O father, dear father, and see-est thou not The Erl-king's daughters at that dread spot? My son, my son, I see them quite plain, The willowtrees looming grey thro' the rain. "I love thee, child, and will brook no longer delay And, art thou not willing, I'll force thee away!" O father, dear father, keep closer thy hold! The Erl-king grasps me, his hand is cold. The father shuddered, he spurred thro' the wild, And held still more closely the shivering child. He reached their home in terrible dread,- Fear changed to horror,- His child was dead. Translation: Harry Brett
WoO: 131