Johann Wolfgang
von Goethe:

Der Erlkönig

Wer reitet so spät
      durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater
      mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben
      wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher,
      er hält ihn warm.

»Mein Sohn, was birgst du
      so bang dein Gesicht?« -
»Siehst, Vater, du
      den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig
      mit Kron und Schweif?«
»Mein Sohn, es ist
      ein Nebelstreif.«

"Du liebes Kind,
      komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele
      spiel ich mit dir;
Manch bunte Blumen
      sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat
      manch gülden Gewand."

»Mein Vater, mein Vater,
      und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig
      mir leise verspricht?«
»Sei ruhig, bleibe
      ruhig, mein Kind:
In dürren Blättern
      säuselt der Wind.«

"Willst, feiner Knabe,
      du mit mir gehn?
Meine Töchter sollen
      dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen
      den nächtlichen Reihn
Und wiegen und tanzen
      und singen dich ein."

»Mein Vater, mein Vater,
      und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter
      am düsteren Ort?«
»Mein Sohn, mein Sohn,
      ich seh es genau:
Es scheinen die alten
      Weiden so grau.«

"Ich liebe dich, mich reizt
      deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig,
      so brauch ich Gewalt."
»Mein Vater, mein Vater,
      jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir
      ein Leids getan!«

Dem Vater grauset's,
      er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen
      das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof
      mit Müh' und Not:
In seinen Armen
      das Kind war tot.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe:

[ À la Franz Peter Schubert ]

Elf-King

Who's riding so late
      through night so wild?
It is a father,
      he holds his child;
his son he cradles
      within his arm,
he keeps and shields him
      from frost and harm.

"My son, are you hiding
      your face in fear?"
Oh, father, see
      the Elf-King appear!
The King of Elves
      with crown and tail!"
"My son, it's fogs
      adrift the vale!"

"Thou pretty child,
      do come with me!
Such fine amusements
      shall I have with thee;
such pretty flowers
      grow on the shore,
my mother's got
      gold dresses galore."

"My father, my father,
      and do you not hear
how Elf-King softly
      tries to endear?"
Be still now, stay
      composed, my son:
you hear the breezes
      through dry leaves run."

"Wilt, pretty youngster,
      thou come with me?
My daughters shall be
      attending thee;
my daughters nightly
      their dances keep
and cradle and coddle
      and sing you to sleep."

"My father, my father,
      and do you not see
daughters of Elf-King
      beckoning me?"
"My son, my son,
      I see them quite clear:
those old willows look so
      grizzled and queer."

"I love you, I'm roused by
      your beautiful shape:
And if you're not willing
      I'll have you by rape."
"My father, my father,
      he's coming for me!"
Elf-King has done me
      an injury!"

The father's flesh creeps,
      he's riding like wild
his arms are protecting
      the whimpering child —
he reaches at last
      the old homestead:
Still in his arms
      the child —
           was dead —

---

      On the face of it, this is a translation of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's famous ballad. Goethe's words are all there (in Schubert's German Lied, that is). But, really, I made - or at least intended to make - a translation of Goethe's text as set to music by Franz Schubert. And there is a big difference between - and an interesting history to - the two. So, dear Reader, please try to hear the Schubert song rather than read the Goethe poem.

      [And please forgive my fooling around with fonts [in order of personal appearance: Dark-gray Bookman Old Style for the Narrator, maroon Verdana (size -1) for the Father, green Mistral for the Son, and purple Edwardian Script ITC (size +1) for the Elf-King]. Confusing, disturbing, unconventional, irreverent? All of that and more: In other words, great fun!]

      [Now, if you happen to care not for my fonts of wisdom nor for my "dangling conversation", but, rather, want to sleuth where, how and why I cheated - or if you are interested primarily in Goethe, of course - please do get some help from one of the fine extant translations by, alphabetically, Thomas Andrews, and Knut W. Barde, and D.M. Black, and A.S. Kline, and Walter Meyer, and Sir Walter Scott, etc. Or have a look at a "literal" and an "adaptive" translation on Wikipedia — but, wiki shame on Wiki for withholding the name(s) of the translator(s)!]

      But, if they feel like I do, the unnamed translator(s) would be only slightly miffed at failing to be recognized. Translation bears its own rewards. Not only does it bring increased understanding of a work - allowing the translator much needed cursing room in the process - it also bestows unexpected riches from time to time. Such as, this time around, my lucky find of a marvellous website. Even heavenly Franz can be seen there, listening through big headphones, no less — and, I suppose, demanding, "Take me to your Lieder!" [pun courtesy of Tom Lehrer, sorry - but it does fit!]: Schubertlied.de offers a searchable list of Schubert songs with date of composition, further information, and Deutsch and opus numbers and, best of all, links to (at time of writing) 139 mp3 files of the songs themselves, as interpreted by Peter Schöne (baritone) and Boris Cepeda (piano). For instance don't miss their splendid rendition of the Erlkönig!

---

      Thus fortified, please realize that translating such a song into English is like sleepwalking on a razor's edge. The Schubert song kept playing in my mind as I was translating — no, I couldn't turn it off! — and its score allowed or denied, suggested or proscribed certain prosodial irregularities, not to mention tonal emphases of, or subliminal plays on, key words. Permit me therefore to give you an example of what I consider crossing the "literal" line — but in a good cause, naturally:

      A parent with an authoritative lower voice might prefer the second half of the second stanza to read

"Oh, father, see
      the Elf-King here!
The King of Elvés
      with crown and veil!"
"My son, that is
      a fairy tale!"

and, in the fourth stanza,

"Stay quiet, keep
      your cool, my son:
you hear the breezes
      through dried leaves run."

or, in language more appropriate to teaching the young,

"Be still now, keep
      your head, my child:
the breezes whisper
      in leaves defiled."

or, in the sixth stanza,

"My son, my son,
      it's clear as the day:
those old willow trees
      seem so gray."

...and I could well understand that. Besides, I did not want any of my efforts go to waste. However, I felt that using some of this higher up might endanger my precious Translator's License. Nevertheless, I remain enamored with the parental
"My son, that is
      a fairy tale!"
punch line...

      There is, of course, more to the problem of this translation. All too clearly, a discrepancy can be heard between these two strokes of genius, i.e., the Goethe poem and its Schubert setting. For, unlike the much more forgiving Müller Lieder, where word and music become one, there exists a - however productive - conflict between poetical and musical rhythms in Schubert's settings of most Goethe poems (though in none as strong as in the Erlkönig in my opinion). Aside the voices of the narrator, the father, the child and the Elf-King, Schubert makes even the horse's hoofbeats (reminescent of Gretchen's spinning wheel) resoundingly present: all in one short song. But what a song! And what difficult one to sing!

      In that context, it was not completely unreasonable for Goethe to reject (or, historically, ignore) Schubert's Erlkönig: He did not, and perhaps could not, recognize his own work in this exalted musical realm. Goethe's ballad found a much more dramatic expression in Schubert's song - but partly so at the expense of the originally much more smoothly flowing verse.

      So here the conflict occurs not just between the young genius and the old, between the (soon to be rejected) admirer and the admired. Goethe's text had indeed been pressed into the service of Schubert's music. Hard to accept for the legendary German "Dichterfürst" (Prince of Poetry), but hardly unprecedented in the history of mutual genius assessment (try, e.g., Tschaikovsky and Brahms).

      And add to this that Goethe was well-to-do, powerful, acknowledged in a big way and endowed with an even bigger ego; while Schubert was poor, meek and nigh unknown. And that Goethe's musical taste was at least as conventional - not to say pedestrian - as Schubert's poems (yes, poor Franzl did write some, but those are few, hard to find and, though touching, of no wider public interest — so just forget it and scroll down to the visuals...)