Chapter VII: The Erlking

The next time I went to see Erik for a lesson, I walked along the corridor more rapidly and decisively than I had before, trying to avoid spending more time there than absolutely necessary. I felt stupid for doing so, since it was not like me to be afraid without any apparent reason. Christine was the one who believed in ghosts and spirits, not me, I told myself. Having reached Erik's door, I waited a few seconds to regain my composure. I knew I didn't have to knock, because Erik always seemed to know exactly when I arrived. This time was no different.

"Meg, come in!" he called from inside, quite cheerfully. He seemed to be in a good mood, so I plucked up the courage to pose him a question as I entered.

"I hope you don't mind my asking, Monsieur, but how did you know it was me?" I said, laughing nervously.

"I have many ways of knowing", Erik said. "The walls have eyes and ears." He laughed, as if he had just come up with a great joke. Seeing that I was not quite satisfied, he continued.

"In this case, I recognized the sound of your walk", he said, smiling like a conjurer who demonstrates a trick he himself finds childishly simple. "You have a very distinctive walk."

I looked down at my leg self-consciously, knowing that I limped very slightly. That limp had not been there a year ago, and I had hoped that no one would notice it now. In fact, I was sure most people didn't. Insignificant as it was, it had nevertheless shattered my career plans, and it was something I did not want to be reminded of. Seeing that he had hit a weak spot in me, Erik apologized.

"It is quite all right", I said. "Anyway, it's impressive, given the amount of walking there has been down here lately. I am sure you have heard about the accident."

"Yes, indeed", Erik said gravely. "That was very tragic. I was not in my room that morning, but of course, I have heard about it."

He did not look at me as he spoke. It appeared he was not too keen on discussing the subject. Instead, he started talking about music theory.

"Today", Erik began in his lecturing voice, "I would like to give you some examples of the use of the Neapolitan chord. Do you remember what that is?"

"Isn't it where you have a subdominant chord in a minor key, but replace the fifth with a minor sixth, creating a major chord in the first inversion?" I answered, trying to remember what Erik had said a week earlier.

"Yes, that is true", Erik answered. "An example would be the chord sequence Eb/G-A7-Dm in the key of d minor. It was considered the height of expressiveness during the days of early Italian opera. I dare say its impact would be lost on most contemporary listeners. But composers have used it for dramatic purposes, with magnificent results. Listen to this!"

Erik sat down at the piano and started playing. He was a remarkable pianist, with a touch that was sometimes light and sensitive, sometimes heavy and forceful, but always masterfully balanced. The piece seemed slightly familiar, as if I ought to know it.

"Do you recognize it?" Erik asked, breaking off abruptly. "This is a song by Schubert called Erlkönig, after a poem by Goethe. It is about a father who rides home through the forest with his young son. During the ride, the little boy sees the Erlking, the king of the elves, who beckons the child to come with him and see his wonderful world. The boy is frightened and calls out to his father, who reassures him that all there is is the fog and the dry leaves rustling in the wind. There is no Erlking. But then the king of the elves appears again and tempts the child, speaking of his beautiful fairy daughters. Once more, the boy cries out to his father, who does not see anything out of the ordinary. Finally, the Erlking says softly to the child, 'I love you, I am entranced by your beauty', and this is where Schubert uses the Neapolitan chord in d minor, Eb, which is a bright major chord, to lull us into a false sense of security. He fools us that we are in the key of Eb major, and that the king of the elves therefore must be benevolent. Then, suddenly, the music shifts back to a cadence in the original dark key of d minor, coinciding with the moment where the Erlking shows his true colors and says, 'and if you are not willing, I will use violence!' The child shrieks that the Erlking has hurt him, and the father, at last sensing the danger, speeds home, only to discover at the end of the journey that the child lies dead in his arms. It is music theory as drama, a masterpiece!"

Erik then proceeded to play the entire piece, starting with the introduction he had played previously, and moving on to where the singer comes in. From the very first phrase he sang, his voice left me dumbfounded. He had the most beautiful, powerful voice I had ever heard! He seemed to be able to alter his timbre with perfect ease, creating the different characters of the narrator, the father, the child and the Erlking. The voice of the father was deep, calm, warm and reassuring, and the child fragile, high, vulnerable and, at the end, shrill and heartbreakingly desperate. But Erik's Erlkönig was what truly sent shivers down my spine. It was entrancing, seductive, beckoning, irresistible, a siren's voice like no other. I was drawn in by it, forgetting that I was in college, in a classroom studying music theory, and that the man in front of me was just a man. At this moment, he was the king of the elves, and I was a child waiting to become his prey.

When we came to the place Erik had just discussed, where even the chord sequence, the very fabric of the song, plays along with the Erlking's deception, I was fully absorbed in the drama. I could see Erik's eyes soften as he sang

"Ich liebe dich, mir reizt deine schöne Gestalt"

and then gradually turn to steel during the next, terrifying, phrase

"Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt."

I felt as though the room had suddenly turned cold, and noticed that I was shivering. Erik's gaze was hard, commanding, dominant, displaying a power to which all resistance was useless. He was looking straight in front of him instead of at me, and for that moment, I had the impression that he had forgotten I was sitting next to him by the piano. Just for a few seconds, he let his guard down and I saw a part of Erik I was not supposed to see. It was as frightening as it was fascinating.

Before very long, the song ended, the strange atmosphere was gone and Erik continued talking about the Neapolitan chord as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I wasn't sure if part of what I had seen had been a product of my own imagination. The man was a genius, there was no doubt about that, but I thought I had noticed something else about him. He had in him the seed of insanity.