Shoemaker's craft and Poet's art, Daily I learn by the heart.

First, all the leather smooth I hammer, Consonants then, and vowels I stammer.

Next must the thread be stiff with wax, Then I must learn it rhymes with Sachs.

David continued to tell of the difficulties of learning from a cobbler how to become a Mastersinger, though the cobbler was one himself. By the time David had finished telling Walther about the process of shoemaking and music making, Walther threw up his hands in despair.

"Defend me from learning--the cobbler's trade," he cried, half humorously, yet troubled.

"You must learn:

The shortened, long, and over-long tones; The paper mode, the black-ink mode; The scarlet, blue, and verdant tones; The hawthorn bloom, strawhalm, fennel mode: The tender, the dulcet, the rosy tone; The pa.s.sing pa.s.sion, the forgotten tone; The rosemary, wallflower mode; The rainbow mode and the nightingale mode The English tin, the cinnamon mode, Fresh pomegranates, green linden-bloom mode; The lonely gormandizer mode, The skylark, the snail, the barking tone; And the honey flower, the marjoram mode; The lion's skin, true pelican mode, The bright glittering thread mode."

"Dreadful, dreadful," cried poor Walther. "What an endless medley of tones!"

"Oh, those are only the t.i.tles; after that comes the singing--and it has to be according to rules, remember."

Walther groaned. David at once outlined some of the rules; they appeared quite hopeless.

"Why no one in the world could meet such demands, it is ridiculous."

"You had better not say so," David answered, significantly. "I want you to know that the great Mastersingers of Nuremberg run this thing; and it doesn't make any difference to anybody but you and Herr Pogner's daughter whether you approve or not." At the mention of Eva, Walther tried to control his feelings; he must try at least, the Lord help him--to come out somewhere in the midst of all that shoemaker's music of "modes" and "thread" and "b.u.t.tons" and what-not!

By this time the apprentices had erected a small stage with a chair and a desk upon it and a blackboard behind, with a piece of chalk hanging from a long string upon the board, and all about that funny arrangement were black curtains which could be drawn close.

"The Marker will let seven faults slip by," David explained to the knight; but if he finds more than seven it is all over for the candidate.

So G.o.d save you from disaster, May you, to-day, be a master,

he wound up poetically.

Having finished their preparations, the apprentices began to dance about in a ring. In the midst of the jollity in came Pogner from the sacristy; also, Beckmesser, who was the town clerk and a singer who believed in himself.

David took his place at the sacristy door, to let in the other Mastersingers, and the other apprentices stood waiting before the bench at back. Walther, sick to death through being teased by the apprentices, had sat himself down on the very front seat, and there, before all, was the dreaded Marker's seat. There was the great "singing chair"--where the candidate was to sit while under trial.

Pogner stood talking with the town clerk, Beckmesser.

"Herr Pogner," the latter was saying, "I know what this prize is to be, and I love your daughter with all my soul." Beckmesser, who was a rather old and absurd chap, made a sentimental and dramatic gesture.

"I want to beg of you if there is any preference shown, that it be shown to me."

"I cannot say there will be any favours shown, Beckmesser, but my plan should serve you well. Eva is to go to the best singer--in case of course that she loves him. She shall not be forced; and who sings so well as you?"

"Yet, in certain respects, I am weak," Beckmesser murmured. "I should like those weak points to be pa.s.sed over." He was a foxy old fellow, far too old for the lovely Eva, and he was quite willing to take an unfair advantage of his brother singers.

Walther then jumped from his chair and went to Pogner.

"Herr Pogner, may I have speech with you?" he asked.

"What, Sir Walther seeks me in singing school?"

"Yet it is a fitting place, because, to tell the truth, Herr Pogner, I came to Nuremberg town, solely for the love of art," he said promptly, hoping he would be forgiven for the lie. "I failed to mention this yesterday, but to-day it seems fitting to tell you because I wish to enter the compet.i.tion. In short, I wish to become a Mastersinger."

Walther was fairly amazed at his own bravado. At the same moment, Kunz Vogelgesang and Konrad Nachtigal entered.

"Vogelgesang, Nachtigal, listen to this: here is a n.o.ble knight, Walther of Stolzing, well known to me, who wishes to join our singing.

This is very fine. I am sure we all welcome you to our guild, Sir Walther," he cried heartily. Beckmesser, who had observed the handsome Walther, became uneasy.

"If anything should go wrong with my singing," he thought, "I should stand small chance any other way with this whipper-snapper. I'll go to-night beneath Eva's window and sing a serenade which will surely win her heart. I'll not lose her even if this great knight should prove to be a great singer." Every time he thought of Walther, it was with a sneer. On the whole, Beckmesser was a nasty little man, even though he was quite a singer. He was old and ugly and it was quite ridiculous of him to think of marrying Eva.

Walther, still speaking with Pogner, confessed:

"My strongest reason for entering this compet.i.tion is love for your dear daughter. I know well that she is to be the prize." Pogner was well pleased, for he liked the knight.

"I am glad to hear you say this, Sir Knight; but the matter has to be settled--after the promise I have given--according to certain regulations set down by the Mastersingers; but I shall try to give you the best of chances." Pogner said this heartily, for he would like to have that fine fellow for a son-in-law. Meanwhile, all the Mastersingers had arrived by way of the sacristy door, and Hans Sachs the very last. Kothner took from his pocket the list of names of those who were to sing, and standing apart, he began to call the roll. Each responded to his name, and then Pogner formally announced what the prize was to be. Each man cried that he would be the one to win the prize--since it was _such_ a prize.

"But remember," Pogner interrupted their enthusiasm, "although I am determined she shall marry none but him who wins the prize, if she should not love that singer, she shall not be forced, but shall remain single all the rest of her life"; and with that they had to be content.

"Let me make still a suggestion, Herr Pogner," Hans Sachs, the shoemaker spoke up. He loved Eva with all his heart, but he was good and true and fair. He knew that he was growing old, and that he sang so finely that it was not fair he should enter into such a compet.i.tion. If he sang for the prize, the contest would be won before it was begun. "Let me suggest that all the people of Nuremberg shall have a hand in choosing the best singer. To-morrow at the fete, let all the people hear the singers, and let theirs be the choice."

"Ho, ho! Then farewell, art," the Mastersingers cried, indignantly.

"That is a fine joke, indeed, Sachs. Pray what do the people know about art? What do they know of the singing master's rules? Bah!"

"Listen!" Sachs said, impressively. "That which the people approve, is good; they know naught of rule, but they know what beauty of song and theme is better that we. Leave it to the people's choice and you shall not rue it. Besides, a maiden's heart is to be disposed of, and those who are judges among us are not without selfish feelings. Let the people decide and leave the maiden free."

"Oh, I suppose you are thinking and speaking for yourself--a widower,"

Beckmesser cried, trying to belittle the shoemaker.

"So little is that so, my friends, that I shall not sing." Every one loved Hans Sachs and now recognized his generosity. "I am too old for such as she." Thereupon Beckmesser became furious, because he was older than Hans, yet he considered himself quite young enough to marry her.

"Well, my friends, there is one more piece of business: this young knight," leading forth Walther, "wishes to enter the race, and I present him with right good will." This was almost too much for the beset Beckmesser. He fairly foamed at the mouth.

"Now, I understand this matter," he muttered aside. "Pogner would have it seem that he treated us fairly in this matter, while in reality he had this handsome fellow up his sleeve. A knight at that, and if he can sing it certainly is all up with the rest of us." He loudly declared it was far too late for Walther to be let into the compet.i.tion; but there were several opinions about that, and a good deal of wrangling. All were somewhat afraid of Walther, not knowing that he had no confidence in his own singing or making of verses. At last it was decided that he should have a trial that morning.

"But thou must say who has been thy master," they insisted; whereupon Walther named a great master, Sir Walther of the Vogelweid.

"In truth," Hans Sachs said, nodding kindly. "He is a great master."

Hans meant to stand by the knight and to serve him if possible, because he seemed the best choice for Eva, whom Sachs loved above everything. Walther added that, for the most part, he had learned his songs from the birds, t.i.tmouses, and finches, and the like. He loved the woods and streams, and a joyous heart made him sing in spite of himself, and the song of birds was the one he loved best to imitate.

The others were inclined to jeer at these words, but Hans Sachs saw in them a beautiful nature, fine poesy.

"Very well, very well, let him begin," all cried, and so the knight took his place in the singer's chair while Beckmesser, who was appointed Marker, went to his place.

"As Marker, I guess I can settle his affair for him," Beckmesser muttered, in malice. All the while Walther, was in despair, having no confidence in himself.

"It is for thee, beloved," he murmured, trying to gain courage by putting his thoughts upon Eva. Then Beckmesser, hidden behind the curtain, cried:

"Now begin."

Walther hesitated a moment, then began, uncertainly, to sing. It was a beautiful song of the spring. At the end of the first part, Beckmesser scratched horribly upon his slate, and sighed in a most disconcerting manner. Walther listened and his heart nearly failed him, but he began again. This time he sang of winter, and as he went on he became so much inspired that he forgot his tremendous anxiety, rose from his chair, and sang pa.s.sionately, with _abandon_. When he came to a pause in the theme, Beckmesser burst into the group with his slate. It was all covered with chalk marks.

"Will you never have done," he shouted angrily. "I've no more room in which to set marks against you. If we must go on listening to such singing we must use the side of the church if we would have room to set down your mistakes." Every one but Hans Sachs burst out laughing.

"But I have not finished," Walther pleaded. "Will none of you let me finish my song, good friends? It is not fair."