Operas Every Child Should Know

"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 competition. 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 noble 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 competition 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 competition. 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 fête, 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 competition; 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, titmouses, 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 passionately, 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."

"That is true, that is true, not too much zeal, Beckmesser," Hans tried to interpose. Everybody was talking at once.

"I could not understand one word of his meaning," one cried.

"There was false time, false everything; it was ridiculous!" another shouted.

"The most absurd thing I ever heard," another called. In short, every one shouted and mocked and offered suggestions, except Hans Sachs who had stood apart, and after the first notes of Walther, had listened with great earnestness. In the midst of the excitement he came forward.

"Master Beckmesser, you have gone too far. We do not all agree with your opinion. The song which you despise, I find both beautiful, new, and free from fault. It is not such as we sing, but it is true and fine. I fear you have forgotten your own rules."

"Never, never!" the Marker shouted.

"Now, friends, hear my final word. This young knight shall be heard to the end." With a decisive gesture he motioned Walther to the chair again. All shouted "No, no!" but Sachs insisted and amidst the riot and hullabaloo Walther again began his song. His clear, beautiful voice was heard above the noise, but every one was engaged in telling what they thought about it. Only Sachs stood determined, trying to quiet the frightful uproar. Beckmesser was making a terrible to-do, and the apprentices were shouting with laughter, following the lead of their masters. After a little, Walther became so confused that at last he could sing no longer.

The apprentices began to dance wildly about their masters, and in the midst of the extraordinary scene, the knight descended from the chair, and turned away with a contemptuous glance. He was about to go, as the Mastersingers were struggling toward the door; but to add to the confusion the apprentices who had torn up the benches began marching about with them. While Walther, the Mastersingers, and the apprentices were struggling out, Sachs stood looking at the singer's chair, where Walther had lately sat, singing so beautifully that none but the splendid Sachs, with his good soul and his poetic nature, had been able to understand how great it was.

ACT II

Night of the same day came on, and David and other apprentices were putting up the shutters of their masters' houses, before it became too late. Hans Sachs's house – which was also his workshop – stood in a corner made by a little crooked path which crossed a Nuremberg street; while Pogner's house, much finer – altogether quite grand – stood opposite. Beside Hans's house grew an elder tree, and beside Pogner's, a lime. Magdalene, very anxious to know from David what had taken place in the church, had gone from her master's house with a little basket of the good things which David liked. This gave her a good excuse to seek him.

"What happened to the handsome knight?" she inquired, standing on Hans's side of the way, and speaking with David.

"Why what should happen? He was rejected, of course," David answered sulkily, while all the other apprentice boys laughed at him because Magdalene, his sweetheart, was trying to pump him.

"Ho, ho! Then you get nothing out of my basket," she answered, walking off. Again the boys mocked him, and he grew very angry, telling them to be off about their business. The quarrel grew so loud that finally Sachs, coming home unexpectedly, burst into the midst of them and scattered them.

"What is all this?" he cried.

"The rascals are plaguing me, master," David growled.

"Well, get thee within and light the lamp; lock up and bring the lamp here to me; after that, put the shoes on the lasts and go"; and as David went into the workshop to obey, Sachs followed. At that moment, Eva and her father passed along the path, and seeing the light in Sachs's house, Pogner peeped through the chink of the door.

"If Sachs is there I shall stop in and speak with him," he said to Eva. David just then came from the house with a lamp which he placed upon the work-bench, and seating himself began work upon a pair of shoes.

"To-morrow will be a fine day for the festival," Pogner said to his daughter, as they seated themselves upon a stone bench, on their own side of the path.

"But, father, must I certainly marry the best singer?" Eva asked anxiously.

"Not unless he pleases thee; but in case he does not, Eva, I have decided that thou shalt marry no other." He was interrupted by Magdalene who came to bid them to supper. Eva lingered behind to get a private word with her.

"What about the knight? Did he succeed?" she asked so anxiously that it broke Magdalene's heart to tell her the truth.

"David said not – but he would not tell what had happened."

"Maybe I can learn from Hans Sachs; he loves me very much, and may feel some distress over my trouble. I shall ask him." Just then Sachs came to the door of his house.

"Come, boy," he said to David, "put up thy work for the night, and get thee to bed; to-morrow will be a busy day. Put my stool and table outside the door that I may finish a pair of shoes, and then get thee to bed." David gathered up his tools, and after arranging Sachs's work bade him good night. Sachs sat down, with his hands behind his head, and instead of going at once to work, began to think upon the day's happenings – and other things, maybe. He leaned his arms upon the lower half of the door and sometimes spoke his thoughts aloud:

"Truly the young knight is a poet," he mused. Hans himself was a true poet, tender and loving, and he could think of nothing but Eva's good. Becoming nervous and apprehensive while thinking of her he began to hammer at a shoe, but again he ceased to work and tried to think. "I still hear that strain of the young knight's" and he tried to recall some part of the song. While he mused thus alone, Eva stole shyly over to the shop. It had now become quite dark and the neighbours were going to bed.

"Good evening, Master Sachs! You are still at work?" she asked softly. Hans started.

"Yes, my child, my dear Evchen. I am still at work. Why are you still awake? Ah, I know – it is about your fine new shoes that you have come, those for to-morrow!"