One year passed slowly by. Again it was spring-time, fragrant with the bursting of buds and melodious with the song of nesting birds. And now the return of the pilgrims was anxiously expected at Wartburg. But among them all, no heart was more anxious than Elizabeth's. Day after day she had sat in the casement overlooking the valley. Night after night she had knelt in fervent prayer for the safety of one who was a wanderer over the face of the earth. And daily would she go, attended by her maids, to the little wayside cross where Tannhäuser had knelt when the pilgrims passed by. Indeed, her whole life seemed to hang upon the love which she had given and could not recall. Her prayer was only that her loved one might be forgiven, and that she might see his face again before she died.One afternoon just at sunset while she knelt, as her custom was, before the cross, Wolfram von Eschenbach approached her. His love was still as noble and unselfish as it had been in former days, and so he longed almost as earnestly as she for the return of her pilgrim, forgiven. That she might be happy and restored to health was his great desire. To-day the sight of her pale and wasted features alarmed him."Health to you, my Princess!" he said saluting her, and then continued, "Methinks it is now about the time of year when our pilgrim band should return.""Hast heard any news?" she asked, starting up."None. But the hermit Peter is of opinion that they will be back before another change of the moon.""Ah, God grant that they may!" the Princess said, wearily sinking again before the cross.While Wolfram stood gazing sadly at her dear face, she suddenly turned her head, and a look of rapt attention came into her eyes."Listen!" she exclaimed softly while she sprang again to her feet. "Listen! do you not hear it? It istheirsong!"It was indeed the far-off chant of the pilgrims which her quick ear had caught. They were returning at last!Soon the little company came in sight, and then filed slowly by, rejoicing that their penance had been accepted and their sins forgiven. But to the eager eyes of the two onlookers one figure did not appear. Tannhäuser was not among them."He will never return!" said Elizabeth quietly; and giving one last despairing glance down the valley she fell upon her knees and made a last pitiful little prayer. It was that death might soon come to ease her aching heart. Until then she vowed devoted service to the church, and she asked in return that Tannhäuser might still be forgiven.The prayer ended, Elizabeth rose and slowly walked away toward the castle. Wolfram looked after her, as long as she was in sight, with a strange foreboding clutching at his heart-strings,—it was that he would never see her again alive.The sun had long since sunk, and the twilight was deepening, but Wolfram still lingered by the little cross made sacred by her presence. As he tarried, the evening star rose above the rim of hills and began to glow with peaceful brilliancy. It seemed to Wolfram as though the soul of Elizabeth were there, shining in that far-off sky. He began to sing a beautiful measure filled with this thought and beginning,"O thou sublime, sweet evening star!"Scarcely were the last notes silent when a pilgrim drew near. He was tattered, footsore and dejected, yet at the first glance Wolfram knew him."Tannhäuser!" he exclaimed. "What does this mean? Do not tell me that you have not received pardon, for the King would not allow you to return otherwise."Tannhäuser did not reply to his questions, but merely said,"Show me the road to the Venusberg. I have lost my way.""You have indeed lost your way, unhappy man, if you would return to that evil place!" exclaimed his friend. "But first tell me, have you been to Rome?""I have been to Rome.""Were not your sins forgiven?""You see how I return," answered Tannhäuser defiantly."I pray you, for old friendship's sake, tell me all!" pleaded Wolfram. "Did you not do penance, and then go before the Pope?""Aye, so I did! Every pain and penance set forth in the calendar I did faithfully perform. I afflicted my body with grievous blows. I gave all my substance to the poor. I ministered to the sick. I prayed night and morning before every shrine. I asked forgiveness continually, yet my soul felt heavy and oppressed. Then I went before the Holy Father and confessed all my sin. He had pardoned the other members of our band; but when he heard that I had lived a year in the Venusberg he was filled with horror and indignation."'Out of my sight!' he exclaimed. 'There is no mercy for such as you! As soon would I expect this staff in my hand to bud and bring forth green leaves.'"Thus am I for all time accursed," continued the wanderer bitterly. "There is but one thing left for me to do. The enchantress told me that all men would renounce me and that when I was driven from the world I could find refuge again in her grotto. I must turn to her.""Ah, do not go!" said Wolfram, laying a detaining hand upon his friend's shoulder. "Do not throw your last slender chance of salvation away; but live a life of good deeds and self-sacrifice! There was one who knelt at this cross only this evening and prayed to heaven for your pardon. Such prayers do not go unheeded!""Too late!" groaned Tannhäuser. "I am utterly unworthy and cast off! If you will not direct my steps to the Venusberg, I must summon the goddess herself to my aid."And raising his voice he called aloud to Venus, under the name of goddess, and asked her to aid his distress.Instantly the shades of evening were lighted by a ruddy glow, while a heavy fragrance smote the senses. In a radiant mist dim figures were seen which danced forward laughingly and beckoned and pointed. And down the bright broad pathway they trod, a flood of rose-coloured light streamed from a portal in the side of the hill, while there in the entrance stood Venus, a vision of evil beauty and charm."Farewell, forever!" cried Tannhäuser to his friend. "I go to the only haven left for me.""No, no!" exclaimed Wolfram; "an angel is even now pleading your cause in Heaven. It is the soul of Elizabeth! See!"He pointed as he spoke to a procession of woe that was filing out of the castle gate. It was a group of mourners bearing torches and chanting a solemn refrain. As it drew near a bier was discerned in the midst, and thereon lay the lifeless form of the Princess."Elizabeth! Ah, dear Lord have pity!" said Tannhäuser in hushed tones while he watched the procession advance. "Have pity and save me from the power of the evil one!"At these words the magic light of the Venusberg vanished as suddenly as it had come. The enchantress realised that her victim was lost to her forever.But Tannhäuser paid no heed to these things. He stood only gazing at the mournful procession which was passing by. At a gesture from Wolfram it halted; and then Tannhäuser came with slow, reverent steps to the side of the bier. As he sank upon his knees his strength suddenly left him and he felt as though his hold upon life were slipping away. But with it went his burden of sin and sorrow, leaving behind a blessed peace such as he had never known before."Elizabeth—dear saint in heaven—pray for me!" he murmured.His head sank down until his forehead touched her hand.Suddenly the intense stillness was broken by a thrilling cry from the outer edge of the circle."A miracle! a miracle!" said a voice.Wolfram pushed his way gently to his friend's side. In his hand was the Pope's staff—and it had budded and brought forth green leaves!"See the sign which God hath sent!" he said in hushed tones. "It is a token that all your sins are forgiven."Tannhäuser's face brightened into a glorious smile, but he uttered no sound. Instead, his head fell forward again until it was pillowed by Elizabeth's white arm. The way-worn pilgrim had ended his journey. The Knight of Song had heard the harmony of true love sung by a celestial choir. His wandering steps had been guided by the faith of one steadfast soul into the ways of peace.The Master Singers(Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg)You and I have just read of a song contest which ended sadly; so I know we shall be glad to read about another which ended in quite different fashion. But how that was, I cannot tell you beforehand. You must follow the story for yourself.At the time when the knights were glad to be known as minstrels—or "minnesingers," as they were called in Germany—the plain citizens and tradespeople were likewise interested in the art of song-writing. Sometimes they formed musical societies, or guilds, which laid down certain rules and offered prizes; and anyone was at liberty to try for these prizes, provided he obeyed all the rules.The quaint old city of Nuremberg was one of the chief music centres of the day, being widely noted for its guilds and contests. One of the leading societies was composed entirely of tradespeople, such as the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick-maker, and every fellow became so filled with the spirit of the times that he couldn't sharpen a knife or blow a bellows without keeping time with his feet and trying to whistle a brand new tune in the doing of it! In fact, Hans Sachs, the genial old cobbler, was perpetually hammering out new ditties with lusty blows upon his leather, so that many of his verses are known to this day.The rules of this guild, I am telling you about, were somewhat odd. When a person composed a certain number of tunes he was called a singer. When he could compose the words to fit a given piece of music, he was called a poet. And when he could write both words and music he was given the title of Master Singer, spelled in capital letters, and mightily proud was he of this distinction! Of course, the music sung before this society had to conform to set principles which they believed right. But this was the great trouble with such societies; for while they fostered much song-writing, very little of it was original or different from the tweedle-dum, tweedle-dee which had gone before.Nevertheless, the citizens of Nuremberg were quite vainglorious over their guild, and believed it turned out the finest singers in the land. Its yearly contests were widely attended, and great was the rivalry each year to secure the chief prize, which was the title of Master Singer.But great as had been the contests of the past, the excitement was increased tenfold upon a day when the leading goldsmith of the city, Veit Pogner by name, announced a special prize for the coming contest. He said that he would give his fortune to the winner and also bestow upon him the hand of his daughter Eva. But one proviso was made to this generous offer; the suitor must be to some extent suitable to Eva herself. By this means Herr Pogner hoped not only to bring out new and great musicians at the contest, but also to wed his daughter only to a Master Singer—upon which last his heart had been set.Eva herself had held quite different ideas on the subjects of music and marriage. A light-hearted and somewhat coquettish girl, her pretty head had been interested in many other things besides the monotonous singing of the butcher and baker, or the pompous airs of the dried-up little town clerk, Sixtus Beckmesser, who had long aspired in secret for her favour.It must be confessed, indeed, that Eva was not always as sedate as she might be. On the day when our story opens, she had attended church very dutifully, but her eyes had wandered from her hymn-book more than once despite the energetic nudges of her maid Magdalen. The secret of Eva's inattention was revealed at the close of the service when, as they turned to leave the church, a handsome young knight stepped forward. His name was Walter von Stolzen, and although he lived in an adjoining province, this was not the first time he had sought speech with the pretty Eva.To-day he had hastened to church to see her and ask her a momentous question. He had heard some rumours of her father's plan to wed her to a Master Singer and it had filled his heart with wild unrest."A word with you, I beseech," he said to Eva in a low tone as she and her maid drew near where he stood."Magdalen, I have forgotten my kerchief," said Eva, turning to the maid. "Will you not see if it is in the pew?"The maid went in search of the missing article and presently returned with it."Oh, I am so careless!" exclaimed her mistress. "I had a little scarf-pin on, when I came in. See if I have dropped it thereabouts."Magdalen went and after some little time she came back with the pin."Thank you. You are a good girl," said Eva. "Now if you will find where I have left my prayer-book, I think we will be quite ready to start."The maid returned to the pew a third time, and when she brought the book, her mistress appeared immensely relieved. So did the handsome young knight, for, as you may guess, he had been making the most of these moments. The question which had so troubled him and which he had found time to ask Eva was this,"Has your father promised your hand in marriage?""Yes," said the mischievous Eva; but seeing how cast down her reply made the young man, she added, "but the bridegroom has not yet been chosen.""Not chosen? How can you be promised, else?"Eva laughed teasingly, but as the maid would soon return she told him in a few hurried words about the contest of song."It is to be held to-morrow," she ended, "and whoever is declared the victor and Master Singer will also win my hand—so my father says."The little light in her eyes as she added the last words would have set Walter's heart still farther at rest, if he had seen it; but as it was, his first keen anxiety had given way to a yet keener interest in the contest of the morrow."Tell me farther of the singing," he said entreatingly; "for you know I must needs take part in it. My whole happiness hangs upon the result!"Eva felt her cheeks grow red. However the maid had come back for the third time, and she saw no excuse to tarry longer."Magdalen," she said, "this gentleman—one of my father's friends—has heard about the song tournament to-morrow. Can you tell him anything about it?" And Eva gave the young man a smile of encouragement and left the church.Now Magdalen was not so blind as her mistress thought. She had seen the knight on other occasions and had liked his face and manner. "That's a good match!" she had whispered within herself. To-day she had gone back to the pew willingly enough, for her mistress wished it. Besides, was not David the sexton back there? And David was a likely lad himself, albeit he was somewhat awkward.Magdalen did not tarry long after her mistress. She gave the knight a swift look out of her black eyes and said,"There's David—he that's the sexton. Go ask him about the contest and tell him Magdalen sent you. Belike he can tell you all about it." She then curtseyed and hastened after Eva.Without more ado the knight went in search of the sexton. David was easily found, for he had seen the handsome stranger talking with Magdalen and his own jealous interest had been aroused. But when Walter greeted him courteously and stated his errand, David grinned and pulled at a shock of sandy hair."Oho, my master!" quoth he, "so you would thrum a harp with the best of them to-morrow! But know you the rules?""No, I do not," answered Walter a trifle impatiently, "and that is what I would learn, an it please you.""Ah, but the rules are the chief thing, good sir! They are not to be learned in a moment, and they are more important than the song itself. No one can be a Master Singer unless he knows the rules by heart. I have been learning both cobbling and singing from Hans Sachs, the shoemaker, and I do assure you, sir, it is no easy task.""But can you tell me some of these rules?" persisted Walter."That can I, as far as I've gone," answered David. "You take your harp so, and hold it so, and you thrum a chord with your thumb sticking up in the air like this. Then you thrust one knee out in advance of the other until you go through your first measure, which must have so many beats and pauses.""But what has that to do with the music?" cried Walter, almost in despair."Oh, everything, I guess!" said David; "only that's about as far as I've studied. But I'll tell you what to do. This very day they are going to hold an examination here in this chapel. You stay and apply for admission into the guild. Then you will see the rules you will have to follow. Here come the 'prentices now to get the chairs in readiness."As he spoke a number of young men came in and began pushing a curtained platform out into the middle of the room. Around it they placed benches and chairs."That is the marker's box," said David, pointing to the platform."What is it for?" asked Walter."Why the marker sits inside, while the singing is going on, and marks up the mistakes on a slate. When a singer has seven marks against him, the marker declares that he is outsung and outdone."The astonished knight was about to ask other questions when the door opened and members of the guild began to arrive. Among the first were Herr Pogner the goldsmith and Sixtus Beckmesser the town clerk. Beckmesser was to be marker and his usual sense of importance was much increased by the fact. He swelled out his thin chest and strutted grandly by the goldsmith's side, telling him of his own aspirations in the coming contest. Beckmesser was bald-headed and a widower who had seen the best side of fifty years, yet he felt that Eva would be doing well if she gothim, especially if his dignity as town clerk was heightened by that of Master Singer. But when he saw Walter step forward and greet the goldsmith, who received him kindly, and begin to ask questions about the contest, Beckmesser's face grew glum, and he inwardly resolved that if this young fellow tried to enter as his rival, there would be plenty of marks against him on the marker's slate.Hans Sachs the cobbler and all the other members of the guild now having taken their places, the roll was called by Beckmesser. Then Herr Pogner arose and stated the terms of the contest for the ensuing day, and repeated his offer to give his fortune and daughter to the winner of the prize. He continued,"It is our purpose this day to enter candidates for the contest. So I have the pleasure of presenting one who has but now arrived and who hands me good letters from friends of mine in the neighbouring state of Franconia. His name is Walter von Stolzen."Walter stood forward, and the members of the guild eyed him solemnly."Who taught you the art of music?" asked one."Nature has been my teacher," answered the young man modestly. "I have heard her voice in the rustling leaves, the babbling brook, and the singing birds.""Humph!" said Beckmesser. "But who has taught you the rules?""I have known very few rules save only such as were taught me by Walter von der Vogelweide.""A good master!" said the genial Hans Sachs."But long since dead! So what could he know of our rules?" grumbled Beckmesser.After further questions and quibbling on the part of the members, they agreed to give the knight a trial and judge for themselves. So Beckmesser climbed into his curtained platform with alacrity, and Walter was asked to begin his song.Walter did so, singing a sweet tender melody of his own, which he had undoubtedly composed to the accompaniment of the whispering winds. For while it was beautiful and original it paid no attention whatever to the artificial rules of the guild. Before he had sung two measures, Beckmesser thrust his head out of the curtain crying,"Stop, stop! you are outsung and outdone!"And the clerk showed a slate covered with marks."You should have let him finish his song," said Hans Sachs. "For my part, I thought it had great merit.""No one asked for your opinion," said the clerk rudely. "If you do not know more than that about singing, you would better stick to your last and finish that pair of shoes you promised me to-morrow."Hans Sachs laughed good-naturedly, but insisted that the singer be allowed to finish. Others took up the argument, and Walter finally ended the song, though amid some confusion.But the verdict at the last, given with much solemn shaking of the heads, fell like lead upon Walter's hopes."Outsung and outdone!" they said.So Walter was denied membership in the guild, and the chance of winning Eva's hand seemed slim indeed.The only member who had been friendly to the young knight was Hans Sachs. This jolly cobbler lived just across the street from the goldsmith—his modest shop standing in sharp contrast to Herr Pogner's stately mansion.That same evening while David the apprentice was keeping shop during his master's absence, a woman came cautiously out of the side gate of the mansion with a basket on her arm, and approached him."Good-evening, David," she said."Good-evening, Lena," he answered, for it was Magdalen the maid. "What have you got in your basket?""Look and see," she said, tipping the lid.What he saw made his eyes grow large. There were cookies and doughnuts and pretzels so tempting that he at once forgot his own late supper."Who are they for?" he asked."Let me ask you a question first. How did it go with the young knight to-day?""Why, marry, he was declared outdone and outsung.""Are you sure? Didn't you help him and teach him the rules as I told you to?""Marry, that did I. But he didn't sing my way and the judges——""A plague upon you and the judges!" exclaimed the maid much disturbed. "I will just take my cookies back home." And away she flounced, leaving David staring open-mouthed at the vanishing dainties.Some other 'prentices who had been hiding behind the corner no sooner saw David's discomfiture than they raised a shout and began to make all manner of fun at his expense. They were a merry lot of rogues—these 'prentices—and lost no chance when their masters' backs were turned to get into mischief. Now as they began to dance around David he lost his temper and, willing to vent his rage upon someone, he fell to fighting the whole crowd. The noise was becoming uproarious when suddenly a stout man with ruddy cheeks strode briskly round the corner."Here you boys!" he shouted. "Be off home, every mother's son of you! And David, if I catch you fighting out here in the street again, you will have to hunt other shoes to cobble.""They began it, sir!" whined David, while the other boys lost no time in taking to their heels."That makes no difference," said Hans Sachs. "Get in with you and help me finish those shoes for Herr Beckmesser."David scratched his head ruefully, but obeyed his master; and soon the light streamed out from the little shop, and the cobbler's lusty blows were heard along the street, keeping time to a song of his own making.Across the way there was one heart that was much cast down. Eva had learned from Magdalen the result of Walter's trial, and so she now approached her father in regard to the next day's festival. She did not, of course, mention the knight's name, but she asked about those who were to sing, and timidly suggested that perhaps she need not marry a Master Singer after all, if he did not suit either of them. But her father seemed more determined than ever, though he could not help wondering secretly, if she had heard about the young knight.As she left her father, Eva heard the cobbler pounding away, and so she determined to find out if he knew anything about the contest. Hans Sachs had just dismissed his apprentice for the night when Eva tripped lightly to the door and looked in."A good-evening to you, old Peg-at-work," said she saucily."Why, 'tis my little Eve!" he exclaimed, his broad face smiling a welcome; for she was a special pet of his."What makes you work so—pound, pound, pound!—so that your neighbours cannot sleep?""I am finishing two pairs of shoes; one for your little feet to wear to-morrow at the festival; and the other for the worthy Sixtus Beckmesser who aspires to outsing us all.""Oh, he can't do that, you know!" said Eva, laughing, but tossing her head uneasily. "Before we'd let him do that, you and I, why I would get you to mount the stump and outsing him. And then just think what a nice old husband you would be!"Hans Sachs laughed heartily at her banter. He had known her all her life and was used to her ways by now. But he decided to set a trap and find out just where her affections lay."You have already had one narrow escape to-day," he said shrewdly. "There was a likely-looking young gallant up before the guild trying to sing. His name was Walter something-or-other, and he wanted to enter the contest to-morrow. But bless you! he couldn't sing—and it's a good thing for you that he couldn't. I'll warrant he's an idle fellow that will never amount to a side of sole-leather!""What do you know about him?" burst forth Eva indignantly. "I'll warrant your stupid crowd never gave him half a chance to sing. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!"But just then she caught sight of the broad grin upon the cobbler's face and realised she was betraying herself. Her cheeks reddened, and she turned and fled across the street, while Hans Sachs chuckled in great glee over the success of his scheme.This was not the only game the shoemaker played that evening, as you shall presently see. For just then Walter came along the street looking for Eva. He had found opportunity to send word through Magdalen that he was coming, so Eva was on the lookout for him. But fearful lest her father should see her leaving the house, she had changed dresses with her maid; and it was as Magdalen that she now hastened out to join her lover.But Hans Sachs' keen eyes, right across the way, were not to be deceived. He recognised both the young people at once; and as they drew under the shade of a linden tree that grew near his door, he was able to hear most of their words. He heard Walter tell Eva of his ill success that day, and how he would not be able to compete on the morrow because of a lot of musty old rules. Walter, in fact, was in despair and he now proposed the only way out that seemed possible to him."You must go away with me, dear Eve, this very night," he urged. "We will get the good minister on the farther side of the town to marry us, and I have horses and coach in waiting. By the time the sun rises on that contest we will be miles away from Nuremberg and nearing my old home in Franconia. Will you not come?"Eva hesitated. She loved her father and did not want to bring him sorrow. But then that odious Beckmesser, or some other man who might become Master Singer!—Yes, she would go to the ends of the world with her dear Walter, she said.Hans Sachs shook his head when he heard this. These foolish children must be held in check. So he arose and made as though he were opening the shutter of his door, at the same time setting his lamp in such a way that it threw a broad beam of light across the street. Walter and Eva would have to cross the lighted space, and this he knew they would not attempt, lest they should be seen.The cobbler was unexpectedly aided in his ruse by the appearance of Beckmesser. The town clerk had decided to serenade Eva in the most approved style, by way of proving his devotion and also showing what he could do on the morrow.While the two young people crouched still farther behind the tree, Beckmesser struck his harp vigorously and cleared his throat with a loud ahem! preparatory to launching forth upon his ditty. But before he could get started, Hans Sachs began pounding again upon his last, whack, whack, whack, whack! to the tune of a hearty cobbling-song."By all the powers!" groaned the clerk disgustedly. Then he called to the shoemaker, "Here, you, Hans Sachs! Don't you know you are disturbing the peace? Why don't you do all your work in the daytime?""Oh, I'm just working a little to-night to finish up that pair of shoes you were so anxious to have to-morrow," retorted Hans Sachs; "and I always sing at my work. It makes it go better."Thereupon he began in a louder voice than ever.Beckmesser was at his wits' end. He had sent word to Eva that he was coming to serenade her. Now he was afraid, in his conceit, that she would mistake the cobbler's song for his own. Just then Magdalen appeared at an upper window in Eva's dress. Beckmesser waved frantically to her and threw a kiss. Then he turned to the cobbler."I'll tell you what, Hans Sachs, you needn't mind about those shoes, to-morrow. I'm afraid the neighbours will make complaint against you.""No, indeed," replied the cobbler, "they don't mind about my singing. They say it soothes them.""Well, speaking of singing," persisted the clerk, "perhaps you would like to hear my new song that I have just composed and intend to sing to-morrow. Shall I go over it for you?""On one condition, and that is, to allow me to make note of every error by tapping upon my shoes. Thus I can criticise you and get my work done at the same time.""Agreed," said the clerk, and began his song. But he was so nervous and irritated that his mistakes became more and more frequent. The cobbler's taps became hammering, and the hammering a constant clattering, while Beckmesser tried in vain to sing against the noise. Finally the uproar became so loud that windows were opened all along the street to see what was the trouble.David was one of the first ones to look out upon the scene. His jealous eyes saw Beckmesser singing or rather shouting toward the window where Magdalen stood, and his rage was kindled in an instant. Springing from the window to the ground he seized the unlucky clerk and began to beat him soundly with a cudgel. The other apprentices, always ready for a fight, came rushing forth and, taking sides, joined in a general fisticuff.Walter and Eva tried to take advantage of the tumult to effect their escape, but Hans Sachs was too quick for them. Pretending to mistake Eva for Magdalen he thrust her toward her own home, whose door was just then opened, and Herr Pogner, crying, "Lena!" pulled her within and closed the door. At the same moment, Hans Sachs dragged Walter into his own shop just as the sound of the approaching night-watch was heard. As if by magic the street was cleared of brawlers, and when the watchman sang in a sonorous voice, "Ten o'clock and all's well!" there was nothing in sight to dispute his assertion.The morning of the festival dawned clear and bright. The friendly sun streaming through the open door into the cobbler's shop seemed to give promise of a perfect day. The cobbler was up early for he had a good many singing rules to look over before the time of the contest. While he was busily turning over the pages of a huge book David came sneaking in bearing a basket which looked suspiciously like the one his Lena had carried the evening before. Seating himself in a distant corner he began to busy himself with its contents, all the while watching his master with furtive glances. But Sachs was so intent upon his book that he paid no heed to his apprentice. This also made David uncomfortable. He thought his master was angry with him for the brawling of the night before; so he now tried to make his peace by offering some of the dainties to the cobbler. They were good-naturedly refused, Hans Sachs telling the young man to keep them for himself to eat at the festival. Then after hearing him sing his morning song, David was given his freedom for the day and joyfully departed.Presently another person entered the shop, and this time the shoemaker looked up quickly."Why good-morrow, Sir Walter. Did you sleep well?" he asked kindly."Aye, what sleep I had was good, and thank you," replied the knight. "How was it with you?""Oh, so, so! There were so many serenades and lovers' meetings, the early part of the evening, that I lost some of my rest—but not enough to hurt."The young knight smiled at his banter, then remarked,"I had a marvellous sweet dream.""Pray tell it to me.""I am not able to do that, for it came to me as a song.""Then sing it," urged the cobbler."What is the good of my singing?" replied Walter moodily. "'Tis not for me to sing upon this day above all others when my song might have been of some service.""Tut, tut, my friend," said Hans Sachs. "You must not take things so hardly. We may yet find some way of making one of your songs count. Now do you sing me this one and I will mark down the errors in it, and show you why they are errors. Thus you will soon learn, perchance, how to sing a Master Song.""But that soon will be too late.""Come let us have the song."So while the cobbler took paper and pen and prepared to set down the words as well as the mistakes, Walter began to sing:"The morning dawned with rosy light;The scented air—With flowers rare—A vision of beauty rose to my sight;A garden a-gleamThis was my dream!""Good, good!" said Hans Sachs heartily. "That is all right. Now you must be careful to have the next stanza just like that; the same number of measures and beats."Walter began again:"There in the garden stood a tree,A wondrous sightOf rich delight:Its boughs full-fruited, wide and free,All golden did seemIn this my dream!""Upon my word!" cried the cobbler delightedly. "You have got the beginning of a rare good song there! And it conforms to all the rules! Now if you will complete it as well as you have begun it, and be careful to keep the measures just as I have set them down, you will win the next contest you try.""But I have forgotten the rest of my dream," said Walter."Never mind. Perhaps it will come to you later," replied the cobbler. "You have made a fine start." And giving him a few other suggestions, he then bade his guest come into the living-rooms and don some festival finery. Walter obeyed, though he felt anything but merry over the occasion.While they were absent from the room, who should come in but Beckmesser. His vanity had led him to come after his new shoes, if perchance they were ready; and now seeing that the shop was empty he began to prowl about to see what he might discover. Soon his eye lighted upon the fresh copy of verses which Hans Sachs had left behind on the cobbler's bench. He read them, saw their value, and decided to pocket them to use for himself. But the cobbler returning just then upset him somewhat, and he resolved to brazen it out."I thought you said you were not going to take part in the contest," said the clerk blusteringly."I meant it. I am not," replied Hans Sachs quietly."But I have proof that you are.""What proof?""Why, this poem I have found on your bench.""Hum. Then how did it get into your pocket?""That doesn't matter. You were intending to use it against me," sputtered Beckmesser, growing more and more red in the face."No, I wasn't going to use it against you. I repeat, I am not going to sing."Beckmesser looked at him a moment in a sly way and then suddenly began to wheedle."You and I have always been good friends, Herr Sachs. I pray you to forgive me if I said anything hasty. I expect I shall need a good many shoes this winter. Now have you any objection to my using this song?""No, I haven't any objection," replied Hans Sachs with a smile."And you won't claim it as yours?""No, I won't claim it as mine.""You are a good-hearted friend!" cried the clerk fairly hugging him in his delight, and then capering out of the door with his verses."And you are an evil-hearted fool!" said Sachs, looking after him. "But the pit you fall into will be of your own digging."The cobbler knew that the clerk would never be able to find the right tune to fit the words, and that he was liable to forget even the words. So he felt no uneasiness when Beckmesser took them away with him.The next visitor to his workshop was Eva, looking very winsome in her festival attire of white. She had come over to see what had become of Walter, though she had made another excuse for her errand."Herr Sachs," she said, answering his jovial greeting, "I came over to see what was the matter with one of these shoes you finished for me last night. It does not feel comfortable."She placed one small foot upon a rest, and the cobbler knelt to see what was the matter. But he did not discover it until Walter, dressed in the rich garb of a knight, entered the room."Ah,thatis where the shoe pinches!" he exclaimed quietly; and willing to allow the young people a few minutes to themselves he took off the shoe and went chuckling to his last, where he began to hammer furiously. But seeing that the two others were rather shy in his presence he paused and looked up."Mistress Eve," he said, "I take back what I said about this young man not being able to sing. He sang me a fine song awhile ago, but the last part was lacking. Perhaps he will sing it for you through to the end."Thus encouraged and looking Eva in the face Walter began his song again. He sang the first two stanzas just as the cobbler had set them down; then gaining inspiration from his sweetheart's presence he added a beautiful third part filled with the hopes of love and desires of fame:—"Lingered the stars in dance of delightAnd rested thereUpon the hairOf a maiden lovely, star-bedight!The light of dayHad twofold ray—"Her eyes—bright suns—on me shone downWith splendour sweet,In bliss completeI saw her take her heavenly crown—Both Fame and LoveCame from above!Ah, blest was I with joy extremeIn Love's sweet dream!""Hark, child!" exclaimed Sachs to Eva, who had been listening as if enchanted. "That is a true Master Song! Come, put on your shoe! Doesn't it feel better? You don't hear songs like that every day, even in Nuremberg!"But Eva was so overcome with her emotions that she leaned her head upon the good shoemaker's shoulder and burst into tears."Tut, tut!" said he. "You know that the song wasn't as bad as all that! And as for you, master poet, rest easy about the contest! Just put yourself in my hands and we will see if we cannot still show the guild a few points about singing. Hark you, David!" (to his apprentice who had entered while the song was in progress) "bear witness with us that this is an original song belonging to Sir Walter and to none other. But you cannot bear witness, being an apprentice; so I herewith make you a journeyman!"He accompanied these words with a sound slap on the ear, which was the quaint custom of releasing apprentices, and David overjoyed thanked him and hopped first on one foot and then on the other across the street to tell Lena his good fortune.
One year passed slowly by. Again it was spring-time, fragrant with the bursting of buds and melodious with the song of nesting birds. And now the return of the pilgrims was anxiously expected at Wartburg. But among them all, no heart was more anxious than Elizabeth's. Day after day she had sat in the casement overlooking the valley. Night after night she had knelt in fervent prayer for the safety of one who was a wanderer over the face of the earth. And daily would she go, attended by her maids, to the little wayside cross where Tannhäuser had knelt when the pilgrims passed by. Indeed, her whole life seemed to hang upon the love which she had given and could not recall. Her prayer was only that her loved one might be forgiven, and that she might see his face again before she died.
One afternoon just at sunset while she knelt, as her custom was, before the cross, Wolfram von Eschenbach approached her. His love was still as noble and unselfish as it had been in former days, and so he longed almost as earnestly as she for the return of her pilgrim, forgiven. That she might be happy and restored to health was his great desire. To-day the sight of her pale and wasted features alarmed him.
"Health to you, my Princess!" he said saluting her, and then continued, "Methinks it is now about the time of year when our pilgrim band should return."
"Hast heard any news?" she asked, starting up.
"None. But the hermit Peter is of opinion that they will be back before another change of the moon."
"Ah, God grant that they may!" the Princess said, wearily sinking again before the cross.
While Wolfram stood gazing sadly at her dear face, she suddenly turned her head, and a look of rapt attention came into her eyes.
"Listen!" she exclaimed softly while she sprang again to her feet. "Listen! do you not hear it? It istheirsong!"
It was indeed the far-off chant of the pilgrims which her quick ear had caught. They were returning at last!
Soon the little company came in sight, and then filed slowly by, rejoicing that their penance had been accepted and their sins forgiven. But to the eager eyes of the two onlookers one figure did not appear. Tannhäuser was not among them.
"He will never return!" said Elizabeth quietly; and giving one last despairing glance down the valley she fell upon her knees and made a last pitiful little prayer. It was that death might soon come to ease her aching heart. Until then she vowed devoted service to the church, and she asked in return that Tannhäuser might still be forgiven.
The prayer ended, Elizabeth rose and slowly walked away toward the castle. Wolfram looked after her, as long as she was in sight, with a strange foreboding clutching at his heart-strings,—it was that he would never see her again alive.
The sun had long since sunk, and the twilight was deepening, but Wolfram still lingered by the little cross made sacred by her presence. As he tarried, the evening star rose above the rim of hills and began to glow with peaceful brilliancy. It seemed to Wolfram as though the soul of Elizabeth were there, shining in that far-off sky. He began to sing a beautiful measure filled with this thought and beginning,
"O thou sublime, sweet evening star!"
"O thou sublime, sweet evening star!"
"O thou sublime, sweet evening star!"
Scarcely were the last notes silent when a pilgrim drew near. He was tattered, footsore and dejected, yet at the first glance Wolfram knew him.
"Tannhäuser!" he exclaimed. "What does this mean? Do not tell me that you have not received pardon, for the King would not allow you to return otherwise."
Tannhäuser did not reply to his questions, but merely said,
"Show me the road to the Venusberg. I have lost my way."
"You have indeed lost your way, unhappy man, if you would return to that evil place!" exclaimed his friend. "But first tell me, have you been to Rome?"
"I have been to Rome."
"Were not your sins forgiven?"
"You see how I return," answered Tannhäuser defiantly.
"I pray you, for old friendship's sake, tell me all!" pleaded Wolfram. "Did you not do penance, and then go before the Pope?"
"Aye, so I did! Every pain and penance set forth in the calendar I did faithfully perform. I afflicted my body with grievous blows. I gave all my substance to the poor. I ministered to the sick. I prayed night and morning before every shrine. I asked forgiveness continually, yet my soul felt heavy and oppressed. Then I went before the Holy Father and confessed all my sin. He had pardoned the other members of our band; but when he heard that I had lived a year in the Venusberg he was filled with horror and indignation.
"'Out of my sight!' he exclaimed. 'There is no mercy for such as you! As soon would I expect this staff in my hand to bud and bring forth green leaves.'
"Thus am I for all time accursed," continued the wanderer bitterly. "There is but one thing left for me to do. The enchantress told me that all men would renounce me and that when I was driven from the world I could find refuge again in her grotto. I must turn to her."
"Ah, do not go!" said Wolfram, laying a detaining hand upon his friend's shoulder. "Do not throw your last slender chance of salvation away; but live a life of good deeds and self-sacrifice! There was one who knelt at this cross only this evening and prayed to heaven for your pardon. Such prayers do not go unheeded!"
"Too late!" groaned Tannhäuser. "I am utterly unworthy and cast off! If you will not direct my steps to the Venusberg, I must summon the goddess herself to my aid."
And raising his voice he called aloud to Venus, under the name of goddess, and asked her to aid his distress.
Instantly the shades of evening were lighted by a ruddy glow, while a heavy fragrance smote the senses. In a radiant mist dim figures were seen which danced forward laughingly and beckoned and pointed. And down the bright broad pathway they trod, a flood of rose-coloured light streamed from a portal in the side of the hill, while there in the entrance stood Venus, a vision of evil beauty and charm.
"Farewell, forever!" cried Tannhäuser to his friend. "I go to the only haven left for me."
"No, no!" exclaimed Wolfram; "an angel is even now pleading your cause in Heaven. It is the soul of Elizabeth! See!"
He pointed as he spoke to a procession of woe that was filing out of the castle gate. It was a group of mourners bearing torches and chanting a solemn refrain. As it drew near a bier was discerned in the midst, and thereon lay the lifeless form of the Princess.
"Elizabeth! Ah, dear Lord have pity!" said Tannhäuser in hushed tones while he watched the procession advance. "Have pity and save me from the power of the evil one!"
At these words the magic light of the Venusberg vanished as suddenly as it had come. The enchantress realised that her victim was lost to her forever.
But Tannhäuser paid no heed to these things. He stood only gazing at the mournful procession which was passing by. At a gesture from Wolfram it halted; and then Tannhäuser came with slow, reverent steps to the side of the bier. As he sank upon his knees his strength suddenly left him and he felt as though his hold upon life were slipping away. But with it went his burden of sin and sorrow, leaving behind a blessed peace such as he had never known before.
"Elizabeth—dear saint in heaven—pray for me!" he murmured.
His head sank down until his forehead touched her hand.
Suddenly the intense stillness was broken by a thrilling cry from the outer edge of the circle.
"A miracle! a miracle!" said a voice.
Wolfram pushed his way gently to his friend's side. In his hand was the Pope's staff—and it had budded and brought forth green leaves!
"See the sign which God hath sent!" he said in hushed tones. "It is a token that all your sins are forgiven."
Tannhäuser's face brightened into a glorious smile, but he uttered no sound. Instead, his head fell forward again until it was pillowed by Elizabeth's white arm. The way-worn pilgrim had ended his journey. The Knight of Song had heard the harmony of true love sung by a celestial choir. His wandering steps had been guided by the faith of one steadfast soul into the ways of peace.
The Master Singers
(Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg)
You and I have just read of a song contest which ended sadly; so I know we shall be glad to read about another which ended in quite different fashion. But how that was, I cannot tell you beforehand. You must follow the story for yourself.
At the time when the knights were glad to be known as minstrels—or "minnesingers," as they were called in Germany—the plain citizens and tradespeople were likewise interested in the art of song-writing. Sometimes they formed musical societies, or guilds, which laid down certain rules and offered prizes; and anyone was at liberty to try for these prizes, provided he obeyed all the rules.
The quaint old city of Nuremberg was one of the chief music centres of the day, being widely noted for its guilds and contests. One of the leading societies was composed entirely of tradespeople, such as the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick-maker, and every fellow became so filled with the spirit of the times that he couldn't sharpen a knife or blow a bellows without keeping time with his feet and trying to whistle a brand new tune in the doing of it! In fact, Hans Sachs, the genial old cobbler, was perpetually hammering out new ditties with lusty blows upon his leather, so that many of his verses are known to this day.
The rules of this guild, I am telling you about, were somewhat odd. When a person composed a certain number of tunes he was called a singer. When he could compose the words to fit a given piece of music, he was called a poet. And when he could write both words and music he was given the title of Master Singer, spelled in capital letters, and mightily proud was he of this distinction! Of course, the music sung before this society had to conform to set principles which they believed right. But this was the great trouble with such societies; for while they fostered much song-writing, very little of it was original or different from the tweedle-dum, tweedle-dee which had gone before.
Nevertheless, the citizens of Nuremberg were quite vainglorious over their guild, and believed it turned out the finest singers in the land. Its yearly contests were widely attended, and great was the rivalry each year to secure the chief prize, which was the title of Master Singer.
But great as had been the contests of the past, the excitement was increased tenfold upon a day when the leading goldsmith of the city, Veit Pogner by name, announced a special prize for the coming contest. He said that he would give his fortune to the winner and also bestow upon him the hand of his daughter Eva. But one proviso was made to this generous offer; the suitor must be to some extent suitable to Eva herself. By this means Herr Pogner hoped not only to bring out new and great musicians at the contest, but also to wed his daughter only to a Master Singer—upon which last his heart had been set.
Eva herself had held quite different ideas on the subjects of music and marriage. A light-hearted and somewhat coquettish girl, her pretty head had been interested in many other things besides the monotonous singing of the butcher and baker, or the pompous airs of the dried-up little town clerk, Sixtus Beckmesser, who had long aspired in secret for her favour.
It must be confessed, indeed, that Eva was not always as sedate as she might be. On the day when our story opens, she had attended church very dutifully, but her eyes had wandered from her hymn-book more than once despite the energetic nudges of her maid Magdalen. The secret of Eva's inattention was revealed at the close of the service when, as they turned to leave the church, a handsome young knight stepped forward. His name was Walter von Stolzen, and although he lived in an adjoining province, this was not the first time he had sought speech with the pretty Eva.
To-day he had hastened to church to see her and ask her a momentous question. He had heard some rumours of her father's plan to wed her to a Master Singer and it had filled his heart with wild unrest.
"A word with you, I beseech," he said to Eva in a low tone as she and her maid drew near where he stood.
"Magdalen, I have forgotten my kerchief," said Eva, turning to the maid. "Will you not see if it is in the pew?"
The maid went in search of the missing article and presently returned with it.
"Oh, I am so careless!" exclaimed her mistress. "I had a little scarf-pin on, when I came in. See if I have dropped it thereabouts."
Magdalen went and after some little time she came back with the pin.
"Thank you. You are a good girl," said Eva. "Now if you will find where I have left my prayer-book, I think we will be quite ready to start."
The maid returned to the pew a third time, and when she brought the book, her mistress appeared immensely relieved. So did the handsome young knight, for, as you may guess, he had been making the most of these moments. The question which had so troubled him and which he had found time to ask Eva was this,
"Has your father promised your hand in marriage?"
"Yes," said the mischievous Eva; but seeing how cast down her reply made the young man, she added, "but the bridegroom has not yet been chosen."
"Not chosen? How can you be promised, else?"
Eva laughed teasingly, but as the maid would soon return she told him in a few hurried words about the contest of song.
"It is to be held to-morrow," she ended, "and whoever is declared the victor and Master Singer will also win my hand—so my father says."
The little light in her eyes as she added the last words would have set Walter's heart still farther at rest, if he had seen it; but as it was, his first keen anxiety had given way to a yet keener interest in the contest of the morrow.
"Tell me farther of the singing," he said entreatingly; "for you know I must needs take part in it. My whole happiness hangs upon the result!"
Eva felt her cheeks grow red. However the maid had come back for the third time, and she saw no excuse to tarry longer.
"Magdalen," she said, "this gentleman—one of my father's friends—has heard about the song tournament to-morrow. Can you tell him anything about it?" And Eva gave the young man a smile of encouragement and left the church.
Now Magdalen was not so blind as her mistress thought. She had seen the knight on other occasions and had liked his face and manner. "That's a good match!" she had whispered within herself. To-day she had gone back to the pew willingly enough, for her mistress wished it. Besides, was not David the sexton back there? And David was a likely lad himself, albeit he was somewhat awkward.
Magdalen did not tarry long after her mistress. She gave the knight a swift look out of her black eyes and said,
"There's David—he that's the sexton. Go ask him about the contest and tell him Magdalen sent you. Belike he can tell you all about it." She then curtseyed and hastened after Eva.
Without more ado the knight went in search of the sexton. David was easily found, for he had seen the handsome stranger talking with Magdalen and his own jealous interest had been aroused. But when Walter greeted him courteously and stated his errand, David grinned and pulled at a shock of sandy hair.
"Oho, my master!" quoth he, "so you would thrum a harp with the best of them to-morrow! But know you the rules?"
"No, I do not," answered Walter a trifle impatiently, "and that is what I would learn, an it please you."
"Ah, but the rules are the chief thing, good sir! They are not to be learned in a moment, and they are more important than the song itself. No one can be a Master Singer unless he knows the rules by heart. I have been learning both cobbling and singing from Hans Sachs, the shoemaker, and I do assure you, sir, it is no easy task."
"But can you tell me some of these rules?" persisted Walter.
"That can I, as far as I've gone," answered David. "You take your harp so, and hold it so, and you thrum a chord with your thumb sticking up in the air like this. Then you thrust one knee out in advance of the other until you go through your first measure, which must have so many beats and pauses."
"But what has that to do with the music?" cried Walter, almost in despair.
"Oh, everything, I guess!" said David; "only that's about as far as I've studied. But I'll tell you what to do. This very day they are going to hold an examination here in this chapel. You stay and apply for admission into the guild. Then you will see the rules you will have to follow. Here come the 'prentices now to get the chairs in readiness."
As he spoke a number of young men came in and began pushing a curtained platform out into the middle of the room. Around it they placed benches and chairs.
"That is the marker's box," said David, pointing to the platform.
"What is it for?" asked Walter.
"Why the marker sits inside, while the singing is going on, and marks up the mistakes on a slate. When a singer has seven marks against him, the marker declares that he is outsung and outdone."
The astonished knight was about to ask other questions when the door opened and members of the guild began to arrive. Among the first were Herr Pogner the goldsmith and Sixtus Beckmesser the town clerk. Beckmesser was to be marker and his usual sense of importance was much increased by the fact. He swelled out his thin chest and strutted grandly by the goldsmith's side, telling him of his own aspirations in the coming contest. Beckmesser was bald-headed and a widower who had seen the best side of fifty years, yet he felt that Eva would be doing well if she gothim, especially if his dignity as town clerk was heightened by that of Master Singer. But when he saw Walter step forward and greet the goldsmith, who received him kindly, and begin to ask questions about the contest, Beckmesser's face grew glum, and he inwardly resolved that if this young fellow tried to enter as his rival, there would be plenty of marks against him on the marker's slate.
Hans Sachs the cobbler and all the other members of the guild now having taken their places, the roll was called by Beckmesser. Then Herr Pogner arose and stated the terms of the contest for the ensuing day, and repeated his offer to give his fortune and daughter to the winner of the prize. He continued,
"It is our purpose this day to enter candidates for the contest. So I have the pleasure of presenting one who has but now arrived and who hands me good letters from friends of mine in the neighbouring state of Franconia. His name is Walter von Stolzen."
Walter stood forward, and the members of the guild eyed him solemnly.
"Who taught you the art of music?" asked one.
"Nature has been my teacher," answered the young man modestly. "I have heard her voice in the rustling leaves, the babbling brook, and the singing birds."
"Humph!" said Beckmesser. "But who has taught you the rules?"
"I have known very few rules save only such as were taught me by Walter von der Vogelweide."
"A good master!" said the genial Hans Sachs.
"But long since dead! So what could he know of our rules?" grumbled Beckmesser.
After further questions and quibbling on the part of the members, they agreed to give the knight a trial and judge for themselves. So Beckmesser climbed into his curtained platform with alacrity, and Walter was asked to begin his song.
Walter did so, singing a sweet tender melody of his own, which he had undoubtedly composed to the accompaniment of the whispering winds. For while it was beautiful and original it paid no attention whatever to the artificial rules of the guild. Before he had sung two measures, Beckmesser thrust his head out of the curtain crying,
"Stop, stop! you are outsung and outdone!"
And the clerk showed a slate covered with marks.
"You should have let him finish his song," said Hans Sachs. "For my part, I thought it had great merit."
"No one asked for your opinion," said the clerk rudely. "If you do not know more than that about singing, you would better stick to your last and finish that pair of shoes you promised me to-morrow."
Hans Sachs laughed good-naturedly, but insisted that the singer be allowed to finish. Others took up the argument, and Walter finally ended the song, though amid some confusion.
But the verdict at the last, given with much solemn shaking of the heads, fell like lead upon Walter's hopes.
"Outsung and outdone!" they said.
So Walter was denied membership in the guild, and the chance of winning Eva's hand seemed slim indeed.
The only member who had been friendly to the young knight was Hans Sachs. This jolly cobbler lived just across the street from the goldsmith—his modest shop standing in sharp contrast to Herr Pogner's stately mansion.
That same evening while David the apprentice was keeping shop during his master's absence, a woman came cautiously out of the side gate of the mansion with a basket on her arm, and approached him.
"Good-evening, David," she said.
"Good-evening, Lena," he answered, for it was Magdalen the maid. "What have you got in your basket?"
"Look and see," she said, tipping the lid.
What he saw made his eyes grow large. There were cookies and doughnuts and pretzels so tempting that he at once forgot his own late supper.
"Who are they for?" he asked.
"Let me ask you a question first. How did it go with the young knight to-day?"
"Why, marry, he was declared outdone and outsung."
"Are you sure? Didn't you help him and teach him the rules as I told you to?"
"Marry, that did I. But he didn't sing my way and the judges——"
"A plague upon you and the judges!" exclaimed the maid much disturbed. "I will just take my cookies back home." And away she flounced, leaving David staring open-mouthed at the vanishing dainties.
Some other 'prentices who had been hiding behind the corner no sooner saw David's discomfiture than they raised a shout and began to make all manner of fun at his expense. They were a merry lot of rogues—these 'prentices—and lost no chance when their masters' backs were turned to get into mischief. Now as they began to dance around David he lost his temper and, willing to vent his rage upon someone, he fell to fighting the whole crowd. The noise was becoming uproarious when suddenly a stout man with ruddy cheeks strode briskly round the corner.
"Here you boys!" he shouted. "Be off home, every mother's son of you! And David, if I catch you fighting out here in the street again, you will have to hunt other shoes to cobble."
"They began it, sir!" whined David, while the other boys lost no time in taking to their heels.
"That makes no difference," said Hans Sachs. "Get in with you and help me finish those shoes for Herr Beckmesser."
David scratched his head ruefully, but obeyed his master; and soon the light streamed out from the little shop, and the cobbler's lusty blows were heard along the street, keeping time to a song of his own making.
Across the way there was one heart that was much cast down. Eva had learned from Magdalen the result of Walter's trial, and so she now approached her father in regard to the next day's festival. She did not, of course, mention the knight's name, but she asked about those who were to sing, and timidly suggested that perhaps she need not marry a Master Singer after all, if he did not suit either of them. But her father seemed more determined than ever, though he could not help wondering secretly, if she had heard about the young knight.
As she left her father, Eva heard the cobbler pounding away, and so she determined to find out if he knew anything about the contest. Hans Sachs had just dismissed his apprentice for the night when Eva tripped lightly to the door and looked in.
"A good-evening to you, old Peg-at-work," said she saucily.
"Why, 'tis my little Eve!" he exclaimed, his broad face smiling a welcome; for she was a special pet of his.
"What makes you work so—pound, pound, pound!—so that your neighbours cannot sleep?"
"I am finishing two pairs of shoes; one for your little feet to wear to-morrow at the festival; and the other for the worthy Sixtus Beckmesser who aspires to outsing us all."
"Oh, he can't do that, you know!" said Eva, laughing, but tossing her head uneasily. "Before we'd let him do that, you and I, why I would get you to mount the stump and outsing him. And then just think what a nice old husband you would be!"
Hans Sachs laughed heartily at her banter. He had known her all her life and was used to her ways by now. But he decided to set a trap and find out just where her affections lay.
"You have already had one narrow escape to-day," he said shrewdly. "There was a likely-looking young gallant up before the guild trying to sing. His name was Walter something-or-other, and he wanted to enter the contest to-morrow. But bless you! he couldn't sing—and it's a good thing for you that he couldn't. I'll warrant he's an idle fellow that will never amount to a side of sole-leather!"
"What do you know about him?" burst forth Eva indignantly. "I'll warrant your stupid crowd never gave him half a chance to sing. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!"
But just then she caught sight of the broad grin upon the cobbler's face and realised she was betraying herself. Her cheeks reddened, and she turned and fled across the street, while Hans Sachs chuckled in great glee over the success of his scheme.
This was not the only game the shoemaker played that evening, as you shall presently see. For just then Walter came along the street looking for Eva. He had found opportunity to send word through Magdalen that he was coming, so Eva was on the lookout for him. But fearful lest her father should see her leaving the house, she had changed dresses with her maid; and it was as Magdalen that she now hastened out to join her lover.
But Hans Sachs' keen eyes, right across the way, were not to be deceived. He recognised both the young people at once; and as they drew under the shade of a linden tree that grew near his door, he was able to hear most of their words. He heard Walter tell Eva of his ill success that day, and how he would not be able to compete on the morrow because of a lot of musty old rules. Walter, in fact, was in despair and he now proposed the only way out that seemed possible to him.
"You must go away with me, dear Eve, this very night," he urged. "We will get the good minister on the farther side of the town to marry us, and I have horses and coach in waiting. By the time the sun rises on that contest we will be miles away from Nuremberg and nearing my old home in Franconia. Will you not come?"
Eva hesitated. She loved her father and did not want to bring him sorrow. But then that odious Beckmesser, or some other man who might become Master Singer!—Yes, she would go to the ends of the world with her dear Walter, she said.
Hans Sachs shook his head when he heard this. These foolish children must be held in check. So he arose and made as though he were opening the shutter of his door, at the same time setting his lamp in such a way that it threw a broad beam of light across the street. Walter and Eva would have to cross the lighted space, and this he knew they would not attempt, lest they should be seen.
The cobbler was unexpectedly aided in his ruse by the appearance of Beckmesser. The town clerk had decided to serenade Eva in the most approved style, by way of proving his devotion and also showing what he could do on the morrow.
While the two young people crouched still farther behind the tree, Beckmesser struck his harp vigorously and cleared his throat with a loud ahem! preparatory to launching forth upon his ditty. But before he could get started, Hans Sachs began pounding again upon his last, whack, whack, whack, whack! to the tune of a hearty cobbling-song.
"By all the powers!" groaned the clerk disgustedly. Then he called to the shoemaker, "Here, you, Hans Sachs! Don't you know you are disturbing the peace? Why don't you do all your work in the daytime?"
"Oh, I'm just working a little to-night to finish up that pair of shoes you were so anxious to have to-morrow," retorted Hans Sachs; "and I always sing at my work. It makes it go better."
Thereupon he began in a louder voice than ever.
Beckmesser was at his wits' end. He had sent word to Eva that he was coming to serenade her. Now he was afraid, in his conceit, that she would mistake the cobbler's song for his own. Just then Magdalen appeared at an upper window in Eva's dress. Beckmesser waved frantically to her and threw a kiss. Then he turned to the cobbler.
"I'll tell you what, Hans Sachs, you needn't mind about those shoes, to-morrow. I'm afraid the neighbours will make complaint against you."
"No, indeed," replied the cobbler, "they don't mind about my singing. They say it soothes them."
"Well, speaking of singing," persisted the clerk, "perhaps you would like to hear my new song that I have just composed and intend to sing to-morrow. Shall I go over it for you?"
"On one condition, and that is, to allow me to make note of every error by tapping upon my shoes. Thus I can criticise you and get my work done at the same time."
"Agreed," said the clerk, and began his song. But he was so nervous and irritated that his mistakes became more and more frequent. The cobbler's taps became hammering, and the hammering a constant clattering, while Beckmesser tried in vain to sing against the noise. Finally the uproar became so loud that windows were opened all along the street to see what was the trouble.
David was one of the first ones to look out upon the scene. His jealous eyes saw Beckmesser singing or rather shouting toward the window where Magdalen stood, and his rage was kindled in an instant. Springing from the window to the ground he seized the unlucky clerk and began to beat him soundly with a cudgel. The other apprentices, always ready for a fight, came rushing forth and, taking sides, joined in a general fisticuff.
Walter and Eva tried to take advantage of the tumult to effect their escape, but Hans Sachs was too quick for them. Pretending to mistake Eva for Magdalen he thrust her toward her own home, whose door was just then opened, and Herr Pogner, crying, "Lena!" pulled her within and closed the door. At the same moment, Hans Sachs dragged Walter into his own shop just as the sound of the approaching night-watch was heard. As if by magic the street was cleared of brawlers, and when the watchman sang in a sonorous voice, "Ten o'clock and all's well!" there was nothing in sight to dispute his assertion.
The morning of the festival dawned clear and bright. The friendly sun streaming through the open door into the cobbler's shop seemed to give promise of a perfect day. The cobbler was up early for he had a good many singing rules to look over before the time of the contest. While he was busily turning over the pages of a huge book David came sneaking in bearing a basket which looked suspiciously like the one his Lena had carried the evening before. Seating himself in a distant corner he began to busy himself with its contents, all the while watching his master with furtive glances. But Sachs was so intent upon his book that he paid no heed to his apprentice. This also made David uncomfortable. He thought his master was angry with him for the brawling of the night before; so he now tried to make his peace by offering some of the dainties to the cobbler. They were good-naturedly refused, Hans Sachs telling the young man to keep them for himself to eat at the festival. Then after hearing him sing his morning song, David was given his freedom for the day and joyfully departed.
Presently another person entered the shop, and this time the shoemaker looked up quickly.
"Why good-morrow, Sir Walter. Did you sleep well?" he asked kindly.
"Aye, what sleep I had was good, and thank you," replied the knight. "How was it with you?"
"Oh, so, so! There were so many serenades and lovers' meetings, the early part of the evening, that I lost some of my rest—but not enough to hurt."
The young knight smiled at his banter, then remarked,
"I had a marvellous sweet dream."
"Pray tell it to me."
"I am not able to do that, for it came to me as a song."
"Then sing it," urged the cobbler.
"What is the good of my singing?" replied Walter moodily. "'Tis not for me to sing upon this day above all others when my song might have been of some service."
"Tut, tut, my friend," said Hans Sachs. "You must not take things so hardly. We may yet find some way of making one of your songs count. Now do you sing me this one and I will mark down the errors in it, and show you why they are errors. Thus you will soon learn, perchance, how to sing a Master Song."
"But that soon will be too late."
"Come let us have the song."
So while the cobbler took paper and pen and prepared to set down the words as well as the mistakes, Walter began to sing:
"The morning dawned with rosy light;The scented air—With flowers rare—A vision of beauty rose to my sight;A garden a-gleamThis was my dream!"
"The morning dawned with rosy light;The scented air—With flowers rare—A vision of beauty rose to my sight;A garden a-gleamThis was my dream!"
"The morning dawned with rosy light;
The scented air—With flowers rare—
The scented air—
With flowers rare—
A vision of beauty rose to my sight;
A garden a-gleamThis was my dream!"
A garden a-gleam
This was my dream!"
"Good, good!" said Hans Sachs heartily. "That is all right. Now you must be careful to have the next stanza just like that; the same number of measures and beats."
Walter began again:
"There in the garden stood a tree,A wondrous sightOf rich delight:Its boughs full-fruited, wide and free,All golden did seemIn this my dream!"
"There in the garden stood a tree,A wondrous sightOf rich delight:Its boughs full-fruited, wide and free,All golden did seemIn this my dream!"
"There in the garden stood a tree,
A wondrous sightOf rich delight:
A wondrous sight
Of rich delight:
Its boughs full-fruited, wide and free,
All golden did seemIn this my dream!"
All golden did seem
In this my dream!"
"Upon my word!" cried the cobbler delightedly. "You have got the beginning of a rare good song there! And it conforms to all the rules! Now if you will complete it as well as you have begun it, and be careful to keep the measures just as I have set them down, you will win the next contest you try."
"But I have forgotten the rest of my dream," said Walter.
"Never mind. Perhaps it will come to you later," replied the cobbler. "You have made a fine start." And giving him a few other suggestions, he then bade his guest come into the living-rooms and don some festival finery. Walter obeyed, though he felt anything but merry over the occasion.
While they were absent from the room, who should come in but Beckmesser. His vanity had led him to come after his new shoes, if perchance they were ready; and now seeing that the shop was empty he began to prowl about to see what he might discover. Soon his eye lighted upon the fresh copy of verses which Hans Sachs had left behind on the cobbler's bench. He read them, saw their value, and decided to pocket them to use for himself. But the cobbler returning just then upset him somewhat, and he resolved to brazen it out.
"I thought you said you were not going to take part in the contest," said the clerk blusteringly.
"I meant it. I am not," replied Hans Sachs quietly.
"But I have proof that you are."
"What proof?"
"Why, this poem I have found on your bench."
"Hum. Then how did it get into your pocket?"
"That doesn't matter. You were intending to use it against me," sputtered Beckmesser, growing more and more red in the face.
"No, I wasn't going to use it against you. I repeat, I am not going to sing."
Beckmesser looked at him a moment in a sly way and then suddenly began to wheedle.
"You and I have always been good friends, Herr Sachs. I pray you to forgive me if I said anything hasty. I expect I shall need a good many shoes this winter. Now have you any objection to my using this song?"
"No, I haven't any objection," replied Hans Sachs with a smile.
"And you won't claim it as yours?"
"No, I won't claim it as mine."
"You are a good-hearted friend!" cried the clerk fairly hugging him in his delight, and then capering out of the door with his verses.
"And you are an evil-hearted fool!" said Sachs, looking after him. "But the pit you fall into will be of your own digging."
The cobbler knew that the clerk would never be able to find the right tune to fit the words, and that he was liable to forget even the words. So he felt no uneasiness when Beckmesser took them away with him.
The next visitor to his workshop was Eva, looking very winsome in her festival attire of white. She had come over to see what had become of Walter, though she had made another excuse for her errand.
"Herr Sachs," she said, answering his jovial greeting, "I came over to see what was the matter with one of these shoes you finished for me last night. It does not feel comfortable."
She placed one small foot upon a rest, and the cobbler knelt to see what was the matter. But he did not discover it until Walter, dressed in the rich garb of a knight, entered the room.
"Ah,thatis where the shoe pinches!" he exclaimed quietly; and willing to allow the young people a few minutes to themselves he took off the shoe and went chuckling to his last, where he began to hammer furiously. But seeing that the two others were rather shy in his presence he paused and looked up.
"Mistress Eve," he said, "I take back what I said about this young man not being able to sing. He sang me a fine song awhile ago, but the last part was lacking. Perhaps he will sing it for you through to the end."
Thus encouraged and looking Eva in the face Walter began his song again. He sang the first two stanzas just as the cobbler had set them down; then gaining inspiration from his sweetheart's presence he added a beautiful third part filled with the hopes of love and desires of fame:—
"Lingered the stars in dance of delightAnd rested thereUpon the hairOf a maiden lovely, star-bedight!The light of dayHad twofold ray—"Her eyes—bright suns—on me shone downWith splendour sweet,In bliss completeI saw her take her heavenly crown—Both Fame and LoveCame from above!Ah, blest was I with joy extremeIn Love's sweet dream!"
"Lingered the stars in dance of delightAnd rested thereUpon the hairOf a maiden lovely, star-bedight!The light of dayHad twofold ray—
"Lingered the stars in dance of delight
And rested thereUpon the hair
And rested there
Upon the hair
Of a maiden lovely, star-bedight!
The light of dayHad twofold ray—
The light of day
Had twofold ray—
"Her eyes—bright suns—on me shone downWith splendour sweet,In bliss completeI saw her take her heavenly crown—Both Fame and LoveCame from above!Ah, blest was I with joy extremeIn Love's sweet dream!"
"Her eyes—bright suns—on me shone down
With splendour sweet,In bliss complete
With splendour sweet,
In bliss complete
I saw her take her heavenly crown—
Both Fame and LoveCame from above!
Both Fame and Love
Came from above!
Ah, blest was I with joy extreme
In Love's sweet dream!"
In Love's sweet dream!"
"Hark, child!" exclaimed Sachs to Eva, who had been listening as if enchanted. "That is a true Master Song! Come, put on your shoe! Doesn't it feel better? You don't hear songs like that every day, even in Nuremberg!"
But Eva was so overcome with her emotions that she leaned her head upon the good shoemaker's shoulder and burst into tears.
"Tut, tut!" said he. "You know that the song wasn't as bad as all that! And as for you, master poet, rest easy about the contest! Just put yourself in my hands and we will see if we cannot still show the guild a few points about singing. Hark you, David!" (to his apprentice who had entered while the song was in progress) "bear witness with us that this is an original song belonging to Sir Walter and to none other. But you cannot bear witness, being an apprentice; so I herewith make you a journeyman!"
He accompanied these words with a sound slap on the ear, which was the quaint custom of releasing apprentices, and David overjoyed thanked him and hopped first on one foot and then on the other across the street to tell Lena his good fortune.