CHAPTER VIIIThe Meistersingers and Hans Sachs

1. Hir begegnet Christus seiner wirdigen lieben Muter die vor grossem hertzenleit anmechtig ward. 200 Srytt von Pilatus haws.2. Hir ward Symon gezwungen Cristo sein krewtz helfen tragen. 295 Sryt von Pilatus haws.3. Hir sprach Christus Jr Döchter von Jherusalem nit weint über mich, sünder uber euch und ewvre kinder. 380 Srytt von Pilatus haws.4. Hier hat Christus sein heiligs Angesicht der heiligen Fraw Veronica auf iren Slayr gedruckt vor irem Haws. 500 Sryt von Pilatus Haws.5. Hier tregt Christus das Creuz und wird von den Juden ser hart geslagen. 780 Srytt von Pilatus Haws.6. Hier felt Cristus vor grosser unmacht auf die Erden bei 1000 Srytt von Pilatus haws.

1. Hir begegnet Christus seiner wirdigen lieben Muter die vor grossem hertzenleit anmechtig ward. 200 Srytt von Pilatus haws.

2. Hir ward Symon gezwungen Cristo sein krewtz helfen tragen. 295 Sryt von Pilatus haws.

3. Hir sprach Christus Jr Döchter von Jherusalem nit weint über mich, sünder uber euch und ewvre kinder. 380 Srytt von Pilatus haws.

4. Hier hat Christus sein heiligs Angesicht der heiligen Fraw Veronica auf iren Slayr gedruckt vor irem Haws. 500 Sryt von Pilatus Haws.

5. Hier tregt Christus das Creuz und wird von den Juden ser hart geslagen. 780 Srytt von Pilatus Haws.

6. Hier felt Cristus vor grosser unmacht auf die Erden bei 1000 Srytt von Pilatus haws.

Then on a small eminence by the gate of the Cemetery we behold the last sad scenes of Calvary reproduced. It is a noble group which moves us alike by the pathos and dignity of its treatment and by the beauty of the inscription.

7. Hir legt Cristus tot vor seiner gebenedeyten wirdigen Muter die in mit grosem Herzenleyt und bitterlichen smertz claget und beweynt.

In the Holzschuher Chapel near at hand is Krafft’s last work (1507) the Burial of Christ. In this piece, which lacks the fervent feeling of his earlier representations of Christ’s passion and was probably chiefly executed by his assistants, the figure of Joseph of Arimathea is a portrait of Adam Krafft. Krafft in his prime (1492) had dealt with the same subject in the Sebald-Schreyer-tomb on the outer wall of the Choir of St. Sebaldskirche, facing the Rathaus. The “Burial” in St. John’s Church seems cold and hard compared with the pathos and beauty of this masterpiece, so finely composed and exquisitely wrought.

Other works of Adam Krafft’s which well repay study are:—

But most important of all stands in the St. Lorenzkirche the wonderful Pix, Ciborium, Weibrodgehäuse, or Sakramentshäuslein, wherein were deposited the elements of the Eucharist, previous to consecration. This “miracle of German art” (1496-1500) was made on commission for Hans Imhoff, a member of the great family of merchant princes, who died in 1499, a year before it was finished, though long after it was due to be delivered. His heirs, however, recognised the merit of the master who, inspired by friendly rivalry with Vischer’s Sebaldusgrab, completed at last so great a work of art. They gave to Krafft 70 gulden more than the 700 gulden he asked, and to his wife a mantle worth 6 gulden.

SAKRAMENTSHÄUSLEIN. (ADAM KRAFFT)SAKRAMENTSHÄUSLEIN. (ADAM KRAFFT)

Nuremberg, so rich in legend, tells a story of the origin of the Pix. A servant of Hans Imhoff was accused of having stolena goblet and, in terror of being tortured, confessed the theft. He suffered death accordingly. But a little while afterwards the goblet was found, full of wine, beneath a bed, where it had been placed, it was surmised, by some guest who had been drinking too freely. As an atonement for his hastiness Hans Imhoff dedicated this offering to the Lord.

Similar, but inferiorWeihbrodgehäusenby Adam Krafft are to be seen at Schwabach and at Heilsbronn. That by the Master of Weingarten at Ulm rivals though it can scarcely surpass the St. Lorenzkirche masterpiece.

The life-size kneeling figures of the master, in the middle with cap, apron and mallet, and two assistants, the one with a measure and the other with a chisel, support the balcony which runs round the Ciborium. The pillars of the balustrade are adorned with eight figures of saints, including St. Lorenz (with gridiron) and St. Sebald.On the pillars of the Ciborium itself (beneath which are small angels and escutcheons), are the statues of Moses, John, Mary, and James the Less.Above the receptacle rises a spire like a bishop’s crosier, representing perhaps the crook of the Good Shepherd. It is ornamented with statuettes of saints, and as the Holy Sacrament was instituted to commemorate the death of the Redeemer the artist has added reliefs representing episodes of the Passion, which with the Resurrection complete for all believers the fruits of the Holy Supper.1. Christ comforting the Women.2. The Holy Supper.3. The Mount of Olives.Above these again are four patriarchs and eight angels holding signs of the passion, which interpreted as instruments of torture may have given rise to the story of the origin of the Pix. Then—4. Christ before Pilate.5. The Crown of Thorns.6. The Crucifixion. SS. Mary and John and a kneeling figure (the Church?).On the pillars above stand the four Evangelists(?) and above all the figure of the risen Saviour, the right hand stretched out in benediction, the left holding the banner of victory.

On the pillars of the Ciborium itself (beneath which are small angels and escutcheons), are the statues of Moses, John, Mary, and James the Less.

Above the receptacle rises a spire like a bishop’s crosier, representing perhaps the crook of the Good Shepherd. It is ornamented with statuettes of saints, and as the Holy Sacrament was instituted to commemorate the death of the Redeemer the artist has added reliefs representing episodes of the Passion, which with the Resurrection complete for all believers the fruits of the Holy Supper.

Above these again are four patriarchs and eight angels holding signs of the passion, which interpreted as instruments of torture may have given rise to the story of the origin of the Pix. Then—

On the pillars above stand the four Evangelists(?) and above all the figure of the risen Saviour, the right hand stretched out in benediction, the left holding the banner of victory.

But apart from the details of the carving, it is the grace of the fretted Gothic pinnacle of finest filigree stonework that seizes our attention. Tapering, or rather mounting airily on high it carries the eye up to the spandril of the vaulting of the choir, soaring like the notes of a flute-like voice, and embodying, as it were, the utterance of some deeply spiritual aspiration. The delicate elaboration of this wonderful stonework seems to have overcome all terrestial heaviness. Higher still and higher, it springs from the earth like Shelley’s skylark, but it fades not from view. For when, some sixty feet from the ground, the bend of the vaulting checks its further growth, it bows its beautiful head and like a lily on its stalk or snowdrop on its stem terminates in a pendant flower. It is indeed a miracle of rare device. So slender and graceful is it and withal so clear-cut that the triumph of the artist over his material seems almost unearthly, whilst the spring and proportion of the whole and the sharpness of the carving redeem him from the imputation of making an inappropriate use of stone. In this, as in the Schreyertomb, it is usual to trace the influence of Durer on the sculptor. To me it seems more probable that Adam Krafft’s style with its excessive minuteness influenced Albert Durer and was in turn influenced by Martin Schongauer.

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Wood-carving (as a visit to the Museum will demonstrate) flourished exceedingly at Nuremberg. There were indeed so many carvers there towards the end of the fifteenth century that it is difficult to understand how they all gained a livelihood. The greatest artist among them, if we except the unknown master ofthe Nuremberg Madonna in the Museum, was certainly Veit Stoss. Born in 1440 he was of abstemious and frugal habits and lived till 1533. In 1477 he gave up his rights of citizenship, went to Poland, and at Cracow made a great reputation by the high altar and choir-stalls he carved for the Church of St. Mary there. Like Durer he was very versatile—a carver in wood and stone, painter, engraver, mechanician, and architect. But unlike most of the great artists of this period, his character was stained by a considerable crime.

On returning to Nuremberg in 1496 he was nick-named the Pole and was presently condemned on a charge of forging a signature to a document which was to substantiate his claim against a Nuremberg merchant, whom he accused of having cheated him out of a sum of money. He was sentenced to be branded on both cheeks—a gentle punishment, seeing that a forger was liable to lose both eyes. The Council also compelled him to swear that he would never leave Nuremberg, but, when he found that no one would work with him, he fled. But later, the Council pardoned him and received him back. They seem to have appreciated his artistic gifts as much as Maximilian. Stoss worked very diligently at Nuremberg and received orders even from Transylvania and Portugal. Whatever his character—and it is fair to add that on the count of forgery he always maintained that he was unjustly accused—his art will always bring him praise. Of his numberless altar-pieces, crucifixes and Madonnas, the very beautiful wood gilt crucifix and the much-admired Angels’ Greeting, both in the Lorenzkirche, are the most famous. His earliest work in Nuremberg is a painted carving of the Madonna and Child on the north wall of the Frauenkirche, executed for the old Welser Altar (1504). Veit Stoss, it is pointed out in his later work, exhibits the increasing influence of Albert Durer, but nowhere more unmistakablythan in the “Englischer Gruss” (1518)—the Angelic Greeting, which hangs from the roof of the Lorenzkirche, a work of tender piety, in which the delicacy of the figures is very noticeable. Formerly the Greeting hung in the choir suspended by a costly chain. But owing to the torrent of coarse abuse which Osiander, the great preacher and reformer, hurled against it, it was wrapped up in a green sack, on which were set the Tucher arms. Later on, the chain was replaced by a rope. Then the Greeting was moved about from church to church till at last it returned to St. Lawrence’s. But it was insecurely hung, and in 1817 it fell from a height of 50 feet and was broken to pieces. It was very skilfully put together again by the brothers Rotermundt. But the huge crown which originally surmounted it was not restored.

Celebrated as this carving is, and beautiful as are many of the individual figures and details in the medallions, the Angelic Greeting as a whole is, I confess, too florid and too heavy for my taste. So that, rather than be dishonest in my enthusiasms, I will only add (without superciliousness) that for those who like this sort of thing, this is the sort of thing they like.

The praying Mary, who holds in her left hand a book, her right hand being laid upon her breast, and an angel with the staff of the Annunciation, stand alone, over life-size, in the centre of a rose-wreath frame. Over the wreath is carved God the Father, sitting between two angels, with crown and sceptre, blessing the figures beneath. Other angels hovering about Mary make heavenly music. Under the wreath, Eve’s serpent (with the apple), is being conquered by the Ave with which the Angel of Annunciation greets Mary.On the wreath itself, seven round medallions in low relief represent the seven joys of Mary:—the Annunciation, Visitation, Birth of Christ, (cf.the Rosenkranz-tafel in the Museum), Adoration of the Wise Men, Resurrection of Christ, Pouring out of the Holy Spirit, and Crowning of Mary.

On the wreath itself, seven round medallions in low relief represent the seven joys of Mary:—the Annunciation, Visitation, Birth of Christ, (cf.the Rosenkranz-tafel in the Museum), Adoration of the Wise Men, Resurrection of Christ, Pouring out of the Holy Spirit, and Crowning of Mary.

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Krafft and Stoss worked in the Gothic style, but Peter Vischer (1455-1529), the bronze founder, except in his early works, of which there are no examples in Nuremberg, shows the influence of the Italian Renaissance. Perhaps this had come to him through Jacopo dei Barbari, whose influence on Durer we have noted. However that may be, Peter Vischer remains a truly original artist. And yet, the son of a coppersmith, he ever continued to regard himself as a simple artisan. With a workman’s cap, and a large leather apron round his waist, with hammer and chisel in hand, the signs of his calling, he has portrayed himself to us in his most beautiful work of art—the shrine of St. Sebald. There, in a niche facing the altar, stands, thick-set and full-bearded, the modest, pious labourer, whose reputation had spread beyond the limits of Germany, and whose bronze work, if we may believe the chronicler, once “filled Poland, Bohemia, Hungary, and the palaces of princes throughout the Holy Roman Empire.” Seldom did prince or potentate come to Nuremberg without paying a visit to Vischer’s workshop. Adam Krafft and Sebastien Lindenast, the coppersmith who made works of art of copper “as if they had been of gold or silver,” and who is responsible for the copper figures which adorn the Frauenkirche clock, were his two bosom friends. They seemed, we are told, to have but one heart. All three were equally simple, disinterested, and ever eager to learn. “They were like brothers: every Friday, even in their old age, they met and studied together like apprentices, as the designs which they executed at their meetings prove. Then they separated in friendly wise, but without having eaten or drunk together.”

The masterpiece[45]of Peter Vischer is without doubt the shrine of St. Sebald, the highest expression of German art in this kind. Imagination, which is somuch lacking in most German art, is found here in plenty, and in a still higher degree the artist displays his sense of form and his careful attention to detail. To find any work of the fifteenth century which can vie with this in richness of fancy and in depth of feeling, as well as in successful handling of bronze, we must go I think to Ghibellino Ghiberti’s gates of the Baptistry at Florence. The criticism, however, which must be passed on the Sebaldusgrab is that the parts are very much greater than the whole; but the beauty and finish of the details are so great that once we are within range of their influence we forget and forgive any fault that may have caught our eye in the proportionment of the complete structure.

It was in 1507 that Vischer received the commission to make this superb receptacle for the bones of St. Sebald. For twelve years he with his five sons laboured, though their labour was often interrupted by want of funds. Private subscriptions failed to supply the cost even of the 15,700 pounds—about 7 tons—of metal used. At last when, in 1519, Anton Tucher in moving words had told the citizens in St. Sebald’s Church that they ought to subscribe the 800 gulden still wanting “for the glory of God and His Holy Saint,” the money was forthcoming, and the monument was completed.

The iron railings which surround it were made by George Heuss, who was also responsible for the clockwork at the Frauenkirche and the mechanism for drawing water at the deep well on the Paniersberg.

Round the base of the shrine runs the following inscription:—“Peter Vischer Bürger in Nürnberg machet dieses Werk, mit seinen Söhnen, ward vollbracht im Jahr, 1519. Ist allein Gott dem allmächtigen zu lob und St. Sebald dem Himmelsfürsten zu ehren, mit Hülf andächtiger Leut von dem Almosen bezahlt.”

That is the keynote of this wonderful structure. Through years of difficulty and distress the pious artist had toiled and struggled on with the help of pious persons, paid by their voluntary contributions, to complete a work “to the praise of God Almighty alone and the honour of St. Sebald.” No words, one feels, can add to the simple dignity and faith of that inscription. It supplies us with the motive of the work, and it supplies us also with the interpretation of the various groups and statues which form the shrine. To the glory of God,—we are shown how all the world, all nature and her products, all paganism with its heroic deeds and natural virtues, the Old Dispensation with its prophets and the New with its apostles and saints, pay homage to the Infant Christ, who enthroned on the summit holds in his hands the terrestrial globe. To the honour of St. Sebald,—the miniature Gothic chapel of bronze, under the richly fretted canopy some fifteen feet high, contains the oaken coffer encased with silver in which the bones of St. Sebald lie; and below this sarcophagus, which dates from 1397, are admirable bas-reliefs representing scenes and miracles from the life of the Saint.[46]

At the feet of the eight slender pillars which support the canopy are all sorts of strange figures and creatures suggestive of the world of pagan mythology, gods of the forest and of the sea, nymphs of the water and the wood. Between them are some lions couchant, which recall to the memory Wolgemut’s Peringsdörffer Altar-piece. At the four corners are candlesticks held by most graceful and seductive winged mermaids. But the most famous and the most beautiful figures are those of the Twelve Apostles, which stand, each about two feet, on high brackets and in niches on the pillars of the canopy.Clad in graceful, flowing robes, their expression and whole attitude expressive both of vigour and of tranquil dignity, these statues are wholly admirable. I know no sculpture or painting which conveys to a higher degree the sense of the intellectual and moral beauty and strength which centred in these first followers of Christ. That characteristic pervades them all, but the unity of suggestion is conveyed through a variety of individualities and of actions. Each apostle stands forth distinct in the vigour of his own inspired personality.

Those at the east end of the monument are St. Peter and St. Andrew; on the north, or right side as we face these, are SS. Simon, Bartholomew, Thomas, and Matthew; on the south, or left, SS. John, James, Philip, and Paul; and on the west SS. Thaddæus and Matthias.

The apostles are surmounted by the forms of the Fathers of the Church, or rather perhaps of the twelve minor prophets. Beneath the apostles, on the substructure in a niche facing west, is a fine statue of St. Sebald, and at the corresponding place on the other end of the monument is the excellent statue of P. Vischer himself, to which we have referred.

Right at the bottom, at the foot of the four corner pillars, are the nude figures of Nimrod with his bow and quiver, of Samson with the slaughtered lion and jawbone of an ass, Perseus with sword and shield and in company of a mouse, and innumerable other little animals; Hercules with a club. Between these heroes, in the centre of either side, are female figures representing the four chief manly Virtues—Strength in a coat of mail with a lion, Temperance with vessel and globe, Truth with mirror and book, and Justice with sword and balance. In all, besides the apostles and prophets, there are seventy-two figures, in the presentationof which amidst flowers and foliage the exuberant fancy of the artist has run riot. But all are subordinated to the two central ideas which animate the whole, and all are executed with a delicacy and finish little short of marvellous. The whole fabric rests on twelve large snails with four dolphins at the corners.

Peter Vischer died in 1529 and was buried in the Rochus Churchyard. His sons and Pankraz Labenwolf proved worthy successors in his art. Labenwolf was responsible for the Gänsemännchen fountain in the Gänsemarkt, the fountain in the Court of the Rathaus and perhaps for the St. Wenzel in the Landauerbrüderhaus. After Peter Vischer’s death his sons received an order to complete for the Great Hall of the Rathaus a very beautiful bronze railing, which their father had begun in 1513 for the family of Fugger in Augsburg, who, however, had withdrawn their commission. This railing, which divided the Great Hall, was a work of very great artistic excellence. But it was taken away in 1806 by the Bavarian Government,and sold for the weight of the metal. It was probably melted down by the purchaser for the sake of the bronze. Anyhow all trace of this beautiful work of art has disappeared.

We have now dealt with the most famous of the Nuremberg craftsmen. It would be wearisome to do more than mention a few of the leading names amongst those who excelled in other branches of art. A host of locksmiths, glasscutters, potters and stovemakers, bookbinders and carvers turned out in the golden age of Nuremberg work which has never received its artist’s name, but which continues to delight us. The painted glass, which in spite of much modern restoration is one of Nuremberg’s most priceless possessions, is often by unknown hands. But we can name such artists asSchapfer and Helmbach and later Veit, Augustin and Sebald Hirschvogel, Guttenberger, Juvenell, Amnon, Kirnberger and Springlin. Especially is it the case with the early glass in the smaller churches that we must label itPictor Ignotus. The principal churches contain painted glass windows which surpass even those of Ulm and Cologne. In St. Lorenzkirche there is the Tucher window (1457) by Springlin; whilst the Volkamer window (1493), representing the family and patron saint of the donor and the genealogical tree of Jesus Christ, is justly claimed to be, for richness and depth of colouring and for elaboration of design, one of the noblest windows in the world. It can only be doubtfully attributed to Veit Hirschvogel. To him, however, belongs the credit of the Maximilian window in St. Sebald’s (1514), and the Margrave’s window (1527), designed by Kulmbach, in the same church. There, too, is a window by Kirnberger and the Bishop of Bamberg’s window (1493), which may perhaps be by Katzheimer of Bamberg.

There were at one time fifty masters in the goldsmith trade, whose delicate work, excellent in execution and varied in design, was renowned throughout Europe. The fact that in 1552 nine hundred pounds’ weight of silver and silver-gilt ornaments was taken from the churches and sold by order of the Council, will show how rich Nuremberg was in this respect. But we can do here no more than mention the names of Ludwig Krug and Wenzel Jamnitzer and Augustin Hirschvogel, goldsmiths and painters on enamel.

Of armourers and metal-workers there were Hans Grünewalt, who died in 1503, and his son-in-law Wilhelm von Worms, whilst Martin Harscher (1523) and Kaspar Endterlein (1633) were chief among the makers of waterpots and candelabra. Sebald Behaim, the great gunsmith; Hieronymus Gärtner, the architect;Jakob Püllman, the clockmaker and locksmith, also claim mention.

Nuremberg was the home of invention as well as of industry. Christopher Denner invented the clarionet in 1690, and Lobsinger the air-gun in 1550. Cannon were first cast here about the year 1350, and in 1500 Peter Henlein made the first watches, which, from their shape, were called Nuremberg eggs. Specimens may be seen in the Castle and in the Museum. Erasmus Ebner discovered the particular alloy of metals which we call brass, the brass of earlier times being apparently of different combination, and one Rudolph invented a machine for drawing wire in 1360. About the same time the first paper-mill in Germany, if not in Europe, was established at Nuremberg; and here at the latter end of the fourteenth century playing-cards, though not invented, were certainly printed. Last, but not least, the honey cakes, which still introduce the German child to the name of Nürnberg, were famous as our Banbury cakes, and much appreciated by princes in the Middle Ages.

It will be seen that the proverb—

“Nürnberg Tand geht durch alle Land,”

was no empty boast, and we can now understand the force of the rhyme—

“Hätt’ ich Venedigs Macht,Augsburger Pracht,Nürnberger Witz,[47]Strassburger GeschützUnd Ulmer GeldSo wär ich der Reichste in der Welt”

“Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler poet, laureate of the gentle craft,Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge folios sang and laughed....Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee the world’s regard;But thy painter Albrecht Durer and Hans Sachs thy cobbler-bard.”—Longfellow.

“Heil Sachs! Hans Sachs!Heil Nürnbergs theurem Sachs!”—Wagner,Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg.

IT is impossible to be in Nuremberg many hours without becoming conscious of the fact that there once lived and died here a poet, who is still, as Wagner calls him, the “darling of Nuremberg.” His name is heard and his portrait seen on every side. In the Spital-Platz stands the monument erected to his memory in 1874 (Johann Krausser). His house in the Hans Sachsgässlein,[48]much restored and rebuilt since he lived there, is marked by a tablet. Who then was this great man? A cobbler—and more than a cobbler, a poet.

Hans Sachs, the son of a master-tailor, was born 5th November 1494, and died January 20, 1576. Apprenticed to a shoemaker he yet always found time, he tells us, to practise the lovely art of poetry. Hisfirst teacher was Lienhard Nunnenbeck. But it was during his five years of travel (Wanderjahre), in which he visited the greater part of Germany, that he formed his determination “to devote himself to German poetry all his life long.” In 1516 he returned from his travels to Nuremberg, made his “Master piece,” and became a “Master Singer.” We have already seen how ardently he supported the Lutheran teaching, and we have referred to his poem (1523) “Die Wittenbergische Nachtigall.”[49]His object was always both to amuse and to instruct. Even his light poems usually end with a moral. He strove to make the new teaching popular by versifying and translating passages from the Old and New Testaments. He was apt, however, to be too vehement in the expression of his convictions. So violent was he against Roman Catholicism that in 1527 the Council, anxious as ever to preserve peace and quiet, forbade him to write any more books or rhymes on that subject.

Hans Sachs was twice married. His first wife died in 1560, and the following year he married the beautiful widow, Barbara Harscherin, whose beauty and worth he praises in one of his most pleasing poems, “Der Künstliche Frauenlob,” written after the manner of the Minnesingers:—

“Wohlauf Herz, Sinn, Muth, und VernunftHelft mir auch jetzt und in Zukunft,Zu loben sie, so fein und zart,Ihre Sitt’, Gestalt und gute Art,Auf dass mit Lobe ich bekröneDie tugendreich’, erwälhte Schöne,Dass ich ausbreite mit BegierdeWohl ihres Frauenwesens Zierde.Vor allen Frauen und Jungfrauen,Die je ich thät mit Augen schauenHin und wieder in manchem Land,Ward keine mir wie die meine bekanntAn Leibe nicht, nicht an Gemüthe,Die Gott mir ewiglich behüte....”

We have mentioned both Meistersingers and Minnesingers. It may perhaps not be superfluous to add a word or two on the difference between these. The Minnesingers flourished in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. They were mostly of noble birth, and, in an age when poetry and chivalry kissed each other, they exclusively cultivated the poetic art, living in kings’ palaces, or wandering from court to court, and composing and singing pure and beautiful little love poems, in which the meadows and flowers sparkle, as it were, in the sunlight of their song. Best known of these minstrels is Walter von der Vogelweide. He, during his wanderings, visited and sang in this old town at the Court of Frederick II., himself a Minnesinger. Heinrich von Meissen, surnamed Frauenlob, also visited Nuremberg, but he was the last of the Minnesingers, and was buried at Mainz, 1318. After his time the practice of German poetry devolved almost exclusively on the burgher and artisan class. Close societies were formed: the rules of poetry and singing were taught in their schools. Versecraft became one of the Incorporated Trades. The Sängerzünfte, or Singers’ Guilds, flourished chiefly at Augsburg, and on the Rhine at Strasburg, Mainz, and Worms. The Meistersingers, ever anxious, but all unable to clothe themselves with the fallen mantle of ancient glory, speak of the “Twelve old Masters” (including Tannhäuser, Walter von der Vogelweide, Wolfran, etc.), as having lived together and formed the first society of Meistersingers, under Otto I. The truth is that these Twelve Masters were Minnesingers, and did not live together. Longfellow’s phrase, “Wisest of the TwelveWise Masters,” cannot, therefore, be correctly applied to Hans Sachs. The Incorporated Poets, we must confess, though they derived many of their rules and metres from the Minnesingers, managed to degrade the old German Minnesinging to a close, artificial, and philistine art. The final pitch of absurdity was reached, when in 1646 was published Harsdörfer’s “Nuremberg Funnel, for pouring in the art of German poetry and rhyme, without the aid of the Latin tongue, in six lessons.” Succeeding ages have thanked Harsdörfer for that phrase. “Nürnberger Trichter” has passed into a proverb. The first celebrated master-singer of Nuremberg was Hans Folz (1470), whom Hans Sachs called a “durchleutig deutschen Poeten” (noble German poet). It is to be noted that the poems of the Meistersingers were always sung to music, and often had to be written to a particular tune. Hence the stringent rules made for their formation: hence, too, when prizes were given for the fewest mistakes in mere technique, the great attention paid to form and metre, and the gradual elimination of true passion and poetry. Nuremberg had always fostered music. The art of lute-making, as of organ-building, had found a home there. Borkhardt, the famous inventor of musical instruments, built the St. Sebald’s organ about this time. Conrad Gerler’s instruments, too, were much sought after. In 1460, for instance, we find Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, sending for three lutes for the players at his Court. An extremely good and interesting collection of old musical instruments will be found in theGerman Museum. In this connection should also be noted there a picture of the Meistersingers’ singing school.[50]

The reputation of the Nuremberg school of poetryand singing was greatly enhanced by Hans Sachs. Remarkable for his own personality and literary fertility, he was also famous for reducing all the rules of the Meistersingers to writing, in a code which lasted till 1735. But, in spite of his attention to rules, he, at any rate, showed some poetic and original talent. It is for this reason that Wagner makes him, in “Die Meistersinger,” recognise the real poetry in Walter, though the latter’s impassioned song does not conform with all the artificial rules of the Guild, mere paper rules which added nothing to the sound or rhythm of the words. For, as all the world knows, Hans Sachs has achieved a second lease of life on men’s lips, through the genius of Richard Wagner, dramatist, poet, satirist, and wonderful musician, who, in this opera, laughs at the conceit of the Incorporated Poets in assigning an extravagant antiquity to their Guilds, and at their pedantic sacrifice of matter to form. No more vivid and humorous picture of mediæval German life and of the people of quaint old Nuremberg has ever been drawn. Though “Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg” was not published till 1867, Wagner had already as early as 1851 sketched out the plan of an opera which was to display the triumph of genius and genuine passion over pedantry and conventionalism in art.

The passage[51]from “Eine Mittheilung an meine Freunde” is worth quoting here.

“Immediately after the completion of this work” (Tannhäuser), he writes, “I was permitted to visit some baths in Bohemia to restore my strength. Here, as always, when I have been able to withdraw from the atmosphere of the foot-lights and my duties in the theatre, I soon found myself in a light and joyous humour. For the first time, and with artistic significance, a gaiety peculiar to my character declared itself. Capriciously, and yet not without some premeditation, I haddetermined a little time previously to write as my next work a comic opera. I call to mind that I had been influenced in arriving at this decision by the well-meant advice of good friends, who wished to see an opera of a ‘lighter kind’ composed by me, because this, they said, would open the German theatres to my work, and so bring about that success, the invincible want of which had undoubtedly begun to threaten my worldly circumstances with serious embarrassment. As, with the Athenians, a gay satirical piece followed on a tragedy, so suddenly there appeared to me, on that holiday journey, the picture of a comic play, which might suitably be attached as a satirical sequel to my ‘Battle of the Bards at Wartburg.’ This was ‘Die Meistersinger zu Nürnberg,’ with Hans Sachs at their head. Hans Sachs I conceived as embodying the last appearance of the artistically productive folk’s-spirit, and as such I opposed him to the vulgar narrow-mindedness of the master-singers, whose very droll, rule-of-thumb pedantry I personified in the character of the ‘Marker.’ This Marker, as is well-known (or as is perhaps not known to our critics), was the overseer appointed by the Singers’ Guild to ‘mark’ with strokes the faults against the rules committed by the performers, especially if they were candidates for admission to the Guild. Whoever received a certain number of strokes hadversungen—failed in his singing.” (The singer sat in a chair before the assembly: the marker was ensconced behind curtains, and gave his attention chiefly to marking mistakes in singing, in Biblical history, in Lutheran German, in rhymes, music and syllables.) “Now the eldest of the Guild offered the hand of his young daughter to that master who should win the prize at an approaching public singing-competition. The marker, who has already been wooing the maiden, finds a rival in the person of a young knight, who, fired by reading the ‘Book of Heroes’ and the old Minnesingers, leaves the poor and decaying castle of his ancestors to learn in Nuremberg the art of the master-singers. He announces his candidature for admission to the Guild, being inspired thereto by a sudden passion for the Prize-Maiden, ‘whom only a Master of the Guild may win.’ He submits himself for examination, and sings an enthusiastic song in praise of women, which, however, provokes such incessant disapprobation on the part of the marker that ere his song is half-sung he has ‘failed in his singing.’ Sachs, who is pleased with the youth and wishes him well, baffles a desperate attempt to carry off the maiden, and thereby finds an opportunity of deeply annoying the marker. The latter, who, witha view to humbling him, has already been turning rudely on Sachs about a pair of shoes not yet finished, plants himself at night before the maiden’s window, in order to make trial of the song with which he hopes to win her by singing it as a serenade. By so doing he hopes to secure her voice in his favour at the adjudication of the prize. Sachs, whose cobbler’s shop is opposite the house thus serenaded, begins singing loudly as soon as the marker strikes up, because, as he informs the infuriated lover, this is necessary if he must keep awake to work so late: that the work is pressing nobody knows better than the marker himself, who has dunned him so mercilessly for the shoes! At last he promises the poor wretch to stop singing on condition that whatever faults he may find, in his judgment, in the marker’s song, he may be allowed to mark according to his shoemaker’s art—namely, with a blow of the hammer upon the shoe stretched on the last. Then the marker sings: Sachs strikes on the last again and again. The marker jumps up indignantly. Sachs asks him nonchalantly whether his song is finished. ‘Not nearly,’ he cries. Then Sachs laughingly holds up the shoes outside his shop, and declares that they are now quite finished, thanks to the ‘marker’s strokes.’ With the rest of his song, which in desperation he screams out without a pause, the marker fails lamentably before the lady, who appears at the window violently shaking her head. Disconsolate, he asks Sachs next day for a new song for his wooing. Sachs gives him a poem by the young knight, pretending not to know its source: only he warns him to secure an appropriate tune to which it may be sung. The conceited marker thinks he has nothing to fear in that respect, and sings the song before the public assembly of masters and people to a quite inappropriate tune, which so disfigures it that he once more and this time decisively fails altogether. In his mortification he accuses Sachs of having cheated him by providing so base a song. But Sachs declares the song is a very good one, only it must be sung to a suitable tune. It is then agreed that whoever knows the right tune shall be the victor. The young knight does this and wins the bride: but rejects with disdain the admission to the Guild now offered to him. Sachs humorously defends the Master-Singers’ Guild, and closes with the rhyme—

“Though should departThe pride of Holy Rome,Still thrives at homeOur sacred German art.”

The “Marker,” thus pourtrayed in The Meistersingers, is Sigs Beckmesser, who is one of those whom Hans Sachs mentions as having taught him. There is nothing remarkable in Hans Sachs being a shoemaker as well as a Meistersinger, for the Guild was chiefly composed of weavers and shoemakers. What is remarkable is that he was something of a poet as well as a Meistersinger.

The Guild had to get special leave from the Council each year to maintain their singing schools. This leave was sometimes refused, on the ground that the Masters sang lascivious songs, and bawled them rather than sang. Their meetings occurred principally in the Church of St. Catherine, after afternoon service on Sundays—usually once a month. Public performances took place thrice a year, at Christmas, Easter and Pentecost. The public were invited to these great assemblies by placards representing a rose-garden and David playing the harp before our Lord on the Cross. This placard also announced the subjects chosen and the forms of songs allowed on the occasion.

As an author, Hans Sachs was astonishingly prolific. Besides his songs, he wrote fables, eighteen books of proverbs, comedies, tragedies and farces (in which he himself acted). Altogether, the number of his works reached the huge total of 6205. Some of his plays—and some were in seven acts—were acted in the Marthakirche and some in the Rathaus. From Sachs’ time the drama began to make headway in Germany; but it was not till after his death that it received its first great stimulus, when the English strolling players began to come through Germany, acting Shakespeare’s plays among others no doubt, and the more blood-curdling scenes from Ford and Webster. In 1628 the Council provided for such performancesby building the Fencing School, “for fencing and comedies” on the Schütt, next to the Wildbad.

Nürnberger SpruchsprecherNürnberger Spruchsprecher

Sachs was above all things a popular poet. He reflects both the good and the bad side of the people he represents. At his best we find in him that mixture of religious gravity with fresh and pungent humour which is so characteristic of the German spirit of those days. The narrative poem “Der Schneider mit dem Panier” is a good example ofthis, and is free from that coarseness which too often disfigures his writings. Nor must we forget to mention the long poem, “Ein Lobspruch der Stadt Nürnberg,” a descriptive eulogy of his native town. His narrative style is plain and straightforward, his manner pleasingly naive, though often both prolix and prosaic, his humour original and unaffected, if too frequently rough and Rabelaisian. But we can forgive him much for his robust good sense and shrewd irony. The first line of one of his poems—

“In dem Zwanzigsten Kapitel” (of the Bible)

will show how prosaic he can be: his well-known couplet on himself—

“Hans Sachs war ein Schuh-Macher und Poet dazu,”

is a fair example of the roughness of his versification.

Hans Sachs is buried in St. John’s Churchyard, and what is shown as his grave is numbered 503. But whether that is actually his grave seems to be somewhat uncertain.

On the whole, literature was far behind art in Nuremberg. But we must not pass over the institution of theSpruchsprecher, the poet laureate of the town. He was a speciality of Nuremberg, and had to deal in rhyme with the occasion of all weddings and festivals, when called upon. He rejoiced in a special dress, and was invented, it seems, about the middle of the fifteenth century.

One other Nuremberg poet is worth mentioning—Johann Konrad Grübel, “the Nuremberg Philistine,” as Goethe called him in compliment. A comic, dialect poet of the people, he was first-rate of his kind. He died in 1809, and a statue of him by Professor Wanderer adorns a little fountain near the house of Hans Sachs.

Der Kirchen act sind in dem OrtDarin man predigt Gottes Wort.—Hans Sachs.

NUREMBERG is rich in churches, those sermons in stones so much more eloquent than any words that ever fell from the lips of the preachers. The Gothic style has been finely called the true architectural expression of Christianity. In her churches Nuremberg possesses some of the finest specimens of the pure German Gothic style. They exhibit, it is true, the common failing of German architecture. Exquisite, though sometimes extravagant, in detail, they fall far below the masterpieces of the French architects in the proportionment of the whole.

St. Sebald, the patron saint of Nuremberg, affords one more proof of the fact that a prophet is not without honour save in his own country. It is, indeed, not even known what his country was. His history and even his name are so unfamiliar to any but Nurembergers that it will be of interest if I add here the record of his life from the account written by an eleventh-century (?) monk.[52]

Born at the beginning of the eighth (?) century, Sebald was the son of a Christian king: but as to whether his father was King of the Danes, Britons or Irish or apetty chief on the Danube biographers differ. Sebald’s parents had long been childless, but at last when all hope seemed gone, God heard the prayers of his servants and gave them a son. Sebald was born. The boy grew up waxing in years and virtue, learning the lesson of the love and fear of the Lord, obedience to his parents and charity to all men. At the age of fifteen he was sent to Paris to study theology, in which he quickly eclipsed all the scholars of his own age and many of riper years. He returned to his home full of wisdom and honours and was betrothed to a beautiful and virtuous maiden. But before the marriage was consummated he fled from the things of this world, and, leaving his wife, his father and mother and his inheritance, he chose the chaste and solitary life of a hermit. Within the lonely recesses of a dense wood he passed his days in prayer and fasting and his nights in self-inflicted chastisement. Fifteen years passed and then the hermit made his way to Rome, whence Pope Gregory the Second despatched him in company with SS. Willibald and Wunibald to go forth and preach the gospel, succour the feeble, confirm the good, and correct errors of doctrine. Together the holy men pursued their way, praising the Lord with cheerful heart, until at length it came to pass that weary with journeying and exhausted by storm and wind, they grew faint with hunger, and his two companions called upon Sebald to provide them with food. Then, having comforted them with doctrine, he departed from them a little way, and when he had poured out his soul in prayer, lo! there came an angel from heaven bringing to them bread that had been baked under the ashes. And when they were now come to the parts about Vincentia (Vicenza) Sebald, moved by the Holy Spirit, would go no further, but abode as a hermit in the wood. His fame spread abroad. From far and near, even fromMilan and Pavia, people flocked to hear from his lips the wonderful works of God. But, amongst those who came, came also an unbeliever who scoffed and blasphemed at the prophet and his message. Then Sebald prayed to God that a sign might be given, and immediately in the sight of all, the earth opened and the scoffer sank up to his neck. Then the hermit prayed with a loud voice and interceded for him, so that he was delivered,[53]and he and many of the unbelievers embraced the true faith.

Sebald now left Italy and came to Ratisbon (Regensburg), bringing the gospel into the wilds of Germany. At Ratisbon, after crossing the Danube in a miraculous manner, he stayed for a short time and mended, by the power of prayer, a vessel which his host had borrowed and broken.

At last he came to Nuremberg and settled there in the forest, in the heart of the Franconian people, teaching them the word of God and working miracles. On one occasion, we are told, he sought shelter in the house of a poor but churlish mechanic. It was winter: the snow lay on the ground and the wind howled over the frozen marshes of the Pegnitz. But the signs of charity did not shine brightly in the host. Sebald called upon the man’s wife to bring more wood for the fire so that he might warm his body: for he was chilled to the bone. But though he repeated his request the niggard host forbade his wife to obey. At length the Saint cried out to her to bring the cluster of icicles which hung from the roof and to put them on the fire if she could not or would not bring the faggots. The woman, pitying him, obeyed, and in answer to the prayer of Sebald, a flame shot up from the ice and the whole bundle was quickly ablaze. When he saw this miracle the chilly host gave the hermit a warmerwelcome (frigidus hospes ad ipsum factus est liberalis). Perhaps, it has been suggested, we may see in this pretty story an allegory of how Sebald quickened the flame of divine love within the icy Franconian natures, which it seemed as impossible to warm with grace as the winter’s ice. Sebald’s host now, to make amends, sallied forth and bought some fish in the market, contrary to the regulations of the authorities, and, being caught, was blinded. But the holy hermit restored to him the light of his eyes.

Sebald clearly foretold the date of his death: the place of his burial was appointed by a miracle. At length, says the chronicler Lambert Schagnaburgensis, full of good works, he fell on sleep in the town of Nuremberg. The bier of the Saint was drawn by untamed oxen. And they, when they had reached the spot chosen for his resting-place, refused though goaded to the utmost to move any further. Thus was the site of the church afterwards built to the patron saint of Nuremberg determined. Those who ministered to him swung incense over the dead body of the old hermit and lit candles above it. Now there was a woman, a sinner, whom Sebald had turned to the love of the true God. In memory of her sins and in expiation she wore about her arm a hoop of iron. And she came to see the dead hermit. It chanced that one of the candles above his head was crooked, and she stretched forth her arm and set it straight. At that moment the iron band burst. So she knew that the saint, when he entered into the presence of God, had not forgotten the poor woman whom he had converted on earth and that God had heard her prayer, and that her sins, which were many, were forgiven, as the broken ring signified.

Many other miracles were attributed to the ashes and relics of the saint which lie in the beautiful shrinein St. Sebalduskirche.[54]We have spoken at length of this exquisite work of art (p. 208), to which, says Eobanus Hessus in his poem on Nuremberg, no words can do justice and with which not even the greatest artists of past ages could have found fault.

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