Whilst the knight was thus engaged, Beckmesser entered the shop, so stiff from his cudgelling of the night before that he could scarcely walk, and, intending to continue his quarrel with the cobbler; but, seeing the MS. of the song lying on the table, and imagining this to have been composed by Hans, his mood quickly changed, and he asked to be allowed to sing this in the competition, instead of the one he had himself written, since the latter, he added conceitedly, had now without doubt lost the charm it possessed in the ears of his adored mistress, who, having once heard it under such adverse conditions, would probably never care to hear it again.
Hans, knowing well enough that the unmusical town clerk would never be able to enter into the beauty of Walter's love-inspired words, said that he might have the song, bidding him, however, to sing it to a suitable melody; and Beckmesser, more confident than ever of his success, hurried away, full of delight at having thus secured, as he supposed, a song by Hans Sachs, who was acknowledged to be the finest poet amongst the Mastersingers.
A little later in the day, crowds of merry holiday-makers assembled in the large, open meadow on the outskirts of Nuremberg, to hear the great Competition of Song, which had been so eagerly looked forward to by all; and when Eva, the fair prize-maiden, looking more beautiful than ever in her dazzling white robe, and attended by a number of pretty maids-of-honour, had taken her seat upon the daïs which had been set for her, the enthralling business of the day began.
Amidst a sudden hush of expectancy, Hans Sachs rose to announce once again to the people the generous and soul-inspiring prize offered by the art-loving Pogner, to be awarded to the Master Musician whose song should be unanimously declared the most worthy of praise; and when the loud applause which greeted this speech had died away, Beckmesser was called upon to commence his song.
Nervously unrolling the MS. he had all the morning been vainly endeavouring to commit to memory, Beckmesser moved forward, and began his song, singing it to an altogether unsuitable, discordant, and unmusical tune; and in a frantic effort to remember the sense of what he was singing, he mixed up the words in the most hopeless manner, and, plunging deeper into the mire of confusion as he proceeded, he succeeded in completely losing himself, and converted the poem into an astonishing pot-pourri of ludicrous and meaningless balderdash.
At first, the people listened in amazement, thinking that the infallible marker, usually such a stickler for the correct rules of Mastersinging, had suddenly taken leave of his senses; and then, unable to restrain their merriment any longer, they all burst forth into a loud peal of derisive laughter, which completely drowned the ridiculous singer.
In a furious rage of disappointment and wounded vanity, Beckmesser flung the MS. at the feet of Hans Sachs, declaring to the people that the cobbler had schemed thus to disgrace him by foisting his own bad song upon him; but in spite of his defence, as he rushed away in a storm of vexation, he was followed by the jeers of the crowd, with whom he was by no means popular, and who had not desired that one so pompous and elderly should gain so fair a prize.
When Beckmesser had disappeared, Hans Sachs picked up the despised poem, and declared to the people that the song was a good one, but could only be properly sung by the person who had composed it, whose name was not Hans Sachs; and then he called on Sir Walter von Stolzing, as the composer of the song, who would, by singing it to them, quickly prove that he was worthy to be regarded as the very Mastersinger of Mastersingers.
A hum of admiration swept over the assembled company as the young knight stepped forward, for here, indeed, was one whose graceful form, glowing eyes, and poetry-inspired brow recalled the resplendent Minnesingers of old; and with hearts that throbbed with excitement, they listened to the rich joyous flood of melody that now filled the summer air.
Yes, Hans Sachs was right, and the song was a noble one, and this was a Heaven-sent singer who laid a magic touch upon their very hearts, and filled them with a rapture almost too intense to be borne; and even the critical Mastersingers who had cavilled at his heedless disregard of their various rules the evening before, were now held spellbound with wonder that song could be so glorious a thing.