"That is true, that is true, not too much zeal, Beckmesser," Hans tried to interpose. Everybody was talking at once.
"I could not understand one word of his meaning," one cried.
"There was false time, false everything; it was ridiculous!" another shouted.
"The most absurd thing I ever heard," another called. In short, every one shouted and mocked and offered suggestions, except Hans Sachs who had stood apart, and after the first notes of Walther, had listened with great earnestness. In the midst of the excitement he came forward.
"Master Beckmesser, you have gone too far. We do not all agree with your opinion. The song which you despise, I find both beautiful, new, and free from fault. It is not such as we sing, but it is true and fine. I fear you have forgotten your own rules."
"Never, never!" the Marker shouted.
"Now, friends, hear my final word. This young knight shall be heard to the end." With a decisive gesture he motioned Walther to the chair again. All shouted "No, no!" but Sachs insisted and amidst the riot and hullabaloo Walther again began his song. His clear, beautiful voice was heard above the noise, but every one was engaged in telling what they thought about it. Only Sachs stood determined, trying to quiet the frightful uproar. Beckmesser was making a terrible to-do, and the apprentices were shouting with laughter, following the lead of their masters. After a little, Walther became so confused that at last he could sing no longer.
The apprentices began to dance wildly about their masters, and in the midst of the extraordinary scene, the knight descended from the chair, and turned away with a contemptuous glance. He was about to go, as the Mastersingers were struggling toward the door; but to add to the confusion the apprentices who had torn up the benches began marching about with them. While Walther, the Mastersingers, and the apprentices were struggling out, Sachs stood looking at the singer's chair, where Walther had lately sat, singing so beautifully that none but the splendid Sachs, with his good soul and his poetic nature, had been able to understand how great it was.
ACT II
Night of the same day came on, and David and other apprentices were putting up the shutters of their masters' houses, before it became too late. Hans Sachs's house—which was also his workshop—stood in a corner made by a little crooked path which crossed a Nuremberg street; while Pogner's house, much finer—altogether quite grand—stood opposite. Beside Hans's house grew an elder tree, and beside Pogner's, a lime. Magdalene, very anxious to know from David what had taken place in the church, had gone from her master's house with a little basket of the good things which David liked. This gave her a good excuse to seek him.