"Stop your bawling there," one shouted.
"Leave off howling," another screamed.
"What's the matter? Have you gone crazy down there," others yelled, but Beckmesser still shrieked, unable to hear anybody but himself and Hans.
"Listen to that donkey bray," a neighbour called.
"Hear the wild-cat," another bawled; and in the midst of the singing Magdalene stuck her head out of the window. Beckmesser, thinking it was Eva, was encouraged to keep on, but David, who had come out at the rumpus, believed that Beckmesser was serenading Magdalene, and instantly became jealous. So out he rushed with a cudgel. The neighbours then began to come from their houses in their night-gowns and caps; some wearing red flannel about their heads and some in very short gowns, and all looking very funny. Meanwhile, Hans, who had got the row started, withdrew into his house and shut the door. Walther and Eva were still trembling under the lime tree, sure of being discovered, now that all Nuremberg was aroused and on the spot.
Beckmesser was surrounded by the neighbours, the apprentices came from every shop to swell the crowd, also the journeymen, while all the women bawled from the house windows where they were hanging out half way. David and Beckmesser were wrestling all over the place, Beckmesser's lute being smashed and his clothes torn off him. At last the Mastersingers themselves arrived.
Walther, at last deciding that the time had come when he must rescue Eva, drew his sword and rushed forth. Hans, who had been watching behind his door, then ran out, pushed his way through the mob and caught Walther by the arm. At that moment—Poof! Bist! the women in the windows threw down buckets of water over all the people, and Beckmesser was half drowned in the streams. This added to the confusion, so that Hans grasped Walther, and Pogner his daughter; Sachs and Walther retired into Sachs's house and Eva was dragged within her own. As Sachs disappeared, he gave David a kick which sent him flying, to pay him for his part in the fight.
Beckmesser, battered half to pieces, limped off, while the crowd, dripping wet and with ardour cooled, slunk out. When all was perfectly quiet and safe, and not a sound stirring, on came the Night Warder. It was comical to see the way he looked all about the deserted place, as if he had been taking a little nap, while all Nuremberg had been fighting like wild-cats, and he quavered out in a shaky voice:
|
Hear, all folks, the Warder's ditty, Eleven strikes in our city, Defend yourselves from spectre and sprite, That no evil imp your soul affright. |
He finished with a long-drawn cry: