There came the bakers, the tailors, and the smiths; then the informal gaiety came to a sudden pause and the cry went up that the great Mastersingers themselves had arrived. They disembarked and formed a long procession, Kothner going ahead bearing the banner, which had the portrait of King David and his harp upon it.
At sight of the banner all waved their hats, while the Masters proceeded to their platform.
When they had reached their place, Pogner led Eva forward, and at the same moment Hans Sachs arrived and again all waved and cheered loudly. Eva took the place of honour, and behind them all was—Beckmesser, wildly struggling to learn his great song. He kept taking the manuscript from his pocket and putting it back, sweating and mumbling, standing first on one of his sore feet and then upon the other, a ridiculous figure, indeed.
At length, Sachs stood up and spoke to those who had welcomed him so graciously.
"Friends, since I am beloved of thee, I have one favour to ask. The prize this day is to be a unique one, and I ask that the contest be open. It is no more than fair, since so much is to be won. I ask that no one who shall ask for a chance to sing for this fair prize be denied. Shall this be so?"
While he waited for an answer, every one was in commotion.
"Say, Marker," he asked of Beckmesser, "is this not as it should be?"
That rascal was wiping his face from which the sweat was streaming and trying in despair to conquer the knight's song.
"You know you need not sing that song unless you wish," Hans reminded him, aside.
"My own is abandoned, and now it is too late for me to make another," Beckmesser moaned; "but with you out of the contest—well, I shall surely win with anything. You must not desert me now."