"A dream?" Hans Sachs was all attention. "Tell it to me!"
"I dare not. I fear it will fade away," said Sir Walter.
"Nay. It is of such dreams that poetry is made,"—and the eyes of the cobbler gleamed with an inner radiance. "Poems are but dreams made real."
Thus urged and encouraged, the young knight sang the story of his dream. And Hans Sachs was moved by the rare beauty of the poetry and music. Hastily procuring pen and ink, he bade Sir Walter sing it over again while he transcribed the words to paper. Then, as the song continued, the kind-hearted master added bits of advice in a low tone. He showed the young knight how he could keep the words and melody as beautiful as his dream, and still obey the rules of correct singing. Charging him not to forget the tune, Hans Sachs insisted that Sir Walter array himself in his richest garments and accompany him to the Song Festival.
"For," concluded he, "something may happen. Who can tell?" And so the two men entered the inner room together.
Hans Sachs was right. Something did happen, and very soon, too. Scarcely was that door closed than the one leading to the street was cautiously pushed open. And a too bald head, a too red face, and two squinting, crafty eyes peeped in. Then, assured that no one was about, a wretched figure limped after. It was Beckmesser, the town clerk, but a sore and aching Beckmesser; a Beckmesser who could neither sit, nor stand,—a miserable Beckmesser, whose disposition had not been at all improved by the cudgeling that he had received. Slowly and painfully he came forward. And since there was no one at hand, he shook his fist and scowled savagely at the bright sunshine and the soft air.
As he hopped and limped about the room, he came, by chance, to the table whereon lay the paper upon which Hans Sachs had written. He took it up, inquisitively sniffing, as he ran his eye over it. What was this? A trial song, and a love song at that? And, hearing the chamber door open, he, then and there, stuck the paper into his pocket. How Hans Sachs smiled when he saw what the crafty creature had been about!
"Very well, Master Beckmesser," said he. "Since you've already pocketed the song, and since I do not wish you to be known as a thief, I gladly give it to you."
"And you'll never tell any one that you composed it?" squeaked Beckmesser.
"No, I'll never tell any one that I composed it," and Hans Sachs turned away to hide his laughter, for he knew full well that no Master Beckmesser could learn and sing that song that day.