But the miserable Beckmesser was beside himself with joy. Such a song, composed by a master like Hans Sachs and sung by a singer like Sixtus Beckmesser, could not fail to win the prize! Rubbing his hands with glee, he hobbled and stumbled from the room.
The time for the Song Festival came at last. The worthy people of Nuremberg,—the bakers, the cobblers, the tailors, the tinkers, with their wives and their sweethearts, all clad in the brightest of holiday clothes, journeyed to the open meadow at some distance behind the town. And there a scene of jollity and merriment awaited them. Gayly decorated boats sailed to and fro, bringing more burghers from near and far. Under tents of colored bunting merry people were eating and drinking. Flags flew, bands played; there was dancing and singing, laughter and joy. And the 'prentices in all the glory of floating ribbons and many-colored flowers ran this way and that, ordering the tradespeople to the benches one moment and dancing with the prettiest girls the next.
Suddenly a shout was heard: "The Master Singers! The Master Singers!" And a hush fell over the company, as the 'prentices marched solemnly forward and cleared the way. The standard bearer came first, and following him, Veit Pogner, leading the fair Eva by the hand. She was richly dressed, and looked radiant as the morning itself. Attending her were other splendidly gowned maidens, among whom was the one that David thought the most lovely of all. Then came the Master Singers. And when the people saw their beloved Hans Sachs among the rest, they shouted and waved their hats in loyal greeting.
The Master Singers took their seats on the platform, a place of honor in their midst having been assigned to Eva and her maidens. Several 'prentices ran forward and heaped up a little mound of turf, which they beat solid and then strewed with flowers. The time for the prize singing was at hand.
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"Unmarried masters, forward to win! Friend Beckmesser, it is time. Begin!" |
The 'prentices conducted Beckmesser to the mound. He put up one aching leg, then the other. He stood wavering uncertainly a moment, then toppled over.
"The thing is rickety," he snarled. "Make it secure."
The boys set hastily to work, slyly snickering, while they beat the turf with their spades. And the people near at hand giggled and whispered:
"What a lover!"—"I wouldn't care for him if I were the lady."—"He's too fat."—"Look at his red face."—"Where's his hair?"
With the help of the 'prentices Beckmesser again hobbled up on the mound. Striving to set his feet securely, he looked right and left. Then he made a grand bow.