Great Opera Stories Part 7

Walter mused a moment and then began his song. The words, the music, flowed forth unbidden from his full heart. He sang of the Springtime which came into the sleeping forest, and, with thousands of heavenly voices, awakened the birds, the bees, the flowers. He sang of murmuring brooks, of rustling leaves, and of winter all forlorn, lurking in the woodlands, loath to depart.

And as he sang, groans of discouragement came from within the Marker's box. There was the sound of chalk scratches, once, twice, and again.

Walter hesitated a moment. Then he went on. He sang of the awakening of the woods to life, to happiness. His voice rose high in joyous refrain.

But a loud groan came from the Marker's box. Another scratch--another.

Walter took a long breath. He did not care. With thoughts of his fair Eva in mind, he sang on. He sang of love, which, like Springtime in the woodland, had awakened his heart. He sang of the thrill of life it brought, the happiness, the all-surpa.s.sing joy.

Suddenly the curtains were roughly pushed apart, and Beckmesser rushed out, slate in hand. It was covered on both sides with marks!

"Can no one stop him?" he cried as he jumped frantically about. "The slate is full," and he laughed exultingly.

The Masters joined in the laughter, for, it was true, Sir Walter had sung according to no rule of the guild. Only Hans Sachs and Veit Pogner, realizing the beauty and poetry of the song, tried to argue for the young knight. But their opinions were overruled. The Master Singers decreed that Sir Walter had lost his chance. He must be silent and sing no more. Sixtus Beckmesser remained triumphant, and Walter left the church while the Masters p.r.o.nounced the decree,--

"Outdone and outsung."

III

The day of toil was over. Twilight came, and then the cool and quiet evening. A bright moon rode on high. It peeped in and out, between the gables, behind the church spire, and promised fair weather for the morrow.

"Midsummer Day, Midsummer Day, And the song festival so gay,--"

sang the jolly 'prentice boys, as they appeared at their masters' house doors to close the shutters for the night.

David stood on the little gra.s.s plot before his master's cottage, also.

But he was not in so merry a mood. He was a serious young man with a sweetheart of his own, and he had no time for frivolity or nonsense. Let silly boys caper as they wished. So he pulled down the shutters and never noticed Magdalena, who had slipped out of Veit Pogner's great house across the street and was hastening toward him. The boys snickered and beckoned to one another in great glee. A well-laden basket was on Magdalena's arm, and even her voice had an inviting sound.

"David, dear, turn around!" she called. David hastened eagerly to her side. The boys, too, with broad grins overspreading their faces, crept forward on tiptoes to listen.

"See, David," they heard Lena say, "here's something nice for you. Take a peep inside. Doesn't that make your mouth water? But tell me first, what of Sir Walter?"

"There's nothing much to tell," answered David, quite unconcerned. "He was outsung and outdone!"

"Outsung and outdone!" gasped Magdalena. "Take your hands off of my basket. No, sir! None of my goodies for you!" and she flounced off, murmuring: "What's to be done? Oh, what's to be done?"

David stared after her. He was dumfounded. But the boys jeered and pointed their fingers at him. They had heard it all. Laughing and singing, they formed a ring, and capered about David, who became very angry, and struck out blindly right and left. But the more he raved and raged, the more they teased and tormented, until, all of a sudden, a tall figure stood before them. It was Hans Sachs, the cobbler. Annoyance was written all over his good-humored face. His honest blue eyes sent out sparks of anger. The boys hung their heads.

"What does this mean?" he cried. "To bed! To bed!" The apprentices stole shamefacedly away.

"And you"--he continued, taking the crest-fallen David by the ear, "put the new shoes on the lasts and get into the house. No song to-night, sir!" They entered the workshop.

All was still on the narrow street for a little while. Eva and her father sauntered homeward from their evening walk. They lingered for a few moments beneath the linden tree before the door, enjoying the evening air. Then they entered the house for supper. Lights glimmered in the windows. A dog barked in the distance. Peace pervaded the quiet town.

Hans Sachs appeared again at his workshop door. He flung it open and peered down the street, then he looked up at the sky. The gentle evening breeze fanned his cheeks. How refres.h.i.+ng it was! How pleasant it would be to work out of doors to-night! And, calling David, he ordered him to place his bench, his stool, the light, the tools outside, beneath the tree.

"You will not work in this light, Master?" queried David.

"Be quiet," retorted Hans Sachs, shortly. "Go to bed!"

"Sleep well, Master."

"Good night," answered Hans Sachs, as he sat down by the bench and took up his tools. But he did not work. The silvery moonlight cast a glamor over the town. It softened the outlines of all that he looked upon and made them vague, uncertain, beautiful. The evening breeze wafted down the sweet scent of the elder blossoms, and a delicious languor overcame him. The soul of the poet arose in the body of the cobbler, and, as if under a spell, he sat motionless, oblivious to shoes, lasts, tools, everything. The Song of Spring that the young knight had sung that afternoon began to haunt him. Faintly, elusively, it came to his mind, like the distant echo of a melody heard in a dream. Musing upon Sir Walter, who, like the birds in the woodland, had sung the song his heart had told him to sing, he did not see Eva trip lightly from her father's house. She paused before him. Hans Sachs looked up. The sweet girl, swaying back and forth like a bird on a bough, looked more like a happy thought than a physical reality.

Eva broke the silence shyly.

"Good evening, Master," she said. "Still working?"

Instantly Hans Sachs' face wore a genial smile of welcome.

"Ah, little Eva," he answered, "you have come to speak about those new shoes for to-morrow, I'll be bound."

Now, as you no doubt have already guessed, artful Miss Eva had come for no such purpose at all. To tell the truth, she had feared to ask her father aught concerning the trial meeting of the Master Singers that afternoon. For she knew it would be far easier to wheedle the story from her old friend Hans Sachs.

With a fine affectation of unconcern she began her questioning. But little did she know Hans Sachs. He, as it happened, was quite clever enough to divine her plan. He suspected that she must have some hidden reason for this sudden interest in the trial meeting. At least, he thought, it would do no harm to find out. So he spoke harshly of Sir Walter, and pretended that he had sung abominably at the trial meeting.

Indeed, the Masters were quite right in rejecting him! And all the time he watched Eva's expression and laughed, oh, how he laughed, in his sleeve!

Eva flushed crimson. She flew into a temper.

"A nice lot of Masters, indeed!" She flung the words at Hans Sachs.

"Little do they know of fine singing, or you either, for that matter."

Then she rushed angrily away, and crossed the street to her own home.

Hans Sachs smiled tenderly. He nodded his head wisely as he gazed after her.

"Ah!" he said to himself, "that's just what I thought! That's just what I thought!"

And still shaking his head, he gathered up his tools and entered the workshop. He closed the door behind him; that is, he nearly closed the door,--nearly, not entirely, which was most fortunate, as you shall see.

Not long afterward Sir Walter von Stolzing came hastening down the street. His face was full of sorrow. All his hopes of winning Eva were gone. He would see her once more, and then bid her farewell forever.

Eva saw him coming. Running toward him, she greeted him gladly and led him to the garden seat, beneath the shade of the linden tree. And there the young knight told her of his failure. As he spoke of the narrow-minded Masters who had spurned his song, his voice grew bitter.

"Ah," he continued, "all hope is gone unless you will marry me to-night." Eva a.s.sented eagerly. And so, in excited whispers, just loud enough for Hans Sachs to hear, the two lovers planned to run away.

Losing no time, Eva ran into the house and donned Magdalena's cloak.

Then, bidding the maid seat herself by the window in her stead, she hurried to join Sir Walter.

Just as the two lovers made ready under cover of the darkness to dive down the narrow street, clever Hans Sachs threw his workshop door wide open, and the broad stream of bright light from his lamp flooded their path. Eva and Sir Walter fell back. They could not pa.s.s that way. The cobbler would be sure to see them. They looked in the opposite direction. No. There was the watchman, and skulking in his wake was still another figure. Who could that be? He was coming that way. Oh, this would never do. In despair the lovers rushed back to the friendly shadows beneath the linden tree.

Meanwhile Hans Sachs, who had no objection to their marriage, but who felt a great distaste for elopements, had brought out his tools, and had seated himself at his workbench once more. He, too, spied a strange figure slinking down the street toward Pogner's house. Well he knew those thin legs, that fat body, the too bald head, the too red face. It was Beckmesser, the town clerk, the Marker of the guild. He had come to serenade the fair Eva. He would show her what fine singing was. And he looked up at her window expectantly, as he tuned his lute.

At the same moment Hans Sachs, chuckling softly to himself, broke out in a loud song accompanied by an outrageous hammering upon a pair of shoes. His big voice rang out so l.u.s.tily that it completely drowned the tinkle, tinkle of the town clerk's lute. Beckmesser became frantic with rage. Suppose Miss Eva should hear! Suppose she should think he was singing in that atrocious manner. A slim chance he would have to win her to-morrow! He gazed at the closed shutters Then he ran to Hans Sachs, scolding and pleading with him to be silent. What did Master Beckmesser want? And Master Sachs was most indignant. Those were his shoes that he was working upon. A man must keep at his trade. And the jolly cobbler went on hammering and singing as loudly as before.

The panic of Master Beckmesser increased. He paced angrily to and fro.

He put his fingers to his ears. And if Hans Sachs had not been so big and strong, it is not hard to imagine what he would have done next.

At last when the window in Pogner's house opened wide and revealed a maiden seated there, Hans Sachs ceased. He had a plan. He consented to listen to Beckmesser's serenade if he might be permitted to mark each error by tapping on his lapstone. For there were shoes to be finished, and that was the only way.