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The Master Singers of Nuremberg.
13
David (still louder).
"Now begin!"—So cries the "Marker;"
Then you must sing up:—don't you know that?
Then you must sing up:—don't you know that?
Walter.
Who is the Marker?
David.
Don't you know that?
Trials of song were you never at?
Trials of song were you never at?
Walter.
No, ne'er with for judge a trade-worker.
David.
Are you a "Singer"?
Walter.
I don't know!
David.
But "Schoolman," surely, and "Scholar" you've been?
Walter.
The terms I've never heard, nor seen.
David.
And yet you would be at once a Master?
Walter.
Why should that seem to threaten disaster?
David.
Oh Lena! Lena!
Walter.
What do you say?
David.
Oh Magdalena!
Walter.
Show me the way!
David.
Good sir, the Singer's crowning deed
Is not accomplished with such speed.
In Nuremberg a famous Master
Has taught me Art—Hans Sachs.
A twelvemonth now he's been my pastor
That I might Scholar wax.
How to make shoe and poetry too,
Both studies at once I pursue.
Solid and smooth the leather beating,
Vowels and consonants I'm repeating:
When I have waxed my threat full well
About all rhymes I learn to tell;
While making stitches
With fingers neat.
I'm learning which is
The time and beat:
While true to my last—
The slow, the fast,
The hard, the light,
Gloomy and bright,
Contractions and snippings
And word-clippings
The pauses, the corns,
The flowers and thorns,—
All these I learn with great pains and care:
How far now, think you, I've brought the affair?
Is not accomplished with such speed.
In Nuremberg a famous Master
Has taught me Art—Hans Sachs.
A twelvemonth now he's been my pastor
That I might Scholar wax.
How to make shoe and poetry too,
Both studies at once I pursue.
Solid and smooth the leather beating,
Vowels and consonants I'm repeating:
When I have waxed my threat full well
About all rhymes I learn to tell;
While making stitches
With fingers neat.
I'm learning which is
The time and beat:
While true to my last—
The slow, the fast,
The hard, the light,
Gloomy and bright,
Contractions and snippings
And word-clippings
The pauses, the corns,
The flowers and thorns,—
All these I learn with great pains and care:
How far now, think you, I've brought the affair?
Walter.
Perhaps to a pair of right good shoes?
David.
Yes, I've pursued so far the Muse!
A "Stave" has parts and forms of its own;
Who can master all its rules alone?
With proper thread
And a fitting head
It takes a learned man, sir.
To sole and heel your "Stanza."
And then we have the "After-Song,"
Must not be short, nor yet too long,
Nor repeat a rhyme again
Which the first part did contain.
When all this is read, marked and learned
Even yet the name of Master's not earned.
A "Stave" has parts and forms of its own;
Who can master all its rules alone?
With proper thread
And a fitting head
It takes a learned man, sir.
To sole and heel your "Stanza."
And then we have the "After-Song,"
Must not be short, nor yet too long,
Nor repeat a rhyme again
Which the first part did contain.
When all this is read, marked and learned
Even yet the name of Master's not earned.
Walter.
Odds me! Must I then cobbling learn?
To your singing rather let us turn.
To your singing rather let us turn.
David.
Ah, if but a "Singer" I only could be!
Such labor is far too great for me.
The Tones and Modes we render
Have many a form and name;
The harsh ones and the tender:—
Who would try a list to frame?
So be advised by this:
Shun dreams of Master-bliss!
A "Singer" and "Poet," both, d'ye see,
Previous to "Master" one must be.
Such labor is far too great for me.
The Tones and Modes we render
Have many a form and name;
The harsh ones and the tender:—
Who would try a list to frame?
So be advised by this:
Shun dreams of Master-bliss!
A "Singer" and "Poet," both, d'ye see,
Previous to "Master" one must be.
Walter (quickly).
I only think of the Master-gain!
If I sing,
Vict'ry I wring
Only through verse with the proper strain.
If I sing,
Vict'ry I wring
Only through verse with the proper strain.
David (turning to the Prentices).
What are you doing?—Because I'm not there
All wrong you're placing the platform and chair!—
Is to-day "Song-class?"—You know how!
Make smaller the stage!—'Tis "Trial" now.
All wrong you're placing the platform and chair!—
Is to-day "Song-class?"—You know how!
Make smaller the stage!—'Tis "Trial" now.
(The Prentices, who were preparing to erect a large platform hung with curtains in the middle of the stage, put this away, by David's direction, and build
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