Page:Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (IA diemeistersinger68wagn).pdf/29
My mind its pow'rs exerted;
So now life's highest prize by me
Must be to Song converted.
Each word and tone, my own alone,
I will attempt to sing you:—
A Master Song, if such it be,
My Masters, I will bring you.
Beckmesser.
Vogelgesang.
Nachtigal.
Kothner.
The Marker's place we'll fill.
Sacred theme do you choose, sir knight?
Walter.
The banner of love
Swung and sung to my delight!
Kothner.
Marker Beckmesser, please to hide.
Beckmesser
(rising and going, as if reluctantly, to the Marker's box.)
My chalk will harrass you, I trow!
Sir knight, now hark!
Sixtus Beckmesser goes to mark.
Here in the cell
He silently does his duty fell.
Seven faults are given you clear;
With chalk on a slate they are scored:
But if more mistakes than seven appear,
Then, sir knight, without hope you are floored.—
My ears are keen:
But as, if what I do were seen,
You might be curbed,
Be not disturbed:
I hide myself from view:—
So Heav'n be kind to you.
(He has seated himself in the box and with the last words stretched his head out with a scornfully familiar nod, then pulls to the front curtains, which a Prentice has opened for him, so that he becomes invisible.)
Kothner
(taking down the "Leges Tabulaturae," which the Prentices had hung upon the wall).
Now hear read from the Tabulature.—
(reads.)
It's regular measurement must have,
By sundry regulations stated
And never violated.
What we call a 'section' is two Stanzas;
Nor each the self-same melody answers:
A Stanza several times doth blend,
And each line with a rhyme must end.
Then come we to the 'After-Song,'
Which must be also some lines long,
And have its especial melody,
Which from the other must diff'rent be.
So Staves and Sections of such measure
A Master-Song may have at pleasure.
He who a new song can outpour,
Which in four syllables—not more—
Another strain doth plagiarize,
He may obtain the Master Prize."—
Now sit you on the Singer's stool!
Walter.
Kothner.
Walter.
(mounting the stool, with dissatisfaction).
Kothner (loudly).
Beckmesser (from his box, very harshly).
Walter. (after a short consideration).
So cries through woodlands the Spring,
And makes them loudly ring:
Then, as to distance urging,
The echoes ripple thence.
From far there comes a surging
That swells with pow'r intense:
It booms and bounds
The forest sounds
With thousand heavenly voices;
Now loud and clear,
Approaching near,
The murmurs steal
Like bells that peal:
Exultant Nature rejoices!
This call,
How all
The wood an answer makes,
As life again awakes,
Pouring forth
A tender song of Spring!—
(During this, repeated groans of discouragement and scratchings of the chalk are heard from the Marker. Walter hears them also, and after a momentary pause of discomposure, continues.)
With hate and envy torn,
A thorny hedge his haven
Sits Winter, all forlorn.
In withered leaves array'd
His lurking head is laid:
He seeks the joyous singing
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