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The Master Singers of Nuremberg.
29
Sachs.
The Lord forbid I should demand
Aught contrary to our law's command.
But surely there 'tis wirtten:
"The Marker shall be chosen so,
By prejudice unbitten,
That nought of bias he may show."
If this one turns his steps to wooing
Can he refrain a wrong from doing,
To bring to shame 'fore all the school
His rival yonder on the stool?
Aught contrary to our law's command.
But surely there 'tis wirtten:
"The Marker shall be chosen so,
By prejudice unbitten,
That nought of bias he may show."
If this one turns his steps to wooing
Can he refrain a wrong from doing,
To bring to shame 'fore all the school
His rival yonder on the stool?
(Walter flames up.)
Nachtigal.
You go too far!
Kothner.
Too free you are!
Pogner (to the Masters).
I pray you, Masters, cease this jar.
Beckmesser.
Hey! What needs Master Sachs to mention,
Which way my steps may be turned?
With the state of my sole his attention
Better might be concerned!
But since my shoemaker follows the Muse,
It fares but ill with my boots and shoes.
Just look, how they're split!
See, here's a great slit!
All of his verse and rhyme
I would declare sublime;
His dramas, plays, his farces and all,
If with my new pair of shoes he'd call.
Which way my steps may be turned?
With the state of my sole his attention
Better might be concerned!
But since my shoemaker follows the Muse,
It fares but ill with my boots and shoes.
Just look, how they're split!
See, here's a great slit!
All of his verse and rhyme
I would declare sublime;
His dramas, plays, his farces and all,
If with my new pair of shoes he'd call.
Sachs (scratching his head).
I fear you have me there:
But, Master, if 'tis fair
That on the merest boor's shoe-leahter
Some little verse I frame,
I ask you, worthy town-clerk, whether
You should not have the same?
A motto such as you require,
With all my poor poetic fire
Not yet I've hit upon;
But it will come anon,
When I have heard the knight's song through:
So let him sing on without ado!
But, Master, if 'tis fair
That on the merest boor's shoe-leahter
Some little verse I frame,
I ask you, worthy town-clerk, whether
You should not have the same?
A motto such as you require,
With all my poor poetic fire
Not yet I've hit upon;
But it will come anon,
When I have heard the knight's song through:
So let him sing on without ado!
(Walter much put out, remounts the Singer's seat.)
The Masters.
Enough! Conclude!
Sachs (to Walter).
Sing, 'spite the Marker's angry mood!
Beckmesser
(as Walter recommences, fetches out his board from the box and shows it, during the following, first to one and then to another, to convince the Masters, whom he at last gathers into a circle round him while he continues to exhibit his slate).
What rubbish is this to shock us?
He surely means to mock us!
Every fault, both grave and slight,
I have marked on the board aright.—
"Faulty verse"—"Unsingable phrases"—
"Word-clippings" and "Vices" grave—
"Equivocal"—"Rhymes in wrong places,"—
"Reversed"—"Displaced" is all the Stave.
A "Patch-work-Song" between the two verses
"Clouded meaning" in every part—
"Uncertain words," then a "Change," that worse is—
There's "Breath ill-managed"—here's "sudden start"—
"Incomprehensible melody"—
A hotch-potch, made of all tones that be.
If at such toil you do not halt,
Masters, count after me each fault.
Already with the eighth he was spent,
But so far as this sure none ever went!
Well over fifty, roughly told.
Say, would you this man a Master hold?
He surely means to mock us!
Every fault, both grave and slight,
I have marked on the board aright.—
"Faulty verse"—"Unsingable phrases"—
"Word-clippings" and "Vices" grave—
"Equivocal"—"Rhymes in wrong places,"—
"Reversed"—"Displaced" is all the Stave.
A "Patch-work-Song" between the two verses
"Clouded meaning" in every part—
"Uncertain words," then a "Change," that worse is—
There's "Breath ill-managed"—here's "sudden start"—
"Incomprehensible melody"—
A hotch-potch, made of all tones that be.
If at such toil you do not halt,
Masters, count after me each fault.
Already with the eighth he was spent,
But so far as this sure none ever went!
Well over fifty, roughly told.
Say, would you this man a Master hold?
The Masters.
Ah yes, that's true! 'tis plain indeed
That this young knight cannot succeed.
By Sachs he may be a genius thought,
But in our singing-school he's nought.
Who should in justice remain neglected,
If this novice a Master were made?
If all the world's to be elected,
What good were the Masters' high grade!
Ha! look how the knight is enraged!
Hans Sachs on his side has engaged.—
'Tis really too bad! Quick, make an end!
Up, Masters, speak and your hands extend!
That this young knight cannot succeed.
By Sachs he may be a genius thought,
But in our singing-school he's nought.
Who should in justice remain neglected,
If this novice a Master were made?
If all the world's to be elected,
What good were the Masters' high grade!
Ha! look how the knight is enraged!
Hans Sachs on his side has engaged.—
'Tis really too bad! Quick, make an end!
Up, Masters, speak and your hands extend!
Pogner (aside).
Ah yes, I see! 'tis sad indeed:
My poor young knight will scarce succeed!
Should I retract my first decree,
I fear me sad results there'd be.
I'd fain to see him no more neglected;
My kinship he would not degrade:
And when the victor is elected,
Who knows if he will please my maid?
Some trouble I presage.
For Eva can I engage?
My poor young knight will scarce succeed!
Should I retract my first decree,
I fear me sad results there'd be.
I'd fain to see him no more neglected;
My kinship he would not degrade:
And when the victor is elected,
Who knows if he will please my maid?
Some trouble I presage.
For Eva can I engage?
Walter.
(in wild and desperate enthusiasm, standing erect in the singer's seat and looking down on the commotion of the Masters).
From gloomy thicket breaking
Behold the screech-owl swoop,
With circling flight awaking
The raven's croaking troop!
In sombre ranks they rise
And utter piercing cries:
With voices hoarse and hollow
The dawns and magpies follow!
Up then soars,
By golden pinions stirr'd,
A wondrous lovely bird.
Each brightly flowing feather
Gleams in the glorious day:
It signs me hither—thither,
To float and flee away.
The swelling heart,
With pleasing smart,
Behold the screech-owl swoop,
With circling flight awaking
The raven's croaking troop!
In sombre ranks they rise
And utter piercing cries:
With voices hoarse and hollow
The dawns and magpies follow!
Up then soars,
By golden pinions stirr'd,
A wondrous lovely bird.
Each brightly flowing feather
Gleams in the glorious day:
It signs me hither—thither,
To float and flee away.
The swelling heart,
With pleasing smart,
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