Great Opera Stories Part 6

But Eva was in no hurry, with this gallant cavalier close at hand.

Perhaps he wished to tell her a beautiful story. Had Magdalena seen her scarfpin? It was gone. Was it there on the floor?

"Good Lena, go back and find it," said the artful Eva.

And Lena went back, grumbling, and searched here, there, and everywhere.

Meanwhile Sir Walter improved his opportunity. The words hurried to his lips. He begged Eva to tell him whether light and happiness, or gloom and doubt, were to be his portion.

The answering words were trembling on Eva's lips ready to be spoken. But there stood the ubiquitous Magdalena again, with the scarfpin!

"We must go home," she said. "Come. Here's your kerchief and your pin.

But where's my prayer book? Oh, alackaday! I've left it in the pew!"

Back she bustled once more.

These interruptions served to make Sir Walter more impatient than ever.

Would he never be able to make love in peace? He took a long breath, leaned forward, and whispered eagerly: "May I hope? Or are you promised to some one else?"

And for answer, while Eva hid her eyes for fear they would tell of her love too soon, there was Magdalena again!

"Yes, Sir Walter," said Magdalena, and she curtsied low, wishing to be most polite to this handsome young man.

"Yes, Sir Walter," she repeated. "Our Eva is betrothed."

Betrothed? Sir Walter was stunned into silence; misery spread itself like a black cloud over his face. Nor did the reply please Miss Eva, either. She quickly interrupted, saying:

"But no one knows who the bridegroom will be. No, not until to-morrow."

Sir Walter knit his brows. That was amazing! Was it a puzzle? What did it mean?

Eva and Magdalena hastened to explain. After all, it was very simple.

Out in the meadows near Nuremberg a song festival was to be held to-morrow. It was to be a great singing match. And Eva's father had promised part of his fortune, and his daughter besides, to the singer who should win the prize. Eva herself was to crown the victor with a wreath of laurel. "But," they continued, "he must be a Master Singer. No one may even try for the prize who is not a member of the guild."

"Are you not a Master Singer, Sir Walter?" inquired Eva, timidly, and it was plain that she wished with all her heart to hear him say yes.

Poor Sir Walter! Until that moment he had never heard of the Master Singers. As for the song contest, he never even knew that there was to be such a thing. What was to be done? Could no one help? Walter was in despair, and Eva, who by this time knew the man she wished to marry, was on the verge of tears.

A shaft of light streamed across the church. The door was opened, then closed with a bang. A youth ran in hastily. He noticed no one. He wore a businesslike air, as he hurried this way and that. He was David, apprentice to Hans Sachs, the shoemaker.

From the expression on Magdalena's face when she saw David, it was easy to see how matters stood! Her heart was affected, too, and David was the cause. She looked at him admiringly a moment, then gave a little cough.

David started. He hastened toward her, smiling and holding out his hands. Ah! it was his own true love, Lena! But she must not detain him.

He was busy. There was to be a trial meeting.

"A trial meeting!" exclaimed Magdalena, joyfully. "Just the thing!" Now the handsome knight would have a chance. She beamed happily upon David.

"You must explain everything to him!" she cried, and whispered the directions eagerly.

But Mr. David was stubborn. He had no time. There was the platform to be set, the curtains to be hung, the chairs and the benches to be arranged.

And it was late.

"David, dear David," coaxed Lena, with her face close to his, "if you'll help Sir Walter to become a Master Singer, I'll bring you a basket full of the best things you ever ate."

And before David had time to refuse, the clever Lena had seized Eva's hand and had hurried with her from the church.

Scarcely were they gone, than with a great shouting the jolly apprentices danced into the church. They hopped and skipped about, joking and laughing, as they made ready for the meeting. They pulled one another's hair, they played leapfrog over the chairs, they pushed, they shoved, but they worked, too, and in a twinkling the church was transformed into a meeting place. There stood the marker's platform, for all the world like a great box, with black curtains on all four sides.

To the right of it were the benches for the masters, and in plain view of all was the great chair for the candidate.

Sir Walter had, all unconsciously, seated himself in the great chair.

His eyes stared moodily ahead. He heard nothing, saw nothing, of all the fun about him. He was buried in deepest gloom. He had promised Eva that he would become a poet, a singer, for her sake, and he wished to do so, but where and how was he to begin? Her father would not allow her to marry any one but a Master Singer. How could he become a Master Singer in one day?

While these thoughts pa.s.sed through the young knight's mind, young David stood watching. Suddenly he shouted:

"Now begin!"

Walter gave a jump.

"Eh, what?" he stuttered.

"Begin the song," said David. "That's what the marker says, and then you must sing up. Don't you know that?"

Sir Walter shook his head. He knew nothing.

"He's a stupid fellow for all his fine clothes," thought David. Then he said aloud:

"Don't you know that the marker is the man who sits in the curtained box and marks the mistakes?"

No. Sir Walter did not know that.

"Don't you know that the singer may have seven mistakes, seven,--and no more?"

Sir Walter did not know that, either.

"Well, well! And you want to become a Master Singer in one day. I've studied for years and years with Hans Sachs, my master, and I'm not a Master Singer yet. You have a lot to learn," and David gave a great sigh and scratched his head with his forefinger. Then, like the kind-hearted fellow that he was, but with half a thought fixed upon Lena's cakes, he began to explain. He explained the rules for high tones and low tones, for standing and sitting, for breathing and ending, for grace notes and middle notes, for rhyming and tuning; and the more he explained, the more perplexed poor Sir Walter became. His spirits dropped, dropped, down to his very boots. Indeed, his discouragement was so great that I fear he would have been much inclined to run away if at that moment the Master Singers had not come in.

Veit Pogner, the rich silversmith, came first. And tagging behind him, talking excitedly, and gesticulating while he talked, was the Marker of the guild, the town clerk, Sixtus Beckmesser. The rest came after. But their voices could not be heard. The town clerk was so busy telling Master Pogner that he hoped to win his daughter on the morrow, and that he would serenade her that very night, that no one else had a chance to say anything.

Imagine a short man, a fat man, a man with thin, crooked legs, a mincing gait, a head too bald, a face too red; in short, a clown of a man. That was Sixtus Beckmesser. Then think of two squinting eyes fastened upon Master Pogner's money. That was the secret of the town clerk's love for pretty Eva. He was as different from Sir Walter as night is from day, as sorrow is from joy, as falsehood is from truth. But he was determined to win in the song contest. And he had many powers, good and evil, to help him, as you shall see.

Sir Walter stepped forward, and Veit Pogner greeted him kindly. Surely so handsome a knight should be favored. Hans Sachs came forward, also.

And all agreed that Sir Walter should be given an opportunity. Only Beckmesser snarled with rage, for the young knight was a formidable rival.

"Ha! ha!" croaked he to himself. "Just wait. Let him try to sing! I'll show him what singing is."

Sir Walter was bidden to seat himself in the candidate's chair. And, with a smile that was far from friendly, Sixtus Beckmesser, slate and chalk in hand, entered the Marker's box and pulled the curtains together behind him.

Then in a harsh tone he called out:--

"Now begin!"