stand one word of his meaning," one cried.

"There was false time, false everything; it was ridiculous!" another
shouted.

"The most absurd thing I ever heard," another called. In short, every
one shouted and mocked and offered suggestions, except Hans Sachs who
had stood apart, and after the first notes of Walther, had listened
with great earnestness. In the midst of the excitement he came
forward.

"Master Beckmesser, you have gone too far. We do not all agree with
your opinion. The song which you despise, I find both beautiful, new,
and free from fault. It is not such as we sing, but it is true and
fine. I fear you have forgotten your own rules."

"Never, never!" the Marker shouted.

"Now, friends, hear my final word. This young knight shall be heard to
the end." With a decisive gesture he motioned Walther to the chair
again. All shouted "No, no!" but Sachs insisted and amidst the riot
and hullabaloo Walther again began his song. His clear, beautiful
voice was heard above the noise, but every one was engaged in telling
what they thought about it. Only Sachs stood determined, trying to
quiet the frightful uproar. Beckmesser was making a terrible to-do,
and the apprentices were shouting with laughter, following the lead of
their masters. After a little, Walther became so confused that at last
he could sing no longer.

The apprentices began to dance wildly about their masters, and in the
midst of the extraordinary scene, the knight descended from the chair,
and turned away with a contemptuous glance. He was about to go, as the
Mastersingers were struggling toward the door; but to add to the
confusion the apprentices who had torn up the benches began marching
about with them. While Walther, the Mastersingers, and the apprentices
were struggling out, Sachs stood looking at the singer's chair, where
Walther had lately sat, singing so beautifully that none but the
splendid Sachs, with his good soul and his poetic nature, had been
able to understand how great it was.

ACT II

Night of the same day came on, and David and other apprentices were
putting up the shutters of their masters' houses, before it became too
late. Hans Sachs's house--which was also his workshop--stood in a
corner made by a little crooked path which crossed a Nuremberg street;
while Pogner's house, much finer--altogether quite grand--stood
opposite. Beside Hans's house grew an elder tree, and beside Pogner's,
a lime. Magdalene, very anxious t