" replies
Pogner sensibly, "if you have no hopes of the daughter's regard,
how do you come to enter the lists as her suitor?" Beckmesser,
after this check, cannot, of course, urge anything further in the
same direction. He begs for Pogner's influence with his child, and
turns away disgusted with the goldsmith's merely civil assent.
It seems to him that a man like Pogner ought to know as well as
he knows that women have no real taste, that they are capable of
preferring the sorriest stuff to all the poetry in the world. How
shall he, Beckmesser, avoid a disappointment, a public defeat? He
decides upon reflection to try the prize-song he has prepared,
as a serenade, and make sure beforehand that the maiden will be
pleased with it.

Walther has approached and exchanged greetings with Pogner. He
comes directly to the point, and, with airy aplomb, "If truth must
be told," he says, "the thing which drove me from home and brought
me to Nuremberg was the love of Art, nothing else! I forgot to
tell you this yesterday--but to-day I proclaim it aloud. It is
my desire to become a master-singer. Receive me, master, in the
guild!"

The masters are flocking in, bakers, tailors, coppersmiths, grocers,
weavers. Pogner turns to them, delighted. "Hear, what a very interesting
case. The knight here, my friend, is desirous of dedicating himself
to our Art. It seems like the olden days come back!--You can hardly
think," to Walther, "how glad I am! As willingly indeed as ever I
lent you my assistance to sell your land, I will receive you in
the guild!"--"What man is that?" Beckmesser almost barks, catching
sight of Walther. Suspiciously he observes him: "I do not like
him.... What is he doing here? How his eyes beam with laughter!...
Look sharp, Sixtus, keep an eye on that fellow!"

"And may I hope," asks Walther of Pogner, "to have this very day
an opportunity to undergo trial and be elected master?"--"Oho!"
soliloquises Beckmesser, with a shock of surprise at audacity such
as this, "on that head stands no skittle!" There is no moss growing
on him! Pogner is no doubt surprised too, but answers kindly: "The
matter must be conducted according to rule. To-day, however, as
it happens, is song-trial. I will propose you. The masters lend
a favourable ear to requests of mine."

The masters are assembled; last of all has entered Hans Sachs, the
shoe-maker,--dear, benignantly-gazing Hans Sachs. "Are we all here?"
asks one of the members. "Sach