ain and beaten. The two figures, in
flight and pursuit, waving lute and brandishing cudgel, disappear
and reappear at intervals among the swaying crowd. In vain Magdalene
from above screams to David to let the gentleman go. Pogner's hand
draws her away from the window; in the dim light he mistakes her
for Eva. Sachs, when the confusion is well under way, draws in his
work-bench and closes his door ... again all but a crack, through
which he can watch the two figures wrapped in a single cloak beneath
the linden-tree. When the disorder is at its height, Walther clasps
the girl with his left arm, with his right bares his sword, and
attempts a rush through the crowd, toward the gates and horses
of freedom. Quick as thought, Sachs has cleared his way to the
couple; he grasps Walther by the arm. Pogner at the same moment
appears at his door, calling for Lene. Sachs pushes toward him
Eva, half-fainting, bereft by panic of all power to withstand the
impulsion. Pogner receives her in his arms and draws her within
doors, not suspecting but that she is the faithful nurse whose
garments she wears. With deft foot Sachs propels David before him
into the house; then, forcibly drawing Walther with him across the
threshold, fastens the door,--his object happily accomplished.

The street-battle is still raging. But at this point women pour
water from the windows on the heads of the combatants, as they would
on fighting dogs. Simultaneously, the horn of the night-watchman
is heard. In the space of a yawn the scene is deserted; all down
the street are fast-closed windows and doors; Beckmesser hobbles
off rubbing his back. The old night-watchman, reaching the spot,
rubs his eyes, clearly wondering if he have dreamed that he heard
alarming sounds from that quarter. After looking all around, he
droningly calls the hour of eleven, enjoins the people to be on
guard against phantoms and spooks, that no evil spirit may work
harm to their souls, and so let God the Lord be praised! The full
moon rising above the housetops suddenly floods the quiet lane.
The watchman slowly goes down it. As he vanishes around the corner,
the curtain falls.

III

The interior of Sachs's workshop. The poet sits in an ample armchair,
near the window, bathed in the morning sunshine, absorbed in a
great book. The magnanimity of his mood, the beautiful deep calm
following upon certain resolutions and sacrifices, the gently exalted
melancholy of his meditations--half