g dream. There has been
really no renunciation on his part, for he had never allowed himself
any serious parleying with the tender temptation. Not for an instant
does he present himself as a sentimental figure; but the generosity
with which he employs himself to secure for others the happiness
which, though in his good sense he had denied it to himself, his
heart had yet caressed in its alluring evening dream, makes him
a magnanimous one.

It is time when they have finished to start for the seat of the
Saint John's Day celebration. Sachs sends Eva home to her father,
orders David to close the shop, and starts along with Walther.

While the curtain is lowered for the change of scene, one of those
musical transformations takes place of which there are several
instances in these operas. With elements we know, new elements
begin to mingle; the old are withdrawn, and presently, musically,
as ocularly, the scene is changed. We behold a green meadow on
the banks of the Pegnitz; in the distance, the city of Nuremberg.
The place is decorated for holiday. There is a great stand for
the master-singers and judges in the song-contest. Crowds of
holiday-makers are on the spot already, more still arrive by the
river in bright boats. The various guilds march in procession with
their respective insignia, shoe-makers, tailors, bakers. Apprentices
and young girls dance together to a measure daintily gay as their
fluttering ribbon-knots. Conspicuous among them is David, so forgetful
for the moment of Lene and himself as to imprint a glowing kiss on
his partner's cheek. Frivolities stop short with the arrival of
the masters. These assemble to the sound of what we will call their
unofficial march; then, to their great march, they walk to their
places on the stand, Kothner waving the banner of the guild, and the
people acclaiming. Pogner escorts Eva to the seat of honour. When
all are in their places, a corps of young apprentices, filling the
function to-day of heralds, and carrying staffs of office liberally
be flowered, call out in Latin the order for silence. Quiet being
established, Sachs, spokesman for the occasion, rises. At once
the silence is shattered by cheers for the popular poet, cries
of joy at sight of him; there is waving of kerchiefs and hats. To
show how every one knows and loves his songs, the people entone
one of them all together and sing it jubilantly through; and "Long
live Sachs!" they shout, "Hans Sachs! Long live N