alther; they have no _parti pris_ of bolts and shutters against
the New; on occasion they can be generous. "Yes, yes, I see, it
is quite another thing," they say, "when it is sung aright!"

Sure of victory, already triumphant, Walther leaps to the goal:
"Oh, day most rich in blessing, on which I awake from my dream! The
Paradise I saw in sleep lies before me in intensified splendour.
The murmuring spring lures me along the way which leads to it,--and
the One whose home is there, the elect of my heart, the loveliest
of earth, my muse and inspiration, as holy and high as she is fair,
I have boldly wooed her,--I have won, by the bright light of day,
through the victory of song, both Parnassus and Paradise!"

Before the last note has died, all are clamouring together, awarding
to Walther the master-prize. "Reach him the wreath! There is no lover
or singer like him!" And then Walther's exquisite morning-dream
comes true. He kneels before the woman more graciously beautiful
than any he had ever seen, while, bending upon him eyes luminous
with joy as twin suns, she places upon his head the wreath of laurel
and myrtle, the poet's and lover's crown.

Pogner wrings Sachs's hand. "Oh, Sachs, to you I owe happiness
and honour!" He draws a sigh of immense well-being. "Lifted is the
weight from my heart!"

There are congratulations and rejoicings. In the general glow of
good-humour, voices of master-singers call out to Pogner: "Up Master
Pogner, and announce to his lordship his admission to the master-guild!"
Pogner takes the decoration of the order, the gold chain with the
three medallions, and with the words, "I receive you into the
master-guild," is casting it over the victorious singer's head,
when Walther starts back, as from something of horridly unpleasant
association, and makes a gesture of uncompromising refusal. "Not
a master, no!... I mean to be happy without that title!"

An uncomfortable silence follows upon the hard snub. All look toward
Sachs, whose face has clouded over with pain. He walks to Walther,
and seizing him by the hand, as one might a child, to bring it to
reason, vigorously speaks the defence of the order to which he
belongs. "Despise not the masters, but, rather, honour their art.
The great good you have this day received speaks loud in their
praise. Not to your ancestors, however great, not to your coat of
arms, your spear or sword, but to the fact that you are a singer,
that you have proved yoursel