When Richard Wagner was only sixteen years of age he read with
great enthusiasm one of Hoffmann's novels entitled 'Sängerkrieg,'
giving a romantic account of the ancient musical contests at
the Wartburg in Bavaria. The impression made upon him by this
account was first utilised in his opera of 'Tannhäuser,' when
his attention was attracted also to the picturesque possibilities
of the guilds formed by the burghers.
It was not until 1845, however, that he made definite use
of this material, and began the sketch for his only comic
opera. The first outline was drawn during a sojourn in the
Bohemian mountains, when he felt in an unusually light and
festive mood. But the work was soon set aside, and was not
resumed until 1862, when it was finished in Paris. The score
was then begun, and written almost entirely at Biberich on the
Rhine, and Wagner himself conducted the overture for the first
time at a concert in Leipzig.
This fragment was very well received and there was an
'enthusiastic demand for a repetition, in which the members
of the orchestra took part as much as the audience.' The opera
itself, however, was first performed under Von Bülow, in 1868, at
Munich. The best singers of the day took the principal parts, and
the result of their united efforts was 'a perfect performance;
the best that had hitherto been given of any work of the master.'
The opera, at first intended as a comical pendant to
'Tannhäuser,' is, as we have already stated, Wagner's first
and only attempt to write in the comic vein, and the text
is full of witty and cutting allusions to the thick-headed
critics (at whose hands Wagner had suffered so sorely), who
sweepingly condemn everything that does not conform to their
fixed standard. During all the Middle Ages, and more especially
in the middle of the thirteenth century, the quaint old city of
Nuremberg was the seat of one of the most noted musical guilds,
or German training schools for poets and musicians. The members
of this fraternity were all burghers, instead of knights like
the Minnesingers, and held different ranks according to their
degree of proficiency. They were therefore called singers when
they had mastered a certain number of tunes; poets when they
could compose verses to a given air; and Master Singers when
they could write both words and music on an appointed theme.
The musical by-laws of this guild were called 'Tabulatur,'
and every candidate was forced to pass an examination, seven
mistakes being the maximum allowed by the chief examiner,
who bore the title of Marker.
The opera opens in the interior of St. Catharine's church in
Nuremberg, where a closing hymn in honour of St. John is being
sung. Eva Pogner and her maid, Magdalena, have been present
at the service, and are still standing in their pew. But,
in spite of her handmaiden's energetic signs and nudges, the
young lady pays but little heed to the closing hymn, and turns
all her attention upon a handsome young knight, Walther von
Stolzenfels, who, as the last note dies away, presses eagerly
forward and enters into conversation with her.
To secure a few moments' private interview Eva sends her maid
back to the pew, first for her forgotten kerchief, next for a
pin which she has lost, and lastly for her prayer-book. During
these temporary absences the deeply enamoured youth implores Eva
to tell him whether she is still free, and whether her heart
and hand are still at her own disposal. Before the agitated
girl can answer, the servant comes up, and, overhearing the
question, declares that her mistress's hand has already been
promised,--a statement which Eva modifies by adding that her
future bridegroom is yet to be chosen. As these contradictory
answers greatly puzzle Walther, she hurriedly explains that
her father, the wealthiest burgher of the town, wishing to
show his veneration for music, has promised his fortune and her
hand to a Master Singer, the preference being given to the one
who will win the prize on the morrow. The only proviso made is
that the girl may remain free if the bridegroom does not win
her approval, and Eva timidly confesses that she will either
marry Walther or remain single all her life. Magdalena, who
has been carrying on a lively flirtation of her own with David,
the sexton, now suddenly hurries her young mistress off, bidding
the knight apply to David if he would learn any more concerning
the musical test about to take place, and in the same breath
she promises her lover some choice dainties if he will only do
all in his power to enlighten and favour her mistress's suitor.
'Let David supply all
The facts of the trial.--
David, my dear, just heed what I say!
You must induce Sir Walther to stay.
The larder I'll sweep,
The best for you keep;
To-morrow rewards shall fall faster
If this young knight is made Master.'
Walther, who has just passionately declared to Eva that he
knows he could become both poet and musician for her sweet
sake, since her father has vowed never to allow her to marry
any but a Master, now listens attentively to David's exposition
of the school's rules and regulations. In the mean while the
apprentices come filing in, prepare the benches and chairs,
arrange the Marker's curtained box, and gayly chaff each other
as they join in an impromptu dance.
They only subside when Pogner, Eva's father, enters with
Beckmesser, an old widower, the Marker of the guild, who flatters
himself he can easily win the prize on the morrow, and would
fain make Pogner promise that the victor should receive the
maiden's hand without her consent being asked. He fears lest
the capricious fair one may yet refuse to marry him, and decides
to make sure of her by singing a serenade under her window that
very night. But when he sees the handsome young candidate step
forward and receive the support of Pogner, (who has already made
his acquaintance, and who evidently is inclined to favour him,)
the widower looks very glum indeed, and vindictively resolves
to prevent his entrance into the guild by fair means or by foul.
Hans Sachs, the poet shoemaker of Nuremberg, and all the other
members of the guild, having now appeared, Beckmesser calls
the roll, and Pogner repeats his offer to give his fortune
and daughter to the winner of the prize on the morrow, and
charges the guild to select their candidates for the contest. Of
course the very first thing to be done is to examine the new
candidate. Walther, when questioned concerning his teachers
and method, boldly declares he has learned his art from nature
alone, chooses love as his theme for a trial song, and bursts
forth into an impassioned and beautiful strain. But as his
words and music are strictly original, and therefore cannot
be judged by the usual canons, Beckmesser savagely marks down
mistake after mistake, and brusquely interrupts the song to
declare the singer is 'outsung and outdone.' In proof of this
assertion he exhibits his slate, which is covered with bad
marks. Hans Sachs, the only member present who has understood
the beauty of this original lay, vainly tries to interfere in
Walther's behalf, but his efforts only call forth a rude attack
on Beckmesser's part, who advises him to reserve his opinions,
stick to his last, and finish the pair of shoes which he has
promised him for the morrow. Walther is finally allowed to
finish his song, but the prejudiced and intolerant citizens of
Nuremberg utterly refuse to receive him in their guild, and he
rushes out of the hall in despair, for he has lost his best
chance to win the hand of his lady love by competing for the
prize on the morrow. His departure is a signal for a tumultuous
breaking up of the meeting, the apprentices dancing as before,
as soon as their masters have departed.
The second act represents one of the tortuous alleys and a
long straight street of the quaint old city of Nuremberg. On
one side is Hans Sachs's modest shoemaker's shop, on the other
the entrance to Pogner's stately dwelling. It is evening, and
David, the shoemaker's apprentice, is leisurely putting up the
shutters, when his attention is suddenly attracted by Magdalena,
who appears with a basket of dainties. She however refuses to
give them to him until he tells her the result of the musical
examination. When she hears that Walther has failed and has
been refused admittance to the guild, she pettishly snatches the
basket from his grasp and flounces off in great displeasure. The
other apprentices, who in the mean while have slyly drawn near,
now make unmerciful fun of David, who stands stupidly in the
middle of the street gazing regretfully after her.
This rough play is soon ended by the appearance of Hans
Sachs. He orders all the apprentices to bed, and, by a judicious
application of his strap, drives David into the house. Quiet has
just been restored once more, when Pogner and Eva come sauntering
down the street, returning from their customary evening walk,
and sit down side by side on the bench in front of their door.
Here Pogner tries to sound his daughter's feelings, and to
discover whether she has any preference among the morrow's
candidates, reiterating his decision, however, that he will
never allow her to marry any one except a man who has publicly
won the title of Master Singer. As he cannot ascertain his
daughter's feelings, he soon enters the house, while Eva lingers
outside watching for Walther's promised visit. She is soon
joined by Magdalena, who sorrowfully tells her that Walther
has been rejected; but, as she can give no details about the
examination, Eva timidly approaches Hans Sachs's window hoping
to learn more from him. The cobbler is sitting at work near his
window, singing a song of his own composition, and the maiden
soon enters into a bantering conversation with her old friend.
In answer to Hans Sachs's questions, she soon confides to him
that she cannot endure Beckmesser, and to flatter him into a
good humour she archly suggests that, as he too is a widower,
he ought to compete for her hand. Hans Sachs, who is far too
shrewd not to see through her girlish fencing, now resolves
to discover whether she is as indifferent to the young knight,
and in order to do so he drops a few careless and contemptuous
remarks about him, which drive the young lady away in a very
bad temper.
Smiling maliciously at the success of his ruse, the cobbler
cheerfully continues his work, while Eva rejoins Magdalena,
who informs her that Beckmesser has signified his intention
to serenade her that very night. Eva cares naught for the
widower's music, and, only intent upon securing a private
interview with the handsome young knight, refuses to re-enter
the house; so Magdalena leaves her to answer Pogner's call.
A few moments later Walther himself comes slowly down the street;
but, in spite of Eva's rapturous welcome, he remains plunged in
melancholy, for he has forfeited all hope of winning her on the
morrow. The sound of the watchman's horn drives the young people
apart, and while Eva vanishes into the house, Walther hides under
the shadow of the great linden tree in front of Sachs's house.
His presence has been detected by the shoemaker, who makes no
sign, and when the night watchman has gone by, singing the hour
and admonishing all good people to go to bed, he perceives
a female form glide softly out of the house and join the
knight. This female is Eva, who has exchanged garments with
Magdalena, and has prevailed upon her to pose at her window
during the serenade, while she tries to comfort her beloved.
Crouching in the shade, the lovers now plan to elope that very
night, but Hans Sachs overhears their conversation, and when
they are about to leave their hiding-place and depart, he flings
open his shutter so that a broad beam of light streams across
the old street. It makes such a brilliant illumination that
it is impossible for any one to pass unseen. This ruse, which
proves such a hindrance to the lovers, is equally distasteful
to Beckmesser, who has come down the street and has taken his
stand near them to tune his lute and begin his serenade. Before
he can utter the first note, Hans Sachs, having become aware of
his presence also, and maliciously anxious to defeat his plans,
lustily entones a noisy ditty about Adam and Eve, hammering
his shoes to beat time.
Beckmesser, who has seen Eva's window open, and longs to make
himself heard, steps up to the shoemaker's window. In answer
to his testy questions why he is at his bench at such an hour,
Hans Sachs good-humouredly replies that he must work late to
finish the shoes about which he has been twitted in public.
At his wit's end to silence the shoemaker and sing his serenade,
Beckmesser artfully pretends that he would like to have Sachs's
opinion of the song he intends to sing on the morrow, and
proposes to let him hear it then. After a little demur the
shoemaker consents, upon condition that he may give a tap with
his hammer every time he hears a mistake, and thus carry on the
double office of marker and of cobbler.
Beckmesser is, however, so angry and agitated that his song is
utterly spoiled, and he makes so many mistakes that the cobbler's
hammer keeps up an incessant clatter. These irritating sounds
make the singer more nervous still, and he sings so loudly and
so badly that he rouses the whole neighbourhood, and heads pop
out of every window to bid him be still.
David also ventures to peer forth, and, seeing that the serenade
is directed to Magdalena, whom he recognises at the window above,
his jealous anger knows no bounds. He springs out of the window,
and begins belabouring his unlucky rival with a stout cudgel. The
Nuremberg apprentices, who are divided up into numerous rival
guilds, and who are always quarrelling, seize this occasion to
bandy words, which soon result in bringing them all out into
the street, where a free fight takes place between the rival
factions of journeymen and apprentices.
Magdalena, seeing her beloved David in peril screams aloud,
until Pogner, deceived by her apparel, pulls her into the room
and closes the window, declaring he must go and see that all
is safe. Sachs, who has closed his shutter at the first sounds
of the fight, steals out into the street, approaches the young
lovers, and, pretending to take Eva for Magdalena, he thrusts
her quickly into Pogner's house, and drags Walther into his
own dwelling just as the sound of the approaching night watch
is heard. As if by magic the brawlers suddenly disappear,
the windows close, the lights are extinguished, and as the
watchman turns the corner the street has resumed its wonted
peaceful aspect.
The third act opens on the morrow, in Hans Sachs's shop, where
the cobbler is absorbed in reading and oblivious of the presence
of his apprentice David, who comes sneaking in with a basket
which he has just received from Magdalena. Taking advantage of
his master's absorption, David examines the ribbons, flowers,
cakes, and sausages with which it is stocked, starting guiltily
at his master's every movement, and finally seeking to disarm
the anger he must feel at the evening's brawl by offering him
the gifts he has just received.
Hans Sachs, however, good-naturedly refuses to receive them,
and after making his apprentice sing the song for the day he
dismisses him to don his festive attire, for he has decided to
take him with him to the festival. Left alone, Sachs soliloquises
on the follies of mankind, until Walther appears. In reply to his
host's polite inquiry how he spent the night, Walther declares
he has been visited by a wonderful dream, which he goes on to
relate. At the very first words the cobbler discovers that it is
part of a beautiful song, conforming to all the Master Singers'
rigid rules, and he hastily jots down the words, bidding the
young knight be careful to retain the tune.
As they both leave the room to don their festive apparel,
Beckmesser comes limping in. He soon discovers the verses on the
bench, and pockets them, intending to substitute them for his own
in the coming contest. Sachs, coming in, denies all intention of
taking part in the day's programme, and when Beckmesser jealously
asks why he has been inditing a love song if he does not intend
to sue for Eva's hand, he discovers the larceny. He, however,
good-naturedly allows Beckmesser to retain the copy of verses,
and even promises him that he will never claim the authorship
of the song, a promise which Beckmesser intends to make use of
so as to pass it off as his own.
Triumphant now and sure of victory, Beckmesser departs as
Eva enters in bridal attire. She is of course devoured by
curiosity to know what has become of her lover, but, as excuse
for her presence, she petulantly complains that her shoe pinches.
Kneeling in front of her, Sachs investigates the matter, greatly
puzzled at first by her confused and contradictory statements
and by her senseless replies to his questions. He is turning
his back to the inner door, through which Walther has also
entered the shop, but, soon becoming aware of the cause of
her perturbation, he deftly draws the shoe from her foot,
and going to his last pretends to be very busy over it, while
he is in reality listening intently to discover whether Eva's
presence will inspire Walther with the third and last verse
of his song. His expectations are not disappointed, for the
knight, approaching the maiden softly, declares his love in a
beautiful song.
As the last notes die away, the cobbler joyfully exclaims that
Walther has composed a Master Song, calls Eva and David (who has
just entered) as witnesses that he composed it, foretells that,
if Walther will only yield to his guidance he will yet enable
him to win the prize, and, patting Eva in a truly paternal
fashion, he bids her be happy, for she will yet be able to
marry the man she loves. David, who has been made journeyman
so that he can bear witness for Walther, greets the happy
Magdalena with the tidings that they no longer need delay,
but can marry immediately.
After the four happy young people and Hans Sachs have given
vent to their rapture in a beautiful quintette, they adjourn
to the meadow outside of the town, where the musical contest is
to take place. The peasants and apprentices are merrily dancing
on the green, and cease their mirthful gyrations only when the
Master Singers appear. Hans Sachs addresses the crowd, reads
the conditions of the test, proclaims what the prize shall be,
and concludes by inviting Beckmesser to come forth and begin his
song. The young people assembled hail this elderly candidate
with veiled scorn, and Beckmesser, painfully clambering to
the eminence where the candidates are requested to stand,
hesitatingly begins his lay. The words, with which he has had
no time to become familiar, are entirely unadapted to his tune,
so he draws them out, clips them, loses the thread of the verses,
and fails in every sense.
In his chagrin at having made himself ridiculous, and in
anger because his colleagues declare the words of his song
have no sense, he suddenly turns upon Hans Sachs, and, hoping
to humiliate him publicly, accuses him of having written the
song. Hans Sachs, of course, disowns the authorship, but stoutly
declares the song is a masterpiece, and that he is sure every
one present will agree with him if they hear it properly rendered
to its appropriate tune. As he is a general favourite among his
townsmen, he soon prevails upon them to listen to the author
and composer and decide whether he or Beckmesser is at fault.
Walther then springs lightly up the turfy throne, and,
inspired by love, he sings with all his heart. The beautiful
words, married to an equally beautiful strain, win for him the
unanimous plaudits of the crowd, who hail him as victor, while
the blushing Eva places the laurel crown upon his head. Pogner,
openly delighted with the favourable turn of affairs, gives him
the badge of the guild, and heartily promises him the hand of
his only daughter. As for Hans Sachs, having publicly proved
that his judgment was not at fault, and that he had been keen
enough to detect genius even when it revealed itself in a new
form, he is heartily cheered by all the Nurembergers, who are
prouder than ever of the cobbler poet who has brought about a
happy marriage:--
'Hail Sachs! Hans Sachs!
Hail Nuremberg's darling Sachs!'
[Illustration: THE RHINE MAIDENS.]