_The Meistersingers and Hans Sachs_
"Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler poet, laureate of the gentle craft,
Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge folios sang and laughed....
Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee the world's regard;
But thy painter Albrecht Durer and Hans Sachs thy cobbler-bard."
--LONGFELLOW.
"Heil Sachs! Hans Sachs!
Heil Nürnbergs theurem Sachs!"
--WAGNER, _Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg_.
It is impossible to be in Nuremberg many hours without becoming
conscious of the fact that there once lived and died here a poet, who is
still, as Wagner calls him, the "darling of Nuremberg." His name is
heard and his portrait seen on every side. In the Spital-Platz stands
the monument erected to his memory in 1874 (Johann Krausser). His house
in the Hans Sachsgässlein,[48] much restored and rebuilt since he lived
there, is marked by a tablet. Who then was this great man? A
cobbler--and more than a cobbler, a poet.
Hans Sachs, the son of a master-tailor, was born 5th November 1494, and
died January 20, 1576. Apprenticed to a shoemaker he yet always found
time, he tells us, to practise the lovely art of poetry. His first
teacher was Lienhard Nunnenbeck. But it was during his five years of
travel (Wanderjahre), in which he visited the greater part of Germany,
that he formed his determination "to devote himself to German poetry all
his life long." In 1516 he returned from his travels to Nuremberg, made
his "Master piece," and became a "Master Singer." We have already seen
how ardently he supported the Lutheran teaching, and we have referred to
his poem (1523) "Die Wittenbergische Nachtigall."[49] His object was
always both to amuse and to instruct. Even his light poems usually end
with a moral. He strove to make the new teaching popular by versifying
and translating passages from the Old and New Testaments. He was apt,
however, to be too vehement in the expression of his convictions. So
violent was he against Roman Catholicism that in 1527 the Council,
anxious as ever to preserve peace and quiet, forbade him to write any
more books or rhymes on that subject.
Hans Sachs was twice married. His first wife died in 1560, and the
following year he married the beautiful widow, Barbara Harscherin, whose
beauty and worth he praises in one of his most pleasing poems, "Der
Künstliche Frauenlob," written after the manner of the Minnesingers:--
"Wohlauf Herz, Sinn, Muth, und Vernunft
Helft mir auch jetzt und in Zukunft,
Zu loben sie, so fein und zart,
Ihre Sitt', Gestalt und gute Art,
Auf dass mit Lobe ich bekröne
Die tugendreich', erwälhte Schöne,
Dass ich ausbreite mit Begierde
Wohl ihres Frauenwesens Zierde.
Vor allen Frauen und Jungfrauen,
Die je ich thät mit Augen schauen
Hin und wieder in manchem Land,
Ward keine mir wie die meine bekannt
An Leibe nicht, nicht an Gemüthe,
Die Gott mir ewiglich behüte...."
We have mentioned both Meistersingers and Minnesingers. It may perhaps
not be superfluous to add a word or two on the difference between these.
The Minnesingers flourished in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.
They were mostly of noble birth, and, in an age when poetry and chivalry
kissed each other, they exclusively cultivated the poetic art, living in
kings' palaces, or wandering from court to court, and composing and
singing pure and beautiful little love poems, in which the meadows and
flowers sparkle, as it were, in the sunlight of their song. Best known
of these minstrels is Walter von der Vogelweide. He, during his
wanderings, visited and sang in this old town at the Court of Frederick
II., himself a Minnesinger. Heinrich von Meissen, surnamed Frauenlob,
also visited Nuremberg, but he was the last of the Minnesingers, and was
buried at Mainz, 1318. After his time the practice of German poetry
devolved almost exclusively on the burgher and artisan class. Close
societies were formed: the rules of poetry and singing were taught in
their schools. Versecraft became one of the Incorporated Trades. The
Sängerzünfte, or Singers' Guilds, flourished chiefly at Augsburg, and on
the Rhine at Strasburg, Mainz, and Worms. The Meistersingers, ever
anxious, but all unable to clothe themselves with the fallen mantle of
ancient glory, speak of the "Twelve old Masters" (including Tannhäuser,
Walter von der Vogelweide, Wolfran, etc.), as having lived together and
formed the first society of Meistersingers, under Otto I. The truth is
that these Twelve Masters were Minnesingers, and did not live together.
Longfellow's phrase, "Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters," cannot,
therefore, be correctly applied to Hans Sachs. The Incorporated Poets,
we must confess, though they derived many of their rules and metres from
the Minnesingers, managed to degrade the old German Minnesinging to a
close, artificial, and philistine art. The final pitch of absurdity was
reached, when in 1646 was published Harsdörfer's "Nuremberg Funnel, for
pouring in the art of German poetry and rhyme, without the aid of the
Latin tongue, in six lessons." Succeeding ages have thanked Harsdörfer
for that phrase. "Nürnberger Trichter" has passed into a proverb. The
first celebrated master-singer of Nuremberg was Hans Folz (1470), whom
Hans Sachs called a "durchleutig deutschen Poeten" (noble German poet).
It is to be noted that the poems of the Meistersingers were always sung
to music, and often had to be written to a particular tune. Hence the
stringent rules made for their formation: hence, too, when prizes were
given for the fewest mistakes in mere technique, the great attention
paid to form and metre, and the gradual elimination of true passion and
poetry. Nuremberg had always fostered music. The art of lute-making, as
of organ-building, had found a home there. Borkhardt, the famous
inventor of musical instruments, built the St. Sebald's organ about this
time. Conrad Gerler's instruments, too, were much sought after. In 1460,
for instance, we find Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, sending for
three lutes for the players at his Court. An extremely good and
interesting collection of old musical instruments will be found in the
_German Museum_. In this connection should also be noted there a picture
of the Meistersingers' singing school.[50]
The reputation of the Nuremberg school of poetry and singing was
greatly enhanced by Hans Sachs. Remarkable for his own personality and
literary fertility, he was also famous for reducing all the rules of the
Meistersingers to writing, in a code which lasted till 1735. But, in
spite of his attention to rules, he, at any rate, showed some poetic and
original talent. It is for this reason that Wagner makes him, in "Die
Meistersinger," recognise the real poetry in Walter, though the latter's
impassioned song does not conform with all the artificial rules of the
Guild, mere paper rules which added nothing to the sound or rhythm of
the words. For, as all the world knows, Hans Sachs has achieved a second
lease of life on men's lips, through the genius of Richard Wagner,
dramatist, poet, satirist, and wonderful musician, who, in this opera,
laughs at the conceit of the Incorporated Poets in assigning an
extravagant antiquity to their Guilds, and at their pedantic sacrifice
of matter to form. No more vivid and humorous picture of mediæval German
life and of the people of quaint old Nuremberg has ever been drawn.
Though "Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg" was not published till 1867,
Wagner had already as early as 1851 sketched out the plan of an opera
which was to display the triumph of genius and genuine passion over
pedantry and conventionalism in art.
The passage[51] from "Eine Mittheilung an meine Freunde" is worth
quoting here.
"Immediately after the completion of this work" (Tannhäuser), he
writes, "I was permitted to visit some baths in Bohemia to restore
my strength. Here, as always, when I have been able to withdraw
from the atmosphere of the foot-lights and my duties in the
theatre, I soon found myself in a light and joyous humour. For the
first time, and with artistic significance, a gaiety peculiar to my
character declared itself. Capriciously, and yet not without some
premeditation, I had determined a little time previously to write
as my next work a comic opera. I call to mind that I had been
influenced in arriving at this decision by the well-meant advice of
good friends, who wished to see an opera of a 'lighter kind'
composed by me, because this, they said, would open the German
theatres to my work, and so bring about that success, the
invincible want of which had undoubtedly begun to threaten my
worldly circumstances with serious embarrassment. As, with the
Athenians, a gay satirical piece followed on a tragedy, so suddenly
there appeared to me, on that holiday journey, the picture of a
comic play, which might suitably be attached as a satirical sequel
to my 'Battle of the Bards at Wartburg.' This was 'Die
Meistersinger zu Nürnberg,' with Hans Sachs at their head. Hans
Sachs I conceived as embodying the last appearance of the
artistically productive folk's-spirit, and as such I opposed him to
the vulgar narrow-mindedness of the master-singers, whose very
droll, rule-of-thumb pedantry I personified in the character of the
'Marker.' This Marker, as is well-known (or as is perhaps not known
to our critics), was the overseer appointed by the Singers' Guild
to 'mark' with strokes the faults against the rules committed by
the performers, especially if they were candidates for admission to
the Guild. Whoever received a certain number of strokes had
_versungen_--failed in his singing." (The singer sat in a chair
before the assembly: the marker was ensconced behind curtains, and
gave his attention chiefly to marking mistakes in singing, in
Biblical history, in Lutheran German, in rhymes, music and
syllables.) "Now the eldest of the Guild offered the hand of his
young daughter to that master who should win the prize at an
approaching public singing-competition. The marker, who has already
been wooing the maiden, finds a rival in the person of a young
knight, who, fired by reading the 'Book of Heroes' and the old
Minnesingers, leaves the poor and decaying castle of his ancestors
to learn in Nuremberg the art of the master-singers. He announces
his candidature for admission to the Guild, being inspired thereto
by a sudden passion for the Prize-Maiden, 'whom only a Master of
the Guild may win.' He submits himself for examination, and sings
an enthusiastic song in praise of women, which, however, provokes
such incessant disapprobation on the part of the marker that ere
his song is half-sung he has 'failed in his singing.' Sachs, who is
pleased with the youth and wishes him well, baffles a desperate
attempt to carry off the maiden, and thereby finds an opportunity
of deeply annoying the marker. The latter, who, with a view to
humbling him, has already been turning rudely on Sachs about a pair
of shoes not yet finished, plants himself at night before the
maiden's window, in order to make trial of the song with which he
hopes to win her by singing it as a serenade. By so doing he hopes
to secure her voice in his favour at the adjudication of the prize.
Sachs, whose cobbler's shop is opposite the house thus serenaded,
begins singing loudly as soon as the marker strikes up, because, as
he informs the infuriated lover, this is necessary if he must keep
awake to work so late: that the work is pressing nobody knows
better than the marker himself, who has dunned him so mercilessly
for the shoes! At last he promises the poor wretch to stop singing
on condition that whatever faults he may find, in his judgment, in
the marker's song, he may be allowed to mark according to his
shoemaker's art--namely, with a blow of the hammer upon the shoe
stretched on the last. Then the marker sings: Sachs strikes on the
last again and again. The marker jumps up indignantly. Sachs asks
him nonchalantly whether his song is finished. 'Not nearly,' he
cries. Then Sachs laughingly holds up the shoes outside his shop,
and declares that they are now quite finished, thanks to the
'marker's strokes.' With the rest of his song, which in desperation
he screams out without a pause, the marker fails lamentably before
the lady, who appears at the window violently shaking her head.
Disconsolate, he asks Sachs next day for a new song for his wooing.
Sachs gives him a poem by the young knight, pretending not to know
its source: only he warns him to secure an appropriate tune to
which it may be sung. The conceited marker thinks he has nothing to
fear in that respect, and sings the song before the public assembly
of masters and people to a quite inappropriate tune, which so
disfigures it that he once more and this time decisively fails
altogether. In his mortification he accuses Sachs of having cheated
him by providing so base a song. But Sachs declares the song is a
very good one, only it must be sung to a suitable tune. It is then
agreed that whoever knows the right tune shall be the victor. The
young knight does this and wins the bride: but rejects with disdain
the admission to the Guild now offered to him. Sachs humorously
defends the Master-Singers' Guild, and closes with the rhyme--
"Though should depart
The pride of Holy Rome,
Still thrives at home
Our sacred German art."
The "Marker," thus pourtrayed in The Meistersingers, is Sigs Beckmesser,
who is one of those whom Hans Sachs mentions as having taught him. There
is nothing remarkable in Hans Sachs being a shoemaker as well as a
Meistersinger, for the Guild was chiefly composed of weavers and
shoemakers. What is remarkable is that he was something of a poet as
well as a Meistersinger.
The Guild had to get special leave from the Council each year to
maintain their singing schools. This leave was sometimes refused, on the
ground that the Masters sang lascivious songs, and bawled them rather
than sang. Their meetings occurred principally in the Church of St.
Catherine, after afternoon service on Sundays--usually once a month.
Public performances took place thrice a year, at Christmas, Easter and
Pentecost. The public were invited to these great assemblies by placards
representing a rose-garden and David playing the harp before our Lord on
the Cross. This placard also announced the subjects chosen and the forms
of songs allowed on the occasion.
As an author, Hans Sachs was astonishingly prolific. Besides his songs,
he wrote fables, eighteen books of proverbs, comedies, tragedies and
farces (in which he himself acted). Altogether, the number of his works
reached the huge total of 6205. Some of his plays--and some were in
seven acts--were acted in the Marthakirche and some in the Rathaus. From
Sachs' time the drama began to make headway in Germany; but it was not
till after his death that it received its first great stimulus, when the
English strolling players began to come through Germany, acting
Shakespeare's plays among others no doubt, and the more blood-curdling
scenes from Ford and Webster. In 1628 the Council provided for such
performances by building the Fencing School, "for fencing and comedies"
on the Schütt, next to the Wildbad.
[Illustration: Nürnberger Spruchsprecher]
Sachs was above all things a popular poet. He reflects both the good and
the bad side of the people he represents. At his best we find in him
that mixture of religious gravity with fresh and pungent humour which is
so characteristic of the German spirit of those days. The narrative poem
"Der Schneider mit dem Panier" is a good example of this, and is free
from that coarseness which too often disfigures his writings. Nor must
we forget to mention the long poem, "Ein Lobspruch der Stadt Nürnberg,"
a descriptive eulogy of his native town. His narrative style is plain
and straightforward, his manner pleasingly naive, though often both
prolix and prosaic, his humour original and unaffected, if too
frequently rough and Rabelaisian. But we can forgive him much for his
robust good sense and shrewd irony. The first line of one of his poems--
"In dem Zwanzigsten Kapitel" (of the Bible)
will show how prosaic he can be: his well-known couplet on himself--
"Hans Sachs war ein Schuh-
Macher und Poet dazu,"
is a fair example of the roughness of his versification.
Hans Sachs is buried in St. John's Churchyard, and what is shown as his
grave is numbered 503. But whether that is actually his grave seems to
be somewhat uncertain.
On the whole, literature was far behind art in Nuremberg. But we must
not pass over the institution of the _Spruchsprecher_, the poet laureate
of the town. He was a speciality of Nuremberg, and had to deal in rhyme
with the occasion of all weddings and festivals, when called upon. He
rejoiced in a special dress, and was invented, it seems, about the
middle of the fifteenth century.
One other Nuremberg poet is worth mentioning--Johann Konrad Grübel, "the
Nuremberg Philistine," as Goethe called him in compliment. A comic,
dialect poet of the people, he was first-rate of his kind. He died in
1809, and a statue of him by Professor Wanderer adorns a little fountain
near the house of Hans Sachs.