"Now begin!"
Walter mused a moment and then began his song. The words, the music,
flowed forth unbidden from his full heart. He sang of the Springtime
which came into the sleeping forest, and, with thousands of heavenly
voices, awakened the birds, the bees, the flowers. He sang of murmuring
brooks, of rustling leaves, and of winter all forlorn, lurking in the
woodlands, loath to depart.
And as he sang, groans of discouragement came from within the Marker's
box. There was the sound of chalk scratches, once, twice, and again.
Walter hesitated a moment. Then he went on. He sang of the awakening of
the woods to life, to happiness. His voice rose high in joyous refrain.
But a loud groan came from the Marker's box. Another scratch--another.
Walter took a long breath. He did not care. With thoughts of his fair
Eva in mind, he sang on. He sang of love, which, like Springtime in the
woodland, had awakened his heart. He sang of the thrill of life it
brought, the happiness, the all-surpassing joy.
Suddenly the curtains were roughly pushed apart, and Beckmesser rushed
out, slate in hand. It was covered on both sides with marks!
"Can no one stop him?" he cried as he jumped frantically about. "The
slate is full," and he laughed exultingly.
The Masters joined in the laughter, for, it was true, Sir Walter had
sung according to no rule of the guild. Only Hans Sachs and Veit Pogner,
realizing the beauty and poetry of the song, tried to argue for the
young knight. But their opinions were overruled. The Master Singers
decreed that Sir Walter had lost his chance. He must be silent and sing
no more. Sixtus Beckmesser remained triumphant, and Walter left the
church while the Masters pronounced the decree,--
"Outdone and outsung."