Chapter XVII: Part IV: The Twilight of the Gods (16)

When the hunting party had departed into the depths of the forest, and the merry sounds of the horns could only be heard in the far distance, Isolda crept forth from the silent castle, followed by her faithful handmaid; and bidding Brangæna keep watch near the forest, she flung a lighted torch to the ground, this being the signal for Tristan's approach. She then ran down the steps towards a moonlit avenue, and in another moment the lovers were clasped in each other's arms.

It was a moment of intense joy; and as the enraptured pair reclined together upon a mossy bank studded with sleeping flowers, they poured out to each other, in tenderest phrases, the passionate love they were compelled to keep pent within their hearts before the eyes of the world. It was midnight; but the happy lovers cared naught for time, and would gladly have remained in such sweet converse for ever.

But suddenly there was a cry from Brangæna, who rushed wildly forward, declaring that they were betrayed; and next moment, King Mark and a few of his lords broke hastily into the avenue, having been led to the spot by Melot, who had found an opportunity during the hunt to inform his royal master of the lovers' intended meeting.

At first King Mark had refused to believe that his noblest and best-beloved knight could thus betray his honour; but as he stepped into the avenue, and the living proof of it met his gaze, he was filled with deepest grief, and began to pour forth bitter reproaches upon the wretched Tristan, who vainly endeavoured to hide Isolda's shrinking form from the scornful gaze of the courtiers.

Stung by the just reproaches of the King, and enraged at the cruel treachery of his false friend, Tristan drew his sword and challenged Melot to fight; and in his despair, caring little to defend himself, he allowed his adversary to overcome him, and soon fell to the ground mortally wounded.

Isolda was borne back fainting to the castle, followed by King Mark and his courtiers; and Tristan was carried, in a dying condition, on board a vessel by his faithful henchman, Kurvenal, who quickly set sail for Brittany, where his master owned a castle overlooking the sea.

Here the sick man was at length placed in safety by Kurvenal, who endeavoured to restore him to health; but finding that his beloved master's wounds were too serious for him to heal, and that he grew worse instead of better, the poor henchman was in despair. At last he bethought him to send for Isolda herself, whom he knew to be greatly skilled in leech-craft; and thinking only of his master's physical needs, he despatched a messenger in a swift vessel, to entreat the beautiful Queen to come and heal her almost dying lover.

For several days after, Tristan remained in an unconscious state; but upon being brought out into an open courtyard one sunny noon-tide, he awoke from his torpor, and feebly asked for Isolda. Kurvenal answered that he had sent for her to come with healing balsams for his wounds; and, running to the walls, he exclaimed joyfully that the vessel was even now returning with Isolda on board.

Tristan was overjoyed at this glad news, and when Kurvenal presently went to receive the welcome guest at the castle gates, the wounded man's excitement knew no bounds. In his eagerness to see his beloved one once again, he endeavoured to crawl from the couch; but the effort of moving caused his terrible wounds to open afresh, and just as Isolda rushed through the gateway, he uttered her name with a gasping cry of joy, and fell back dead upon the couch.

Isolda, with a loud shriek of woe, fell fainting upon his prostrate body, and at that moment Kurvenal was hailed by a second vessel that had immediately followed in the wake of the first. On this barque were King Mark with his knights, and also Brangæna; and quickly surmising that they were come with hostile intentions, the brave henchman barricaded the entrance to the castle, and refused admittance to the newcomers, who had instantly landed.

Then when the eager knights, by their superior force, broke through the gateway, Kurvenal sprang furiously upon them and fought desperately, in spite of their cries that they came in peace. The first to enter was the traitor, Melot, and with a cry of triumph, Kurvenal thrust him through the heart. Then receiving a mortal wound himself, the faithful henchman crawled to the couch of the dead Tristan, and feeling for his beloved master's hand, he sank, dying, at his feet.

King Mark and his party now rushed forward, unhindered; and Brangæna, raising her still breathing mistress in her arms, besought her to revive, since she had come with good news for her. For upon the flight of Isolda to the aid of Tristan, Brangæna had, in desperation, sought King Mark, and told him of how, quite unconsciously, Tristan and Isolda had swallowed the magic potion that had made them lovers for life; and, rejoicing to learn that his best-loved knight and beautiful Queen were thus free from blame, since they were powerless to fight against the mighty philtre, the noble-hearted King was filled with pity for the sufferings they had endured. He resolved generously to renounce Isolda, and permit the unhappy lovers to be united; and immediately entering his ship, he had followed with Brangæna and his knights in the wake of the flying Queen.

But the vessel had arrived too late, for Tristan was already dead; and full of grief, King Mark knelt, weeping, at the foot of the couch. And it was in vain that Brangæna tried to raise the quivering form of her beloved mistress; for Isolda's heart was broken, and with a last despairing cry, she fell back lifeless to the ground.

Thus had the magic philtre wrought destruction; and in death only were the lovers united.

THE MASTERSINGERS OF NUREMBERG
(_Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg_)

After the decay of the knightly court poetry of the Minnesingers, whose pure and noble art had been inspired and encouraged by the age of chivalry in which they lived, the spontaneous love of song, natural to the character of the German people, was lost for a time in the gloom and ignorance of the dark Middle Ages; but, later on, when the Reformation had once more lighted the way to knowledge and culture, the beautiful art was revived by guilds of musical enthusiasts, known as The Mastersingers.

But the dramatic, chivalric conception of life, which had been the prevailing spirit of the Minnesingers of old, all of whom had been of noble birth and exercised their art in the courts of kings, never quite returned; for the Mastersingers, being but humble burghers and artisans, could not attain to such courtly grace of expression, and their art was naturally of a stiffer and more pedantic character. Yet they did excellent work, establishing schools and guilds of poetry and song in most of the principal towns of Germany; but by hedging themselves in by narrow rules and conventions, they left little margin for the soaring spirit of true genius, which ever chafes at petty restraints, and insists on freedom of fancy.

In Nuremberg, the Mastersingers attained to the greatest excellence of their class; and in the middle of the sixteenth century there flourished in this community, the simple-minded, large-hearted Hans Sachs, the truest poet of his time, whose broad views were in refreshing contrast to the dull and cramped conceptions of art held by most of the Mastersingers.

It was during the time when Hans Sachs was a leader amongst the celebrated Mastersingers of Nuremberg, that this story opens; and upon St. John's Eve in a certain year, he and his musical friends were called upon to undergo a new and exciting experience in the pursuit of their beloved art.

Veit Pogner, a goldsmith, and the wealthiest of the older Mastersingers, impelled by an enthusiastic love of art, had just offered the hand of his beautiful daughter, Eva, together with the inheritance of all his riches and worldly possessions, as a prize to the master musician who should gain the wreath of victory in the grand contest to be held on St. John's Day, in accordance with the usual custom.

Amongst the competing masters who felt most confident of success was Sixtus Beckmesser, the town clerk, who occupied the important office of marker in the society, an officer whose duty it was to mark on a slate the faults made against the established rules and regulations of the Guild. Beckmesser, though without talent, and no longer young, nor even possessed of any pleasing personal charms, was so conceited that he fancied none to be his equal in music and poetry; and in spite of the fact that Eva was to have power to refuse the prize-winner, should he prove distasteful to her, he yet felt assured of success, though the maiden had never shown signs of favour to him.

As a matter of fact, Eva had already fixed her affections upon a young knight, one Sir Walter von Stolzing, who, being descended from the old Minnesingers, whose glorious achievements he had read of and studied, and in whom the truly poetic, romantic, and knightly art was revived, had left his now decaying ancestral hall, in order to find kindred spirits amongst the celebrated Mastersingers of music-loving Nuremberg; and having once been brought into contact with the soaring, enthusiastic spirit of this noble youth, she could never again be contented with the pedantic methods of the burgher Mastersingers.

Walter, having business relations with old Pogner in connection with his poverty-stricken estate, had thus made acquaintance with the goldsmith's fair daughter; and the exquisite soul-inspiring beauty and pure, sweet nature of this maiden having quickly kindled a consuming passion in his impetuous, romantic heart, and knowing that his love was returned, he determined to enter the ranks of the competitors on St. John's Day, since none but a Mastersinger could aspire to her hand, and trusted that his great love would enable his song to gain the victor's wreath.

For this reason, he repaired on St. John's Eve to the Church of St. Katherine, where the Mastersingers held their meetings, and requested to be admitted to the competition. He was greatly disconcerted on being informed by a lively young man named David, who was apprenticed to Hans Sachs the cobbler, that the musical guild was arranged as a trades' guild, with degrees of membership, such as apprentices, scholars, and singers, and that it was usual to spend at least a year in each degree before attaining to the rank of a "master"; and he was filled with impatience on hearing of the many petty rules and narrow restrictions in verse and song-making which were necessary to be observed ere he could hope to please the Mastersingers, who had absolute faith in their own standard of perfection, and refused to admit into their ranks any who failed to conform to the same, seven faults only against the rules being allowed to candidates for admission to their competitions.

Nevertheless, still believing in his own natural gifts, which he had cultivated in the beautiful woodlands of his birthplace, untrammelled by forms and conventions, when the Mastersingers had assembled, he requested permission to prove to them that he was a master of poetic song, and therefore justified in entering the competition on the morrow; and, since he was introduced to them by Pogner himself, who vouched for his good faith, he was invited to sing a song, though the Guild members were horrified on hearing that he had never studied in any Mastersinging guild, and had received no other instruction than that afforded by a love of Nature, and a natural poetic instinct fanned into being by reading accounts of the romantic Minnesingers of old.

Beckmesser, the marker, having pompously ensconced himself in his accustomed curtained recess, with slate and chalk to mark down the faults of the candidate, announced that he was ready to hear the young knight's trial; and Walter immediately burst forth into an enthusiastic song in praise of spring-time and maidenhood, so full of true poetry and music that it held the masters spellbound, in spite of the fact that it completely outraged all their pet rules in every direction.

But the conceited Beckmesser was full of indignation that one so unheedful of the forms and conventions of his own infallible guild should dare to aspire to enter the ranks of the Mastersingers; and before the song was half finished, he burst noisily from behind his curtain, and contemptuously announced that the candidate had already failed many times over, since his slate was scored at least fifty times with faults against the rules, the singer having had no regard at all for the special construction of verse and musical form which he and his friends alone considered to be correct.

The Mastersingers all agreed with the marker's condemnation, with the exception of Hans Sachs, who knew that Beckmesser's verdict was chiefly caused by jealousy; and he himself being the only true poet-musician in the Mastersingers' Guild, alone was able to appreciate Walter's beautiful song, and, seeing that the young knight had a real and lofty genius far beyond anything that his burgher friends could boast of, boldly stood up in his defence, declaring to the outraged company that the stranger's music was of a higher order than their own and consequently not to be judged by their standards, which might not be infallible after all.

But the Mastersingers were not to be convinced, even though their favourite Hans Sachs spoke in favour of the audacious stranger; and so Walter was declared "outsung" and in no way fit to be admitted into the ranks of the Mastersingers.

The young knight, repelled by the Mastersingers' narrow art, from which he had hoped to derive such pleasure, was filled with disappointment and despair; but, finding that he could not hope to gain the hand of his beloved Eva as a Mastersinger, he determined to make an attempt to elope with her that evening.

Eva, being anxious to learn how her lover had fared at his trial, sent her attendant, Magdalena, to get the news from her sweetheart, David, the apprentice of Hans Sachs; and then, upon returning at dusk from a walk with her father, she remained outside the house, to hear what her handmaid had to say. The two girls talked in low tones, for they saw that Hans Sachs (whose shop stood exactly opposite the house of the goldsmith) was still at work; for honest Hans, suspecting the young knight's intention with regard to Eva, had determined to frustrate his plans, in kindness to the imprudent pair, since he loved them both.

Eva was in despair when told by Magdalena of her lover's failure; but, seeing Walter at that moment approaching, she sent her maid within doors, and awaited him with a joy she could not conceal.

The lovers embraced rapturously; and Eva, enthralled by Walter's love for her, readily agreed to his passionate pleading that they should fly together that night. Ere they could make their escape, however, they heard approaching steps; and, hastily concealing themselves behind some bushes, they were forced to wait until the intruder should depart.

The newcomer was none other than Beckmesser, the conceited marker, who, having composed a song to sing at the contest on the morrow, had come now to sing it as a serenade beneath the window of the fair Eva, hoping that the maiden would be thus so favourably impressed by his composition, that she would speak in his favour when he was adjudged the winner, as he so fondly expected to be; and, stationing himself beneath his charmer's chamber window, he commenced his song, which was in reality a very poor one, consisting of inferior poetry and worse melody.

Hans Sachs, hoping now to deter Sir Walter and Eva from their rash act by keeping them in their hiding-place, at once began to sing himself in a very loud voice, to a rollicking tune and merry words; an unexpected performance which was naturally very disconcerting to the serenader.

In a furious rage at this wanton drowning of his sentimental song, with which he had intended to win the heart of Eva, Beckmesser many times shouted to the cobbler to hold his peace; but, finding that Hans refused to listen to his request he resorted to strategy in order to enable his fair mistress to hear his song undisturbed. Approaching the cobbler's shop, he invited Hans to listen to his song, and criticise it, that he might correct any faults there might be in the composition ere performing it on the morrow; and this the cobbler agreed to do, saying that for every fault he detected, he would hammer a nail into the pair of shoes he was at that moment mending for the town clerk, who had been blaming him earlier in the day for being behindhand with his work.

So Beckmesser began his song again, full of delight at observing a maiden's figure appear at the chamber window, imagining this to be his adored one, though it was in reality the waiting-maid, Magdalena, who was anxiously awaiting the return of her young mistress; but his rage was soon increased tenfold, for his halting verses were so full of faulty accents and unmusical discords, that the cobbler's hammer fell with a thud almost constantly. Ere the song was half over, Hans ran out of his shop, and, holding up the finished shoes in triumph, cried mischievously in imitation of the marker's own manner at the young knight's examination, "Haven't you done yet? Because I've finished the shoes already, thanks to the many faults you have made!"

As Beckmesser furiously endeavoured to scream out the last verses of his song, the apprentice David, disturbed by this unmusical squalling, opened his chamber-window; and, seeing his sweetheart, Magdalena, in the chamber opposite, and thinking the serenade addressed to her, he was seized with jealousy, and, rushing out into the street, set upon the bold serenader and began to cudgel him with right good will.

Taken thus by surprise, Beckmesser began to cry out for aid, for David was a lusty youth, and was quickly beating him black and blue; and, aroused by the sounds of the scuffle, the neighbours came pouring from the houses on every side, and not understanding the reason for the commotion, but stumbling in the dark against each other, they began to quarrel amongst themselves, and a general scrimmage quickly ensued, in which the mischievous apprentice friends of David gladly took part, enjoying the riot as a great joke.

Thinking that in the midst of this scuffle they might make their escape, Sir Walter tenderly endeavoured to lead Eva round the edge of the crowd; but Hans Sachs, who had kept his eyes constantly on the pair, soon frustrated this pretty plan by seizing Walter's arm in his own iron grasp, and at the same time pushing Eva up the steps of her father's house, where she was quickly seized and taken within by Pogner himself, who, having opened his door to inquire the cause of the scrimmage, was amazed to find his daughter in the midst of the crowd.

Having seen that the half-fainting Eva was safely in her father's care, Hans Sachs, having first caught David and unceremoniously kicked him into his shop, followed himself, dragging the despairing Walter with him; and upon the sound of the night-watchman's horn being heard, the crowd melted away as quickly as it had gathered, so that by the time the sleepy guardian of the peace appeared, the street was deserted and still once more.

Next morning, as Hans, attired in gala dress, ready for the great Festival of St. John's Day, sat in his workshop, the young knight entered from the chamber where he had been resting, and announced to his kind friend that he had just awakened from a beautiful and vivid dream, which he longed to put into song; and the honest, art-loving cobbler entreated him to sing it to him straightway, whilst still fresh in his mind, in the form of a master-song of the correct form, of which he gave him some few hints, declaring that with such a Heaven-sent subject, sung in the richly-flowing stream of melody that was his own priceless gift, he would certainly yet win the maiden he loved so well.

Encouraged thus by the large-hearted Hans, and inspired by his dream, Walter broke forth into a gloriously beautiful song, perfect alike in poetic form and wondrous melody, which the cobbler eagerly wrote down as he sang; and when the song came to an end, Hans, overcome with emotion and joy, hastily pushed the singer back to his chamber, bidding him put on gala raiment, and declaring himself confident of his success in the contest.

Whilst the knight was thus engaged, Beckmesser entered the shop, so stiff from his cudgelling of the night before that he could scarcely walk, and, intending to continue his quarrel with the cobbler; but, seeing the MS. of the song lying on the table, and imagining this to have been composed by Hans, his mood quickly changed, and he asked to be allowed to sing this in the competition, instead of the one he had himself written, since the latter, he added conceitedly, had now without doubt lost the charm it possessed in the ears of his adored mistress, who, having once heard it under such adverse conditions, would probably never care to hear it again.

Hans, knowing well enough that the unmusical town clerk would never be able to enter into the beauty of Walter's love-inspired words, said that he might have the song, bidding him, however, to sing it to a suitable melody; and Beckmesser, more confident than ever of his success, hurried away, full of delight at having thus secured, as he supposed, a song by Hans Sachs, who was acknowledged to be the finest poet amongst the Mastersingers.

A little later in the day, crowds of merry holiday-makers assembled in the large, open meadow on the outskirts of Nuremberg, to hear the great Competition of Song, which had been so eagerly looked forward to by all; and when Eva, the fair prize-maiden, looking more beautiful than ever in her dazzling white robe, and attended by a number of pretty maids-of-honour, had taken her seat upon the daïs which had been set for her, the enthralling business of the day began.

Amidst a sudden hush of expectancy, Hans Sachs rose to announce once again to the people the generous and soul-inspiring prize offered by the art-loving Pogner, to be awarded to the Master Musician whose song should be unanimously declared the most worthy of praise; and when the loud applause which greeted this speech had died away, Beckmesser was called upon to commence his song.

Nervously unrolling the MS. he had all the morning been vainly endeavouring to commit to memory, Beckmesser moved forward, and began his song, singing it to an altogether unsuitable, discordant, and unmusical tune; and in a frantic effort to remember the sense of what he was singing, he mixed up the words in the most hopeless manner, and, plunging deeper into the mire of confusion as he proceeded, he succeeded in completely losing himself, and converted the poem into an astonishing _pot-pourri_ of ludicrous and meaningless balderdash.

At first, the people listened in amazement, thinking that the infallible marker, usually such a stickler for the correct rules of Mastersinging, had suddenly taken leave of his senses; and then, unable to restrain their merriment any longer, they all burst forth into a loud peal of derisive laughter, which completely drowned the ridiculous singer.

In a furious rage of disappointment and wounded vanity, Beckmesser flung the MS. at the feet of Hans Sachs, declaring to the people that the cobbler had schemed thus to disgrace him by foisting his own bad song upon him; but in spite of his defence, as he rushed away in a storm of vexation, he was followed by the jeers of the crowd, with whom he was by no means popular, and who had not desired that one so pompous and elderly should gain so fair a prize.

When Beckmesser had disappeared, Hans Sachs picked up the despised poem, and declared to the people that the song was a good one, but could only be properly sung by the person who had composed it, whose name was not Hans Sachs; and then he called on Sir Walter von Stolzing, as the composer of the song, who would, by singing it to them, quickly prove that he was worthy to be regarded as the very Mastersinger of Mastersingers.

A hum of admiration swept over the assembled company as the young knight stepped forward, for here, indeed, was one whose graceful form, glowing eyes, and poetry-inspired brow recalled the resplendent Minnesingers of old; and with hearts that throbbed with excitement, they listened to the rich joyous flood of melody that now filled the summer air.

Yes, Hans Sachs was right, and the song was a noble one, and this was a Heaven-sent singer who laid a magic touch upon their very hearts, and filled them with a rapture almost too intense to be borne; and even the critical Mastersingers who had cavilled at his heedless disregard of their various rules the evening before, were now held spellbound with wonder that song could be so glorious a thing.

As the song came to an end, a deafening burst of applause broke from the assemblage, who, with one accord, declared the young knight to be the winner in the contest; and as the beautiful Eva bent forward to place, with hands that trembled with joy, the wreath of victory upon the brow of the man she loved, a second burst of applause broke forth, for the two were well-matched, and made a fair picture as they stood together.

The Mastersingers now eagerly invited Walter to join their guild as one of themselves, an honour which, however, the young knight proudly refused, since his free spirit could not be curbed within so small a range.

On hearing this, Hans Sachs humorously reproved him for speaking disparagingly of an art which had bestowed so rare a prize upon him; and then he launched forth staunchly into a speech in praise of the honest German art he loved so well, a speech which was received with the wildest enthusiasm by all, for Hans Sachs was the darling of the people of Nuremburg.

Thus the Contest of Song came to an end; and the young knight who had set out so hopefully in search of Art, had found as well a fair bride, whose love should henceforth be the magic golden key that should unlock for him the gates of Fame, Honour, and Glory.

THE NIBELUNGS' RING
(_Der Ring der Nibelungen_)