Flosshilde, having found the ring, swam before them, holding up the prize triumphantly. A great bank of clouds had piled up beyond the river, and soon this began to glow, as if with fire. The Rhein returned to its natural bed, while the maidens swam once more happily in its waters. The Hall of the Gibichungs had been destroyed, and all the vassals and women had crowded together, watching the scene with horror and wonderment. As the fiery clouds glowed more and more brightly, the Palace of the Gods appeared, and the inner courts of Walhall could be seen, brightly lighted by the fire which was consuming it. Wotan and the Eternals sat within, surrounded by the heroes and the Valkyries. All awaited the flames without resistance, and as the Gibichungs looked, Loge, the spirit of flame, seized upon everything and the Eternals were seen no more.
THE MASTERSINGERS OF NUREMBERG
CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA
Walther von Stolzing, a young knight from Franconia.
David, Sachs's apprentice.
Eva, Pogner's daughter.
Magdalene, Eva's nurse.
Night Watchman.
Burghers, women of all guilds, journeymen, apprentices, girls, and people.
The action takes place in Nuremberg about the middle of the sixteenth century.
Composer: Richard Wagner.
ACT I
Four hundred years ago in Nuremberg there was a great rivalry among the townsmen, as to who was the best singer. Indeed, in the history of this great yearly competition, some had become so noted for their excellence, that in a spirit of fairness they had almost ceased to compete. There were twelve Mastersingers, and this number was to be added to by future competitions. Among those who had removed themselves from the contest (because his previous successes made it unfair that he should continue) was Hans Sachs, the cobbler. Hans was beloved by all, and had a spirit as well as a genius above his fellows.
The prize for which the singers contended had hitherto been a sum of money, given by the rich man of the city, one Veit Pogner, a goldsmith, but upon the occasion we are about to describe he had decided to make the prize far more precious. He agreed to give his daughter Eva in marriage to the best singer, provided she could love him; and if she could not love him, she was to live unmarried for the rest of her days.
On the morning of the preliminary trial, when those qualified to enter the real competition were to be chosen, the good folk of Nuremberg were assembled in the church, singing the last hymn. Eva and her nurse, Magdalene, were there and also the knight, Walther von Stolzing, a newcomer in Nuremberg, greatly in love with Eva. She, too, loved him, but it would have displeased her father had she been seen speaking with the handsome stranger.
Upon that day, both the young people lingered after the others had gone, in order to get speech together. All the time the hymn was being sung, the two looked tenderly at each other, and these glances were surprised by the devoted nurse, Magdalene. When the service was over, and Eva was near the door, she pretended to have left her handkerchief in her pew, and she sent Magdalene back to find it.
The lovers had but a minute together before Magdalene returned, so Eva had to think of a new way to be rid of her.
"Where can my buckle be," she cried, looking about her. "I must have left that as well"; and back Magdalene went the second time. She had no sooner returned than Eva found she had forgotten her book, and back the nurse went again, grumbling and declaring that Master Pogner would be in a rage if he knew what was going on.
"Only promise that thou wilt marry me," Walther urged, while the nurse was gone for the last time.
"Now what do you mean by standing there and talking love?" Magdalene cried on her return, angry and half frightened, because she was responsible for her nursling's conduct. "Don't you know, Sir Walther, that Eva is to be given in marriage to the singer who shall this year carry off the prize – otherwise she may not marry at all?"
"The prize? What does she mean?" he questioned, greatly agitated.
"It is for him who shall prove to be the best singer in Nuremberg." The knight looked dejected.
"Can you not sing?" Eva asked anxiously.
"Alas, I do not know. I think not; I have never tried. What must I sing?"
"A song that you have made yourself, Sir Knight; you must make both rhyme and music yourself according to the rules of the Mastersingers."
"I fear I could never do it – unless I should be inspired by my love for you. Alas! I fear we are lost unless your father can be persuaded to change his mind."
"Nay, he cannot." Eva shook her head sadly, "He has given his word and cannot break it. You must try to sing for love of me," she pleaded.
Walther was quite distracted at the prospect. Meantime, after the church had become empty, David, the apprentice of Hans Sachs, came in with a great piece of chalk stuck in his belt, and carrying a big rule. Magdalene was quite in love with David, so that when Eva appealed to her for help, she had turned her attention to the apprentice.
"David, what are you doing there?" she cried, in order to give the lovers a little more time.
"Doing? Why is it not weighty business to-day? The Mastersingers are to have a trial of voices, to be sure. The pupil, whoever he may be, whose voice is fine and whose composition breaks none of the rules that govern those things is to be made free to enter for the prize; and later, when the great festival of song is on, he may even become a Mastersinger, himself."
"There, Sir Knight, is your opportunity! You must be the pupil. Eva, we must be gone and leave Sir Walther to try for thee."
"Oh, heaven! I am all of a fright. I fear I shall never understand what is expected of me," Walther cried distractedly.
"David here shall tell you, Sir Walther. Here, David, help this brave gentleman all that you can. I wish it." She looked admonishment at him.
"Tell him all the plan of the Mastersingers and how they will expect him to conduct himself in the competition. Come, Eva." But Eva still lingered. In came two other apprentices, bearing benches. Walther watched those formidable preparations with uneasiness, walking up and down the church in dismay.
"Good heaven! I am sure I cannot sing. I have never tried to sing. I shall never be able to sing. Yet I must sing. What in the world can a man do, in such a fix?"
"Well, well, do the best you can. David will instruct you, Sir Knight," said Magdalene, and she hurried away with Eva, leaving the poor knight alone with the apprentices.
These chaps came in thick and fast, bringing benches for the Mastersingers to sit upon, and arranging everything in the church for the trial of song. David kept watching Walther, who had flung himself into a great ecclesiastical chair, and sat there brooding. After observing him in silence for a time, David shouted:
"Begin," Walther started.
"What for?"
"Begin!"
"What for?"
"What for? – why that is how the Marker calls. You must then at once go and sing. Don't you understand anything about this business?" he asked in amazement.
"Who is the Marker?" Poor Walther asked, more and more bewildered.
"Were you never before at a singing trial?"
"Not where the judges were craftsmen," Walther answered. He was quite certain if he knew anything about music, it could not be the kind that shoe-makers, and boiler makers, and the like were acquainted with.
"Are you a poet?"
"I wish I were," Walther sighed dejectedly.
"Are you then a 'scholar'?"
"Lord, no, I think not – I don't know. What is a 'scholar?"
"Don't know that, and yet expect to become a Mastersinger!" David cried, in amazement. "Well, now, let me tell you, Sir Knight, no one gets to be a Mastersinger in a minute! For a full year, Hans Sachs, our greatest master, has been teaching me the art, and I am not yet even a 'scholar.'"
Shoemaker's craft and Poet's art,
Daily I learn by the heart.
First, all the leather smooth I hammer,
Consonants then, and vowels I stammer.
Next must the thread be stiff with wax,
Then I must learn it rhymes with Sachs.
David continued to tell of the difficulties of learning from a cobbler how to become a Mastersinger, though the cobbler was one himself. By the time David had finished telling Walther about the process of shoemaking and music making, Walther threw up his hands in despair.
"Defend me from learning – the cobbler's trade," he cried, half humorously, yet troubled.
"You must learn:
The shortened, long, and over-long tones;
The paper mode, the black-ink mode;
The scarlet, blue, and verdant tones;
The hawthorn bloom, strawhalm, fennel mode:
The tender, the dulcet, the rosy tone;
The passing passion, the forgotten tone;
The rosemary, wallflower mode;
The rainbow mode and the nightingale mode
The English tin, the cinnamon mode,
Fresh pomegranates, green linden-bloom mode;
The lonely gormandizer mode,
The skylark, the snail, the barking tone;
And the honey flower, the marjoram mode;
The lion's skin, true pelican mode,
The bright glittering thread mode."
"Dreadful, dreadful," cried poor Walther. "What an endless medley of tones!"
"Oh, those are only the titles; after that comes the singing – and it has to be according to rules, remember."
Walther groaned. David at once outlined some of the rules; they appeared quite hopeless.
"Why no one in the world could meet such demands, it is ridiculous."
"You had better not say so," David answered, significantly. "I want you to know that the great Mastersingers of Nuremberg run this thing; and it doesn't make any difference to anybody but you and Herr Pogner's daughter whether you approve or not." At the mention of Eva, Walther tried to control his feelings; he must try at least, the Lord help him – to come out somewhere in the midst of all that shoemaker's music of "modes" and "thread" and "buttons" and what-not!
By this time the apprentices had erected a small stage with a chair and a desk upon it and a blackboard behind, with a piece of chalk hanging from a long string upon the board, and all about that funny arrangement were black curtains which could be drawn close.
"The Marker will let seven faults slip by," David explained to the knight; but if he finds more than seven it is all over for the candidate.
So God save you from disaster,
May you, to-day, be a master,
he wound up poetically.
Having finished their preparations, the apprentices began to dance about in a ring. In the midst of the jollity in came Pogner from the sacristy; also, Beckmesser, who was the town clerk and a singer who believed in himself.
David took his place at the sacristy door, to let in the other Mastersingers, and the other apprentices stood waiting before the bench at back. Walther, sick to death through being teased by the apprentices, had sat himself down on the very front seat, and there, before all, was the dreaded Marker's seat. There was the great "singing chair" – where the candidate was to sit while under trial. Pogner stood talking with the town clerk, Beckmesser.
"Herr Pogner," the latter was saying, "I know what this prize is to be, and I love your daughter with all my soul." Beckmesser, who was a rather old and absurd chap, made a sentimental and dramatic gesture. "I want to beg of you if there is any preference shown, that it be shown to me."
"I cannot say there will be any favours shown, Beckmesser, but my plan should serve you well. Eva is to go to the best singer – in case of course that she loves him. She shall not be forced; and who sings so well as you?"
"Yet, in certain respects, I am weak," Beckmesser murmured. "I should like those weak points to be passed over." He was a foxy old fellow, far too old for the lovely Eva, and he was quite willing to take an unfair advantage of his brother singers.
Walther then jumped from his chair and went to Pogner.
"Herr Pogner, may I have speech with you?" he asked.
"What, Sir Walther seeks me in singing school?"
"Yet it is a fitting place, because, to tell the truth, Herr Pogner, I came to Nuremberg town, solely for the love of art," he said promptly, hoping he would be forgiven for the lie. "I failed to mention this yesterday, but to-day it seems fitting to tell you because I wish to enter the competition. In short, I wish to become a Mastersinger." Walther was fairly amazed at his own bravado. At the same moment, Kunz Vogelgesang and Konrad Nachtigal entered.
"Vogelgesang, Nachtigal, listen to this: here is a noble knight, Walther of Stolzing, well known to me, who wishes to join our singing. This is very fine. I am sure we all welcome you to our guild, Sir Walther," he cried heartily. Beckmesser, who had observed the handsome Walther, became uneasy.
"If anything should go wrong with my singing," he thought, "I should stand small chance any other way with this whipper-snapper. I'll go to-night beneath Eva's window and sing a serenade which will surely win her heart. I'll not lose her even if this great knight should prove to be a great singer." Every time he thought of Walther, it was with a sneer. On the whole, Beckmesser was a nasty little man, even though he was quite a singer. He was old and ugly and it was quite ridiculous of him to think of marrying Eva.
Walther, still speaking with Pogner, confessed:
"My strongest reason for entering this competition is love for your dear daughter. I know well that she is to be the prize." Pogner was well pleased, for he liked the knight.
"I am glad to hear you say this, Sir Knight; but the matter has to be settled – after the promise I have given – according to certain regulations set down by the Mastersingers; but I shall try to give you the best of chances." Pogner said this heartily, for he would like to have that fine fellow for a son-in-law. Meanwhile, all the Mastersingers had arrived by way of the sacristy door, and Hans Sachs the very last. Kothner took from his pocket the list of names of those who were to sing, and standing apart, he began to call the roll. Each responded to his name, and then Pogner formally announced what the prize was to be. Each man cried that he would be the one to win the prize – since it was such a prize.
"But remember," Pogner interrupted their enthusiasm, "although I am determined she shall marry none but him who wins the prize, if she should not love that singer, she shall not be forced, but shall remain single all the rest of her life"; and with that they had to be content.
"Let me make still a suggestion, Herr Pogner," Hans Sachs, the shoemaker spoke up. He loved Eva with all his heart, but he was good and true and fair. He knew that he was growing old, and that he sang so finely that it was not fair he should enter into such a competition. If he sang for the prize, the contest would be won before it was begun. "Let me suggest that all the people of Nuremberg shall have a hand in choosing the best singer. To-morrow at the fête, let all the people hear the singers, and let theirs be the choice."
"Ho, ho! Then farewell, art," the Mastersingers cried, indignantly. "That is a fine joke, indeed, Sachs. Pray what do the people know about art? What do they know of the singing master's rules? Bah!"
"Listen!" Sachs said, impressively. "That which the people approve, is good; they know naught of rule, but they know what beauty of song and theme is better that we. Leave it to the people's choice and you shall not rue it. Besides, a maiden's heart is to be disposed of, and those who are judges among us are not without selfish feelings. Let the people decide and leave the maiden free."
"Oh, I suppose you are thinking and speaking for yourself – a widower," Beckmesser cried, trying to belittle the shoemaker.
"So little is that so, my friends, that I shall not sing." Every one loved Hans Sachs and now recognized his generosity. "I am too old for such as she." Thereupon Beckmesser became furious, because he was older than Hans, yet he considered himself quite young enough to marry her.
"Well, my friends, there is one more piece of business: this young knight," leading forth Walther, "wishes to enter the race, and I present him with right good will." This was almost too much for the beset Beckmesser. He fairly foamed at the mouth.
"Now, I understand this matter," he muttered aside. "Pogner would have it seem that he treated us fairly in this matter, while in reality he had this handsome fellow up his sleeve. A knight at that, and if he can sing it certainly is all up with the rest of us." He loudly declared it was far too late for Walther to be let into the competition; but there were several opinions about that, and a good deal of wrangling. All were somewhat afraid of Walther, not knowing that he had no confidence in his own singing or making of verses. At last it was decided that he should have a trial that morning.
"But thou must say who has been thy master," they insisted; whereupon Walther named a great master, Sir Walther of the Vogelweid.
"In truth," Hans Sachs said, nodding kindly. "He is a great master." Hans meant to stand by the knight and to serve him if possible, because he seemed the best choice for Eva, whom Sachs loved above everything. Walther added that, for the most part, he had learned his songs from the birds, titmouses, and finches, and the like. He loved the woods and streams, and a joyous heart made him sing in spite of himself, and the song of birds was the one he loved best to imitate. The others were inclined to jeer at these words, but Hans Sachs saw in them a beautiful nature, fine poesy.
"Very well, very well, let him begin," all cried, and so the knight took his place in the singer's chair while Beckmesser, who was appointed Marker, went to his place.
"As Marker, I guess I can settle his affair for him," Beckmesser muttered, in malice. All the while Walther, was in despair, having no confidence in himself.
"It is for thee, beloved," he murmured, trying to gain courage by putting his thoughts upon Eva. Then Beckmesser, hidden behind the curtain, cried:
"Now begin."
Walther hesitated a moment, then began, uncertainly, to sing. It was a beautiful song of the spring. At the end of the first part, Beckmesser scratched horribly upon his slate, and sighed in a most disconcerting manner. Walther listened and his heart nearly failed him, but he began again. This time he sang of winter, and as he went on he became so much inspired that he forgot his tremendous anxiety, rose from his chair, and sang passionately, with abandon. When he came to a pause in the theme, Beckmesser burst into the group with his slate. It was all covered with chalk marks.
"Will you never have done," he shouted angrily. "I've no more room in which to set marks against you. If we must go on listening to such singing we must use the side of the church if we would have room to set down your mistakes." Every one but Hans Sachs burst out laughing.
"But I have not finished," Walther pleaded. "Will none of you let me finish my song, good friends? It is not fair."
"That is true, that is true, not too much zeal, Beckmesser," Hans tried to interpose. Everybody was talking at once.
"I could not understand one word of his meaning," one cried.
"There was false time, false everything; it was ridiculous!" another shouted.
"The most absurd thing I ever heard," another called. In short, every one shouted and mocked and offered suggestions, except Hans Sachs who had stood apart, and after the first notes of Walther, had listened with great earnestness. In the midst of the excitement he came forward.
"Master Beckmesser, you have gone too far. We do not all agree with your opinion. The song which you despise, I find both beautiful, new, and free from fault. It is not such as we sing, but it is true and fine. I fear you have forgotten your own rules."
"Never, never!" the Marker shouted.
"Now, friends, hear my final word. This young knight shall be heard to the end." With a decisive gesture he motioned Walther to the chair again. All shouted "No, no!" but Sachs insisted and amidst the riot and hullabaloo Walther again began his song. His clear, beautiful voice was heard above the noise, but every one was engaged in telling what they thought about it. Only Sachs stood determined, trying to quiet the frightful uproar. Beckmesser was making a terrible to-do, and the apprentices were shouting with laughter, following the lead of their masters. After a little, Walther became so confused that at last he could sing no longer.
The apprentices began to dance wildly about their masters, and in the midst of the extraordinary scene, the knight descended from the chair, and turned away with a contemptuous glance. He was about to go, as the Mastersingers were struggling toward the door; but to add to the confusion the apprentices who had torn up the benches began marching about with them. While Walther, the Mastersingers, and the apprentices were struggling out, Sachs stood looking at the singer's chair, where Walther had lately sat, singing so beautifully that none but the splendid Sachs, with his good soul and his poetic nature, had been able to understand how great it was.
ACT II
Night of the same day came on, and David and other apprentices were putting up the shutters of their masters' houses, before it became too late. Hans Sachs's house – which was also his workshop – stood in a corner made by a little crooked path which crossed a Nuremberg street; while Pogner's house, much finer – altogether quite grand – stood opposite. Beside Hans's house grew an elder tree, and beside Pogner's, a lime. Magdalene, very anxious to know from David what had taken place in the church, had gone from her master's house with a little basket of the good things which David liked. This gave her a good excuse to seek him.
"What happened to the handsome knight?" she inquired, standing on Hans's side of the way, and speaking with David.
"Why what should happen? He was rejected, of course," David answered sulkily, while all the other apprentice boys laughed at him because Magdalene, his sweetheart, was trying to pump him.
"Ho, ho! Then you get nothing out of my basket," she answered, walking off. Again the boys mocked him, and he grew very angry, telling them to be off about their business. The quarrel grew so loud that finally Sachs, coming home unexpectedly, burst into the midst of them and scattered them.
"What is all this?" he cried.
"The rascals are plaguing me, master," David growled.
"Well, get thee within and light the lamp; lock up and bring the lamp here to me; after that, put the shoes on the lasts and go"; and as David went into the workshop to obey, Sachs followed. At that moment, Eva and her father passed along the path, and seeing the light in Sachs's house, Pogner peeped through the chink of the door.
"If Sachs is there I shall stop in and speak with him," he said to Eva. David just then came from the house with a lamp which he placed upon the work-bench, and seating himself began work upon a pair of shoes.
"To-morrow will be a fine day for the festival," Pogner said to his daughter, as they seated themselves upon a stone bench, on their own side of the path.
"But, father, must I certainly marry the best singer?" Eva asked anxiously.
"Not unless he pleases thee; but in case he does not, Eva, I have decided that thou shalt marry no other." He was interrupted by Magdalene who came to bid them to supper. Eva lingered behind to get a private word with her.
"What about the knight? Did he succeed?" she asked so anxiously that it broke Magdalene's heart to tell her the truth.
"David said not – but he would not tell what had happened."
"Maybe I can learn from Hans Sachs; he loves me very much, and may feel some distress over my trouble. I shall ask him." Just then Sachs came to the door of his house.
"Come, boy," he said to David, "put up thy work for the night, and get thee to bed; to-morrow will be a busy day. Put my stool and table outside the door that I may finish a pair of shoes, and then get thee to bed." David gathered up his tools, and after arranging Sachs's work bade him good night. Sachs sat down, with his hands behind his head, and instead of going at once to work, began to think upon the day's happenings – and other things, maybe. He leaned his arms upon the lower half of the door and sometimes spoke his thoughts aloud:
"Truly the young knight is a poet," he mused. Hans himself was a true poet, tender and loving, and he could think of nothing but Eva's good. Becoming nervous and apprehensive while thinking of her he began to hammer at a shoe, but again he ceased to work and tried to think. "I still hear that strain of the young knight's" and he tried to recall some part of the song. While he mused thus alone, Eva stole shyly over to the shop. It had now become quite dark and the neighbours were going to bed.
"Good evening, Master Sachs! You are still at work?" she asked softly. Hans started.
"Yes, my child, my dear Evchen. I am still at work. Why are you still awake? Ah, I know – it is about your fine new shoes that you have come, those for to-morrow!"
"Nay, they look so rich and fine, I have not even tried them on."
"Yet to-morrow you must wear them as a bride, you know."
"Whose shoes are these that you work upon, Master Sachs," she asked, wishing to change the subject.
"These are the shoes of the great Master Beckmesser," Sachs answered, smiling a little at the thought of the bumptious old fellow.
"In heaven's name put plenty of pitch in them, that he may stick, and not be able to come after me," she cried.
"What – you do not favour Beckmesser, then?"
"That silly old man," she said scornfully.
"Well, there is a very scanty batch of bachelors to sue for thee, or sing for thee," Hans answered, looking lovingly at her, with a little smile.
"Well, there are some widowers," Eva said returning his friendly look. Hans laughed outright.
"Ah, dear Evchen, it is not for an old chap like me to snare a young bird like thee. At the trial to-day, things did not go well," he ventured, trying to turn the conversation.
Instantly Eva was all attention, and she got from him the story of Walther's failure and unfair treatment, just as Magdalene called from the house over the way.
"St – st," she whispered. "Thy father has called for thee."
"I'll come presently," Eva answered. Then to Hans: "But tell me, dear Hans, was there not one who was his friend? Is there no hope?"
"No master has hope among other masters," Hans replied, sorrowfully. "I fear there is nothing for him but to give thee up." Hans knew well that Eva loved the knight.
"What man has a friend, whose own greatness makes other men feel small?" he asked still more sadly. "It is the way with men."
"It is shameful," she cried angrily, and hurried across the street. Hans closed the upper half of his door, so that he was almost shut in, and only a little light showed through.
"Eva," Magdalene called at the house door, "that Beckmesser has been here to say he is coming to serenade you, and to win your love. Did ever one hear of such a ridiculous rascal."
"I will not hear him," Eva declared angrily. "I will not. I am going to see Walther to-night, and I will not see Beckmesser. Look out and see if any one is coming." Walther was at that moment coming round the corner of the path, and Eva rushed toward him.
"You have heard – that I may not sing to win thee?" he said under his breath, for fear Pogner should hear him. At that moment the horn of the Night Warder was heard, which assured them that the town was all quiet and people gone to bed.
"It does not matter, I have made up my mind. I will never give the victor's crown to any one but thee, and so we shall flee together – this night, at once, before it is too late." Walther, beside himself with joy, looked after her while she hurried into the house to get ready for flight. The Night Warder came round the house corner.
Hear all folk, the Warder's ditty,
'Tis ten o'clock in our city;
Heed well your fire and eke your light,
That none may be harmed this night!
Praise ye God, the Lord!
He blew a long loud blast upon his trumpet.
Hans Sachs had heard the plan concocted between the lovers, from behind his nearly closed door; so he put out the lamp, that he might not be seen, and opened his door a little way. He could never permit them to elope; it would cause no end of trouble. After a moment Eva and Magdalene came from Pogner's house with a bundle, while at the same moment Walther came from the shadow of the lime tree to meet them. They were hurrying off together when the clever shoemaker caught up his lamp from its place of concealment and turned it full upon the alley-way, so that it shone directly upon the path of the lovers.
Eva and Walther found themselves standing together in a bright light, when they had thought to escape unseen in the darkness. Again the Warder's horn was heard at a distance.
"Oh, good gracious! We shall be caught," Eva whispered, frightened half to death, as Walther drew her out of the streaming light.
"Which way shall we go?" he whispered, uneasily.
"Alas! look there – at that old rascal, Beckmesser," she returned, distracted with fright and anger, as she saw the old fool come in sight with his lute strung over his shoulder, while he twanged it lightly.
The moment Hans saw Beckmesser he had a new thought. He withdrew the light a little and opened the door. Then in the half light he placed his bench in the doorway and began to work upon a pair of shoes.
"It is that horrible Marker who counted me out this morning," Walther murmured, looking at Beckmesser as he stole along the pathway. Then almost at once, Beckmesser began to bawl under Eva's window.
He looked up where he supposed her to be, in the most languishing manner, so that Walther and Eva would have laughed outright, if they had not been in such a coil.
He no sooner had struck the first notes, than Hans Sachs gave a bang upon his shoe-last. Thus began an awful scrimmage. Hans Sachs, disliking the absurd old Beckmesser as much, if not more, than others did, banged away at Beckmesser's shoes, in a most energetic way. He made such a frightful din that Beckmesser could hardly hear himself sing.