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