s the proof of it, this song which he means to sing at the
tournament. "Now," bursts forth Beckmesser, "everything becomes
clear to me!" He jumps, hearing Sachs at the door, and stuffs the
paper into his pocket. Sachs, in his handsome best-coat, meets him
pleasantly. "You surely are not having any more trouble with the
shoes?" Beckmesser's wrath holds in but a moment before voiding
itself upon Sachs in accusation and threat. "Be sure, friend Sachs,
I know you now!... That I may not stand in your way, you go so
far even as to incite the mob to riot.... You have always been
my enemy.... Now hear, whether I see through you. The maiden whom
I have chosen, who was verily born for me, to the frustration of
all widowers there be,--of her you are in pursuit! In order that
Master Sachs might gain the goldsmith's rich inheritance it was
that at the council of masters he stood upon minor clauses. For
that reason, fool that I was! with bawling and hammering he tried to
drown my song,--that the child might not be made aware of another's
ability! Yes, yes! Have I hit the mark? And finally from his cobbler's
shop he egged after me boys with cudgels, that he might be rid of
me.... Ouch! Ouch! Green and blue was I beaten, made an object
of derision to the beloved woman, so drubbed and maltreated that
no tailor's flat-iron can smoothe me out! Upon my very life an
attempt was made! But I came out of it with sufficient spirit left
to reward you for the deed. Stand forth to-day and sing, do, and
see how you prosper. Beaten and bruised as I am, I shall certainly
manage to throw you out of time!" Sachs has unperturbedly let him
spend himself. "My good friend, you are labouring under a delusion.
You are free to attribute to me what actions you please... but I
have not the least thought of competing." "Lies and deceit!" roars
Beckmesser, "I know better!" Sachs quietly repeats his statement.
"What else I have in mind is no affair of yours. But concerning
the contest you are in error."--"Not in the contest? No
competition-song?"--"Certainly not." Beckmesser produces the piece
of music. "Is that your hand?"--"Yes," Sachs owns, amused; "Was
that it?"--"I suppose you call it a biblical lay?"--"Nay," laughs
Sachs, "any one guessing it to be such would hit wide enough of
the mark."--"Well, then?"--"What is it?"--"Do you ask me?"--"What
do you mean?"--"That you are, in all can dour, a rogue of the first
magnitude!" Sachs shrugs good-humouredly; "Maybe!