I have never,
however, pocketed what I found upon another's table. That one may
not think evil of you, dear sir, keep the paper, I make you a gift
of it." Beckmesser leaps in the air with incredulous joy: "Lord
God! A poem of Sachs's!... But soft, that I may not be led into
fresh troubles. You have, no doubt," he insinuates, "committed the
thing perfectly to memory?"--"Have no uneasiness with regard to
that."--"You bestow the sheet on me then outright?"--"To prevent
you being a thief."--"And suppose I made use of it?"--"You may
do as you please."--"I may sing it, then?"--"If it is not too
difficult."--"And if I should please my audience?"--"I should be
greatly astonished!"--Beckmesser misses the sly shoester's intention.
"You are too modest altogether," he says; and goes on to explain in
what dire need he stands of a new composition, since the song sung
the night before as a serenade can have no chance, if sung again
to-day, of charming the Pognerin, for whom it must be associated,
thanks to the cobbler's merry jests, with every undignified
circumstance. And how can he, poor belaboured wretch, find the
necessary peace of mind to compose a new one? Yet, if he have not
a new song, he must give up the hope of marriage. But a song of
Sachs's would enable him to overcome every obstacle; if he may
have it, let all the disagreements which have kept them apart be
forgotten and buried. But,--he suddenly holds in, and puckers his
forehead,--if this were a trap? "Even so late as yesterday," he says
to Sachs, "you were my enemy. How is it that after all the troubles
between us you are to-day kindly disposed toward me?"--"I worked on
your shoes until late at night," Sachs disingenuously replies; "is
that the sort of consideration one shows an enemy?"--"True, true.
But now give me your word. Whenever and under whatever circumstances
you hear that song, you will never by any chance say that it is of
your composing."--"I give you my word and oath," Sachs assents, with
a spice of wicked glee, "that I will never boast of that song being
mine."--Beckmesser's spirits rise to heights of mad exhilaration.
"What more do I want? I am saved! Beckmesser need trouble no
further!"--"Friend," Sachs warns him, "in all kindness I advise
you, study that song carefully. It is of no easy execution."--"Friend
Sachs," Beckmesser waives the warning, "you are a good poet, but
in all that relates to tones and tunes there is no one goes ahead
of me. But now