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Updated: May 12, 2025
"I expect that's a spring gone!" observed Mr. Sachs with tranquillity. "Will happen, you know, sometimes!" Everybody got out. Mr. Sachs's presumption was correct. One of the back wheels had failed to leap over a hole in Fifth Avenue some eighteen inches deep and two feet long. "What is that hole?" asked Edward Henry. "Well," said Mr. Sachs, "it's just a hole. We'd better transfer to a taxi."
Seven Sachs convinced him not by argument but by the sincerity of his gestures and tones. For it was impossible to question that Mr. Seven Sachs knew what he was talking about. The shape of Mr. Seven Sachs's chin was alone enough to prove that Mr. Sachs was incapable of a mere ignorant effervescence. Everything about Mr. Sachs was persuasive and confidence-inspiring.
Incidentally, his fifteen hundredth appearance in "Overheard" had taken place in the Five Towns, and the Five Towns had found in this fact a peculiar satisfaction, as though some deep merit had thereby been acquired or rewarded. Seven Sachs's tour was now closed, and on the Sunday he had gone to London, en route for America. "I heard he stops at Wilkins's," said Mr. Garvin.
The interior of Sachs's workshop. The poet sits in an ample armchair, near the window, bathed in the morning sunshine, absorbed in a great book.
He kneels before the woman more graciously beautiful than any he had ever seen, while, bending upon him eyes luminous with joy as twin suns, she places upon his head the wreath of laurel and myrtle, the poet's and lover's crown. Pogner wrings Sachs's hand. "Oh, Sachs, to you I owe happiness and honour!" He draws a sigh of immense well-being. "Lifted is the weight from my heart!"
Very naive and very archaic indeed are Hans Sachs's dramas compared with Wagner's; but it is, perhaps, not an exaggeration to say that Sachs was as influential a factor in the dramatic life of his time as Wagner in ours.
Darwin mentions as having led him into this investigation, the tendril of Sicyos was seen to coil within half a minute after a stroke with the hand, and to make a full turn or more within the next minute; furnishing ocular evidence that tendrils grasp and coil in virtue of sensitiveness to contact, and, one would suppose, negativing Sachs's recent hypothesis that all these movements are owing "to rapid growth on the side opposite to that which becomes concave" a view to which Mr.
The melody for the fragment of Sachs's poem on the Reformation, with which I make my characters in the last act greet their beloved master, occurred to me on the way to the Taverne Anglaise, whilst strolling through the galleries of the Palais Royal.
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?"
Sachs's luxurious automobile and left it forlorn to its chauffeur. Mr. Sachs imperturbably smiled. The baggage was unstrapped; the passengers were extracted one by one from the cell, and Edward Henry saw Mr. Sachs give two separate dollar bills to the driver. "By Jove!" he murmured. "I beg your pardon," said Mr. Sachs, politely. "Nothing!" said Edward Henry.
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