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Updated: May 12, 2025
A dramatic poet with an appetite was a full dose for Edward Henry; but a dramatic poet who lay on his back and moaned for naught but soda-water and dry land amounted to more than Edward Henry could conveniently swallow. He directed Mr. Sachs's attention to the anguished and debile organism which had once been Carlo Trent, and Mr.
To add to Beckmesser's discomfiture, David, Sachs's apprentice and Magdalena's sweetheart, thinking the serenade intended for his love, begins to belabor the singer with a chub; neighbors join in the brawl, which proceeds right merrily until interrupted by the horn of a night watchman. The dignity and vigor of Wagner's poetical fancy are attested by the marvellous chose of the act.
Now, if the Marker go on lover's feet, how should he not yield to the temptation of bringing a rival to derision before the assembled school?" Beckmesser flares up, trembling with rage. "What concern of Master Sachs's is it on what sort of feet I go? Let him sooner turn his attention to making me shoes that will not hurt my toes.
The air retains as if echoes, or fragrances, of the personalities which have but just withdrawn; it is sweetened with effluvia of Walther's youth, of Sachs's greatness of heart. Suddenly, like a bar of bilious green across a shimmering mother-o'-pearl fabric, harmonies of a very different sort catch the attention, and Beckmesser's face is seen peering in at the window.
In the third act Walther, who had been taken into his house by Sachs and spent the night there, sings a recital of a dream; and Sachs, struck by its beauty, transcribes it, punctuating it with bits of comments and advice. Beckmesser, entering Sachs's shop when the cobbler-poet is out for a moment, finds the song, concludes that it is Sachs's own composition, and appropriates it.
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.
I saw his grave, too, in the old churchyard beyond the Thiergarten gate. I saw the bronze plate commemorating the day of his death. "Emigravit 8 idus Aprilis 1528." "Emigravit" only, for the true artist never dies. Hans Sachs's grave is there too the great Reformation poet of Luther's time. Adam Krafft must have been a great sculptor, though his name is little known out of Nuremberg.
"Bravo!" murmured Mr. Marrier. Edward Henry in the gloom caught Mr. Seven Sachs's unalterable observant smile across the table. "Well, Mr. Machin?" said Carlo Trent. Edward Henry had felt a tremor at the vibrations of Rose Euclid's voice.
"Sachs here, whom you honour so, your Sachs gave me the song. The scandalous wretch compelled me to sing it, he foisted off his miserable song on me!" He dashes the sorry-looking manuscript at Sachs's feet, and rushes off like one pursued by a nest of hornets. Amazement reigns among master-singers and people: "A song of Sachs's? The matter grows more and more astonishing! The song is yours?
"What did you think of him?" "A great actor, but a mountebank, sir." During the remainder of the afternoon Edward Henry saw the whole of New York, with bits of the Bronx and Yonkers in the distance, from Seven Sachs's second automobile. In his third automobile he went to the theatre and saw Seven Sachs act to a house of over two thousand dollars. And lastly he attended a supper and made a speech.
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