Sir Walter stepped forward, and Veit Pogner greeted him kindly. Surely so handsome a knight should be favored. Hans Sachs came forward, also. And all agreed that Sir Walter should be given an opportunity. Only Beckmesser snarled with rage, for the young knight was a formidable rival. "Ha! ha!" croaked he to himself. "Just wait. Let him try to sing! I'll show him what singing is." Sir Walter was bidden to seat himself in the candidate's chair. And, with a smile that was far from friendly, Sixtus Beckmesser, slate and chalk in hand, entered the Marker's box and pulled the curtains together behind him. Then in a harsh tone he called out:-- "Now begin!" Walter mused a moment and then began his song. The words, the music, flowed forth unbidden from his full heart. He sang of the Springtime which came into the sleeping forest, and, with thousands of heavenly voices, awakened the birds, the bees, the flowers. He sang of murmuring brooks, of rustling leaves, and of winter all forlorn, lurking in the woodlands, loath to depart. And as he sang, groans of discouragement came from within the Marker's box. There was the sound of chalk scratches, once, twice, and again. Walter hesitated a moment. Then he went on. He sang of the awakening of the woods to life, to happiness. His voice rose high in joyous refrain. But a loud groan came from the Marker's box. Another scratch--another. Walter took a long breath. He did not care. With thoughts of his fair Eva in mind, he sang on. He sang of love, which, like Springtime in the woodland, had awakened his heart. He sang of the thrill of life it brought, the happiness, the all-surpassing joy. Suddenly the curtains were roughly pushed apart, and Beckmesser rushed out, slate in hand. It was covered on both sides with marks! "Can no one stop him?" he cried as he jumped frantically about. "The slate is full," and he laughed exultingly. The Masters joined in the laughter, for, it was true, Sir Walter had sung according to no rule of the guild. Only Hans Sachs and Veit Pogner, realizing the beauty and poetry of the song, tried to argue for the young knight. But their opinions were overruled. The Master Singers decreed that Sir Walter had lost his chance. He must be silent and sing no more. Sixtus Beckmesser remained triumphant, and Walter left the church while the Masters pronounced the decree,-- "Outdone and outsung." III The day of toil was over. Twilight came, and then the cool and quiet evening. A bright moon rode on high. It peeped in and out, between the gables, behind the church spire, and promised fair weather for the morrow. "Midsummer Day, Midsummer Day, And the song festival so gay,--" sang the jolly 'prentice boys, as they appeared at their masters' house doors to close the shutters for the night.