"What is the matter with you?" says Sachs, laughing. "I have never dreamed of competing, and as these verses please you, I give them to you; do with them what you will." Beckmesser, thinking the verses those of Sachs, the most skilful master of Nuremberg, joyously carries off the fortunate manuscript, sure of victory. Eva, beautifully adorned for the festival, but with a sad, pale face, enters Sachs' studio as she passes. She has made a pretext of her shoe, which hurts her, she pretends; but Sachs well knows where the shoe pinches, in spite of the reproaches she addresses to him for not divining it. While kneeling before her the shoemaker holds her prisoner, one foot shoeless, and pretends to rectify the shoe in which she finds so many faults. Walter comes out of the bedroom, and stands dazzled at the head of the staircase before the young girl, more beautiful than ever in her betrothal dress. Then enthusiastically he improvises the last strophe of his song. Eva, palpitating with surprise and emotion, holds her breath as she listens. "Well, does the shoe fit at last?" says Sachs, in a troubled voice. Eva understands the good shoemaker is her friend and ally, and throws herself weeping into his arms. After a short interlude, the curtain rises again upon the site where the festival is to be held. It is on the border of the river in which Nuremberg reflects its pointed roofs, towers, and ramparts; in a vast meadow which extends along the banks. Peasants and citizens arrive from every quarter; joyous companies disembark from flag-bedecked boats; the corporations advance with the flourish of the city trumpets; the apprentices, gayly decorated, add their enthusiasm to the merry tumult; they clasp nimble young girls about the waist and dance a rustic waltz upon the grass. But a rumor in the crowd announces the arrival of the Mastersingers. Silence is established, and the masters make their appearance in great style. The charming Eva is near her father, holding in her hand the crown destined for the conqueror. Hans Sachs appears in his turn. Upon seeing him, a prolonged tremor runs through the assembly; the crowd cannot contain its joy; the people's favorite is received with loud acclamations, and by a sudden inspiration every voice chants the song with which Hans Sachs greeted Luther, and the dawn of the Reformation:-- Rouse thyself; the day is breaking; A voice rises from the coppice: I hear the song of the nightingale, It resounds from summit to summit, In the valley and in the field. The night is sinking in the west, Red dawn is gleaming in the east, And the sad cloud takes flight. It is difficult to give an idea of the power of this piece, which seems to embody all human aspirations toward liberty.