tie down modern musicians to the procedure of their forbears.  Walther’s trial song, with its gorgeous instrumentation, and the rush of the winds of March through budding woods, is even finer than the first; and it contains passages which are employed with exquisite effect in the next Act.  There occurs a deal of what can only be called musical horseplay as Beckmesser, the pedant type, hidden behind a curtain, marks Walther’s “mistakes”; then comes the only phrase (d) in the opera which can be said to be definitely associated with Hans Sachs.  It stands first for Sachs’ honest longing for the new; and afterwards it is made to express the longing in his soul for other things.  With the consummate craftsmanship Wagner possessed at this period he adds to the score the utterance of the masters’ disapproval, of Sachs’ approval, of Beckmesser’s pedantic maliciousness, of the riotous fooling of the apprentices, until we have them all hard at work united in accompanying Walther’s song in what is nothing more nor less than a grand operatic finale.  The thing is justified theatrically, so to speak, rather than truly dramatically; for though the masters manifest dissatisfaction by their ejaculations, and the ’prentices, seeing the way the wind blows, get out of hand, and chant their scoffing song in the most uproarious fashion, Walther, inspired by a sense that he is right and a determination not to be put down, continues his song to the end.  Then he proudly quits the room and the rest follow in confusion, leaving Sachs for a moment to show his vexation; then the curtain drops.

III

The music of this Act is of the highest order of beauty and never falls to the level of mere prettiness; from the first note to the last it is vigorous, sturdy.  The combination of strength with delicacy and gentleness is extraordinary:  one feels that the reserve of this strength behind it all must be unlimited.  The orchestration is like the music:  it is always exactly appropriate to the music.  One characteristic of the themes should be noted:  with the solitary exception of that expressive of the deep longing in the heart of Sachs (d) all are singable.  Even the burgher motive can be sung and is sung.  When we consider the other operas we perceive that this is by no means always the case.  The Dutchman’s motive is not so much sung as jodelled by Senta; the Montsalvat music is rather orchestral than vocal; all the motives in Tristan are either orchestral or declamatory.  In saying this I do not at all underrate the other operas:  simply I wish to point out the very marked difference in the quality of the music.  The Mastersingers is a long song, and the first act the first verse of it.  Such a profusion of melodies has never been scattered over one act of an opera—­not songs simply pleasing to the ear, but constituting subjects surcharged with feeling and capable of unfolding, as the opera