It was about the time of the last-named master that a Bishop of Cologne, Conrad von Hochsteden, formed the resolve of increasing the pecuniary value of his diocese.  He was already rich, but other neighbouring bishops were richer, each of them being blest with just what Conrad lacked—­a shrine sufficiently famous to attract large numbers of wealthy pilgrims able to make generous offerings.  The result of his jealous musing was that the crafty bishop vowed he would build a cathedral whose like had not been seen in all Germany.  By this means, he thought, he would surely contrive to bring rich men to his diocese.  His first thought was to summon an architect from Italy, in those days the country where beautiful building was chiefly carried on; but he found that this would cost a far larger sum than he was capable of raising; so, hearing that a gifted young German architect had lately taken up his abode at Cologne itself, Conrad sent for him and offered him a rich reward should he accomplish the work satisfactorily.  The young man was overjoyed, for as yet he had received no commissions of great importance, and he set to work at once.  He made drawing after drawing, but, being in a state of feverish excitement, found that his hand had lost its cunning.  None of his designs pleased him in the least; the bishop, he felt, would be equally disappointed; and thinking that a walk in the fresh air might clear his brain, he threw his drawing-board aside and repaired to the banks of the Rhine.  Yet even here peace did not come to him; he was tormented by endless visions of groined arches, pediments, pilasters, and the like, and having a stick in his hand, he made an effort to trace some on the sand.  But this new effort pleased him no better than any of its predecessors.  Fame and fortune were within his reach, yet he was incapable of grasping them; and he groaned aloud, cursing the day he was born.

As the young man uttered his fierce malediction he was surprised to hear a loud “Amen” pronounced; he looked round, wondering from whom this insolence came, and beheld an individual whose approach he had not noticed.  He, too, was engaged in drawing on the sand, and deeming that the person, whoever he was, intended to mock his attempts at a plan for the projected cathedral, the architect strode up to him with an angry expression on his face.  He stopped short, however, on nearing the rival draughtsman; for he was repelled by his sinister aspect, while at the same time he was thunderstruck by the excellence of his drawing.  It was indeed a thaumaturgic design, just such a one as the architect himself had dreamt of, but had been unable to execute; and while he gazed at it eagerly the stranger hailed him in an ugly, rasping voice.  “A cunning device, this of mine,” he said sharply; and the architect was bound to agree, despite the jealousy he felt.  Surely, he thought, only the Evil One could draw in this wise.  Scarcely had the thought crossed his mind ere his suspicion was confirmed, for now he marked the stranger’s tail, artfully concealed hitherto.  Yet he was incapable of withholding his gaze from the plan drawn so wondrously on the sand, and the foul fiend, seeing that the moment for his triumph was come, declared his identity without shame, and added that, would the architect but agree to renounce all hopes of salvation in the next world, the peerless design would be his to do with as he pleased.