Long ago, when bell-founding was looked upon as an art of the highest importance, and especially so among the Germans, the civic authorities of Cologne made it known that the cathedral was in need of a new bell.  There was no lack of aspirants for the honour of casting the bell, and more than one exponent of the art imagined his handiwork swinging in the grand tower of the cathedral, a lasting and melodious monument to its creator’s skill.

Among those whose ambitious souls were stirred by the statement of the city fathers was one, a bell-founder named Wolf, a man of evil passions and overbearing disposition, whose heart was firmly set on achieving success.  In those days, let it be said, the casting of a bell was a solemn, and even a religious, performance, attended by elaborate ceremonies and benedictions.  On the day which Wolf had appointed for the operation it seemed as though the entire populace had turned out to witness the spectacle.  Wolf, having prepared the mould, made ready to pour into it the molten metal.  The silence was almost oppressive, and on it fell distinctly the solemn words of the bell-founder, as in God’s name he released the metal.  The bright stream gushed into the mould, and a cheer broke from the waiting crowd, who, indeed, could scarce be restrained till the bell had cooled, such was their curiosity to see the result.  At last the earthy mould was removed, they surged round eagerly, and lo! from crown to rim of the mighty bell stretched a gaping crack!

Expressions of disappointment burst from the lips of the people, and to Wolf himself the failure was indeed galling.  But his ambitious spirit was not yet completely crushed.  “I am not beaten yet,” he said boastfully.  “I shall make another, and success shall yet be mine.”

Another mould was made, once more the people came forth to see the casting of the bell, once more the solemn invocation of God’s name fell on awed ears.  The glowing metal filled the mould, cooled, and was withdrawn from its earthy prison.  Once more cries of disappointment were heard from the crowd; again the massive bell was completely riven!

Wolf was beside himself.  His eyes glowed with fury, and he thrust aside the consolations of his friends.  “If God will not aid me,” he said fiercely, “then the Devil will!”

The crowd shrank back from the impious words; nevertheless on the third occasion they attended in even greater numbers than before.

Again was all made ready for the casting of the huge bell.  The mould was fashioned as carefully as on the previous occasions, the metal was heated in the great furnace, and Wolf, pale and sullen, stood ready to release it.  But when he spoke a murmur of astonishment, of horror, ran through the crowd.  For the familiar words “In the name of God!” he had substituted “In the name of the Devil!” With fascinated eyes the people watched the bright, rushing metal, and, later, the removal of the mould.