And behold! the bell was flawless, perfect in shape and form, and beautiful to look upon!

Wolf, having achieved the summit of his ambition, cared little for the means by which he had ascended.  From among a host of competitors he was chosen as the most successful.  His bell was to hang in the belfry of Cologne Cathedral, for the envy of other bell-founders and the admiration of future generations.

The bell was borne in triumph through the streets and fixed high in the tower.  Wolf requested that he might be the first to try its tone, and his request was granted.  He ascended into the tower and took the rope in his hands; the mighty bell swung forth, but ah! what a sound was that!  The people pressed their hands over their ears and shuddered; those in the streets hurried to their homes; all were filled with deadly fear as the diabolical bell flung its awful tones over the startled city.  This, then, was the result of Wolf’s invocation of the Devil.

Wolf himself, high in the cathedral tower, was overcome with the brazen horror of the sound, and, driven mad with remorse and terror, flung himself from the tower and fell, a crushed and shapeless mass, on the ground below.

Henceforth the bell was used only to convey warning in times of danger, to carry a message of terror far and wide across the city, and to remind the wicked at all times of the danger of trafficking with the Evil One.

The Archbishop’s Lion

In 957 Cologne was constituted an imperial free city, having as its nominal prince the archbishop of the see, but possessing the right to govern its own affairs.  The good bishop of that time acquiesced in the arrangement, but his successors were not content to be princes in name only, and strove hard to obtain a real influence over the citizens.  Being for the most part men of unscrupulous disposition, they did not hesitate to rouse commonalty and aristocracy against each other, hoping to step in and reap the benefits of such internecine warfare as might ensue.  And, indeed, the continual strife was not conducive to the prosperity of the burghers, but rather tended to sap their independence, and one by one their civil liberties were surrendered.  Thus the scheming archbishops increased their power and influence in the city of Cologne.  There came a time, however, in the civic history when the limit was overstepped.  In the thirteenth century Archbishop Engelbert, more daring and ambitious than any of his predecessors, demanded that the municipal treasure should be given up to him.  Not content with taking away the privileges of the burghers, he wished to lay his hands on the public purse as well.  This was indeed the last straw, and the sluggish blood of the burghers was at length roused to revolt.

At this time the Burgomaster of Cologne, Hermann Grein by name, was an honest, far-seeing, and diplomatic citizen, who had seen with dismay the ancient liberties of his beloved city destroyed by the cunning of the Archbishop.  The latter’s bold attempt at further encroachments gave him the opportunity he sought, and with the skill of a born leader Hermann Grein united nobles and commons in the determination to resist their mutual enemy.  Feuds were for the time being forgotten, and with a gallant effort the galling yoke of the Archbishop-prince was thrown off, and the people of Cologne were once more free.