The Bell-Founder of Stolberg.
The traditions of the apprentices' pillar in Roslin Chapel, and of the bell-founder in Breslau, bear a strong resemblance to this of Stolberg.
There was once a bell-founder in Stolberg who was a master worthy of honour, skilled in counsel and deed.
He had already cast many bells, yellow and white, the poem tells us, for churches and chapels, to the praise and glory of God.
And his bells rang so full, so clear and pure in tone; he cast love and faith in with the metal.
And Stolberg desired also a work from his hand, and the master employed every means to produce a perfect bell for his place of residence.
But it was as if the Evil One had a hand too in the work, for the cast was a perfect failure.
Vexed, he threw the bell aside, commanded his sixteen-years-old apprentice to prepare everything for a new cast on a certain day, so soon as he returned, and then departed to visit his father, who was also a bell-founder, to relate his failure and ask his advice.
The thoughtful apprentice reflected unceasingly on the cause of the failure of his so skilful master in the last bell.
After long speculation he discovered the cause, sprang up joyfully, worked day and night, and soon the bell stood without a flaw before the youth's delighted eyes.
His heart beating high with joy, he went to meet his master, and found him sitting on a stone resting from the fatigue of his long walk. This stone tradition still points out in the Steigerthal, moss-grown, with a bell and a club hewn in it.
The apprentice could not keep his secret, and with a countenance shining with joy told his master that he had already cast another bell, which was perfect, and of the sweetest tone.
Then the veins on the master's forehead swelled with shame; rage and fury to find himself excelled by his pupil filled his usually mild heart.
He sprang from the stone, seized his cane, and gave the youth such a powerful blow on his head that he sank bleeding, with glassy eyes, in the grass.
The master fled as if chased by the furies.
His anger cooled at the sight of the blood; fearful pangs of conscience seized the strong man, he repented his rash deed, turned hurriedly back, hoping he might yet quench the stream of blood, and save the unhappy boy.
He had soon reached him, but no help was possible. Despairing he fled.
Unsettled and a fugitive like Cain, he wandered the whole night in the forest, and when the morning dawned he had made his decision.
He returned to Stolburg, presented himself before the tribunal, accused himself of his crime, and demanded punishment.
Deep was the regret, but blood demands blood, and he heard his sentence of death with unmoved composure.