Since the days of Edward of Windsor the Castle hill has kept the triple character—upper ward, middle ward, and lower ward—baily of the King, baily of the keep, and baily of St. George—the residence of our sovereign, the symbol of our power, the altar of our saint.
Royal Windsor (London, 1879).
THE CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE.
ERNEST BRETON.
We are now in the middle of the Tenth Century and in the city of Cologne; for several hours a man has been sitting upon the banks of a river, flowing majestically at the base of those ramparts which sixty years ago were erected by Philip von Heinsberg, and for several hours his thoughtful brow has not been lifted. This man was the first master-workman of his time; three centuries later he was called the prince of architects. The Archbishop of Cologne had said to him: “Master, we must build a cathedral here which will surpass all the buildings of the world in grandeur and magnificence.” The artist replied: “I will do it;” and now he was pondering over ways of accomplishing his promise about which he was frightened. At this moment he was trying to think out a marvellous plan which would give lustre to his country and immortalize his name; but nothing came into his mind worthy of the prodigy he was trying to conceive and could not create.
An unknown old man now approached and sat beside him, regarding him with a mocking air, as if he rejoiced in his perplexity and despair; every now and then he gave a little, dry cough, and when he had attracted the attention of the artist, he rapidly traced on the sand with a ring some lines which he immediately effaced. These lines formed exactly that plan which always escaped the artist and whose fugitive image he could not seize.
“You would like to have this plan?” asked the old man.
“I would give all I possess for it.”
“I exact nothing. The building that you construct will be the envy and the eternal despair of all your successors, the admiration of centuries to come, and your brilliant and celebrated name will be known to the most remote generations. Your life will be long; you will pass it in glory, wealth, and pleasure. For all that I only ask for your soul when your life draws to its close.”
“Vade retro Satanas!” cried the agitated artist. “Better the nothingness of oblivion than eternal damnation.”
“Patience,” said Satan, “reflect: we shall see,” and he vanished. The master-workman returned to his humble dwelling, sadder and more dreamful than when he left it; he could not close his eyes all night. Glory, wealth, and pleasure for many long years, and all that for one word! In vain he tried to shake himself free from the fatal temptation; at every moment, at every step he again saw the tempter showing him his transitory plan; he succumbed.