THE SIN OF THE PRINCE BISHOP
HE Prince Bishop Evrard stood gazing at his marvellous Cathedral; and as he let his eyes wander in
delight over the three deep sculptured portals and the double gallery above them, and the great rose
window, and the ringers' gallery, and so up to the massive western towers, he felt as though his
heart were clapping hands for joy within him. And he thought to himself, "Surely in all the world
God has no more beautiful house than this which I have built with such long labour and at so
princely an outlay of my treasure." And thus the Prince Bishop fell into the sin of vainglory, and,
though he was a holy man, he did not perceive that he had fallen, so filled with gladness was he at
the sight of his completed work.
In the double gallery of the west front there were many great statues with crowns and sceptres, but
a niche over the central portal was empty, and this the Prince Bishop intended to fill with a statue
of himself. It was to be a very small simple statue, as became one who prized lowliness of heart,
but as he looked up at the vacant place it gave him pleasure to think that hundreds of years after
 was dead people would pause before his effigy and praise him and his work. And this, too, was
As the Prince Bishop lay asleep that night a mighty six-winged Angel stood beside him and bade him
rise. "Come," he said, "and I will show thee some of those who have worked with thee in building the
great church, and whose service in God's eyes has been more worthy than thine." And the Angel led him
past the Cathedral and down the steep street of the ancient city, and though it was midday, the
people going to and fro did not seem to see them. Beyond the gates they followed the shelving road
until they came to green level fields, and there in the middle of the road, between grassy banks
covered white with cherry blossom, two great white oxen, yoked to a huge block of stone, stood
resting before they began the toilsome ascent.
"Look!" said the Angel; and the Prince Bishop saw a little blue-winged bird which perched on the
stout yoke beam fastened to the horns of the oxen, and sang such a heavenly song of rest and
contentment that the big shaggy creatures ceased to blow stormily through their nostrils, and drew
long tranquil breaths instead.
"Look again!" said the Angel. And from a hut of wattles and clay a little peasant girl came with a
bundle of hay in her arms, and gave first one of the oxen and then the other a wisp. Then she
stroked their black muzzles, and laid her rosy face against their white cheeks. Then the Prince
Bishop saw the rude teamster rise from his rest on the bank and cry to his cattle, and the oxen
strained against the beam and the thick ropes tightened, and the huge block of stone was once more
set in motion.
And when the Prince Bishop saw that it was these
fellow-  workers whose service was more worthy in God's eyes than his own, he was abashed and sorrowful for
his sin, and the tears of his own weeping awoke him. So he sent for the master of the sculptors and
bade him fill the little niche over the middle portal, not with his own effigy but with an image of
the child; and he bade him make two colossal figures of the white oxen; and to the great wonderment
of the people these were set up high in the tower so that men could see them against the blue sky.
"And as for me," he said, "let my body be buried, with my face downward, outside the great church,
in front of the middle entrance, that men may trample on my vainglory and that I may serve them as a
stepping-stone to the house of God; and the little child shall look on me when I lie in the dust."
Now the little girl in the niche was carved with wisps of hay in her hands, but the child who had
fed the oxen knew nothing of this, and as she grew up she forgot her childish service, so that when
she had grown to womanhood and chanced to see this statue over the portal she did not know it was
her own self in stone. But what she had done was not forgotten in heaven.
And as for the oxen, one of them looked east and one looked west across the wide fruitful country
about the foot of the hill-city. And one caught the first grey gleam, and the first rosy flush, and
the first golden splendour of the sunrise; and the other was lit with the colour of the sunset long
after the lowlands had faded away in the blue mist of the twilight. Weary men and worn women looking
up at them felt that a gladness and a glory and a deep peace had fallen on the life of toil. And
then, when people began to understand, they said it was well that these mighty labourers,
 who had helped to build the house, should still find a place of service and honour in the house; and
they remembered that the Master of the house had once been a Babe warmed in a manger by the breath
of kine. And at the thought of this men grew more pitiful to their cattle, and to the beasts in
servitude, and to all dumb animals. And that was one good fruit which sprang from the Prince
Now over the colossal stone oxen hung the bells of the Cathedral. On Christmas Eve the ringers,
according to the old custom, ascended to their gallery to ring in the birth of the Babe Divine. At
the moment of midnight the master ringer gave the word, and the great bells began to swing in joyful
sequence. Down below in the crowded church lay the image of the new-born Child on the cold straw,
and at His haloed head stood the images of the ox and the ass. Far out across the snow-roofed city,
far away over the white glistening country rang the glad music of the tower. People who went to
their doors to listen cried in astonishment: "Hark! what strange music is that? It sounds as if the
lowing of cattle were mingled with the chimes of the bells." In truth it was so. And in every byre
the oxen and the kine answered the strange sweet cadences with their lowing, and the great stone
oxen lowed back to their kin of the meadow through the deep notes of the joy-peal.
In the fulness of time the Prince Bishop Evrard died and was buried as he had willed, with his face
humbly turned to the earth; and to this day the weather-wasted figure of the little girl looks down
on him from her niche, and the slab over his grave serves as a stepping-stone to pious feet.