must all see that ye, not I, have the best of the bargain, and truly it was silly of me to make ye so fair an offer. Soon your abandoned Minster will be a bonnie resting-place for my bats and owls; so, my masters, take what is offered ye while ye can get it. The gold on my terms, or I leave ye to the vengeance of your Emperor."
The Devil was so courteous, so persuasive, he gave such excellent reasons, and his offer was so tempting, the councillors forgot all their scruples; and, on condition he paid down the money, agreed to give the soul, and the Devil departed with the deed of surrender bearing their hands and seals.
HOW THE DEVIL LEFT HIS THUMB IN THE WOLF’S GATE.
No sooner had the Devil got hold of the compact, than money began to shower down from all sides of the hall; every piece fresh from the mint, and none of less value than ducats or golden guilders. All the coffers were filled to the brim, and the councillors chuckled over their good luck. They talked the matter over very earnestly; gave utterance, doubtless, to many excellent opinions; and, before the meeting broke up, agreed, with seeming unanimity, to keep the matter a profound secret.
But, alas for the feebleness of man's good intentions! One of their worships let his wife draw the secret from him. Somehow it then got wind; the news spread like wildfire; soon young and old knew of the mysterious compact.
However, that business once settled, the work progressed so rapidly and so successfully that the building was soon nearly finished. The question then was—should their worships, after all, really get the worst of their bargain with the Devil?
Now that the whole story was bruited, no one could be got even to cross the threshold of the Minster. Still, the Devil had the treaty signed and sealed by the councillors, and the promised soul he must get, by fair means or by foul. It was natural enough that these worthy citizens, having to supply him with the worth of his unhallowed money, should pass many a sleepless night. Besides, it was very possible that finding his prey so long coming, the Devil might lose his temper, and lay his claw on one of their worships.
The matter had thus been at a standstill for some time, when at last a townsman proposed that a councillor should walk into the Minster, and by thus freely giving himself up to the Devil, prove that they had not been trying to make game of him.
This counsel not pleasing any one, their worships were still in a state of utter helplessness, when a crafty monk came to their aid. He stated clearly the particulars of the bargain, that they had pledged themselves to give up a soul to the Devil, and give it they must; but the compact did not specify that it was to be a human soul; and they ought therefore to be ready to redeem their word by giving the soul of some animal. The councillors again breathed freely, and, it is needless to add, resolved to follow this good advice.
At last the Minster was finished from top to bottom, and the Devil brought the great entrance gate of beautifully wrought bronze, and set it on the hinges with his own hands.
On the morrow it stood wide open; the foul fiend skulked behind it, shrewdly reckoning that curiosity would draw crowds to the church, and then the first who entered would be his prey.
In this case he reckoned without his host. The councillors had had a wolf snared in the forest—no difficult task then, when the woods were alive with them. The cage containing the wolf was placed near the portal, and the assembled populace lent their aid that he might be the first soul to enter the Minster, for they hunted him with such good will that he soon crossed the fatal threshold.
Lightning flashed forth as the Devil, wreaking his vengeance on the wolf, tore out his soul. He showed his rage and fury at the cheat men had inflicted on him, by fearful howlings, and, gnashing his teeth, he rushed from God's new temple. In his passion he banged to the door; it slammed on his hand, and his right thumb remained fastened in one of the handles, and there the bone still is in the mouth of the brazen lion's head.
Folks from far and near have vainly tried to get it out. When they think they have nearly succeeded, and the thumb is all but out, back it slips into the very cranny where the Devil left it. Whoever shall succeed in extricating it, and shall present himself with it before the canons in chapter assembled, shall receive a golden robe as his reward.
As a lasting memorial of the memorable occurrence just related, the magistrates had a bronze statue, representing the wolf with a hole in his breast, cast, and erected on the spot where the Devil rent away his soul.
As the soul of a wolf was popularly supposed to be somewhat of the form of a pine-apple or an artichoke, it was likewise cast in bronze and erected outside the Minster. The statue of the wolf, on a low pillar, with a richly carved capital, now stands on the right hand of the great gate; his soul, on a similar pedestal, at the left hand; and the massive portal itself is called the "Wolf's-gate."
He who leaves Aix-la-Chapelle, and has not seen the captured wolf, his soul, the Wolf's-gate, and the Devil's thumb, has seen nought of Charlemagne's city.
HALNAKER AND BOXGROVE.
Upon the southern side of the great natural defence formed by that wall of Downs running from Eastbourne to Portsdown and skirting Goodwood, lies the fine old park of Halnaker, in which stand the ruins of the ancient manor once the home of the Delawares. Like all baronial residences of an early date, its site occupies a commanding position, overlooking the great plain stretching from Portsmouth to Brighton, and having the ocean for its southern boundary. Upon the north rise the Downs, on the other side of which lies Petworth, while eastward is Goodwood, and westward the great masses of forest which hem in Slyndon, the picturesque seat of the late Countess of Newburgh.
