WILLS NOT FULFILLED
“Fallax saepe fides, testataque vota peribunt;
Constitues tumulum, si sapis, ipse tuum.”
ANCIENT EPITAPH.
It is impossible for a will to be always and in all events binding. If
Virgil’s will had been scrupulously observed, his fame would have been
grievously curtailed; for the “Æneid” should never have been published.
It is said that he gave directions for its burning, and that his
executors, Varius and Tucca, received his manuscripts on condition that
they published nothing he had not edited himself.
“For Poetry is nothing if not perfect,” and the three years which he
was to devote to its polish and perfecting were not granted in his
allotted span. But Augustus, and Virgil’s executors, were wiser than
he himself, though the touch of the vanished hand could not mould its
beauty to perfection. It was unfinished: but only as Turner’s “Canal at
Chichester,” or Schubert’s “Symphony,” are unfinished.
There are such occasions: but it is easy to understand with what desire
the testator desires his wishes to be fulfilled. His will, he feels,
should be inviolable. “Finally,” says George Ludewig Count von der
Schulenburg in 1774, “as I hope that this my disposition and last will
will be strictly and inviolably observed by my dear children, provided
they do not mean to merit my paternal displeasure and the wrath and
punishment of the supreme Being, so on the other hand I heartily wish
them every fatherly blessing and the grace of the Almighty, and do
earnestly recommend them to His omniscient guidance.”
Thomas Rigden, of the County of Kent, shows a lively desire that
nothing should be done amiss. “June 24th, 1746. This in the name of
God, the Father Son and Holy Ghost. I Thomas Rigden, having a very
great desire that my last will and testament may be fulfilled after
that I am dead, for the good of my wife and children, have taken upon
me to write these few lines. Now this is my desire as follows. Now with
my free will do I give all that I have or all that I shall leave ...
to my wife Alice Rigden, for her use and for the use of bringing up my
children. And my desire is by all means that my children may all agree
and live in love one with another, which I pray God grant they may all
do. So fare you all well, my dear wife and my dear children. This is my
last will, and I hope you will fulfil it.”
Times without number the most insistent thought of mortal man must be,
whether his wife and children will be kindly treated when he is gone.
How can a parent endure the thought of such scorn and suffering as a
Jane Eyre is forced to undergo? “As I remember, Adam,” says Orlando in
the opening of “As You Like It,” “it was upon this fashion bequeathed
me by will but a poor thousand crowns; and, as thou say’st, charged my
brother on his blessing to breed me well: and there begins my sadness.”
_Hinc illae lacrimae._ There indeed begins the sadness, it may be
feared, of many outside fiction and the drama, in spite of prayer or
threat.
Elenor Clarke (_Cp._ p. 52), widow of Bartholomew Clarke, of Clapham,
whose will was proved in 1594, gave the custody of her son Francis
to her brother John Haselrigge, “charging my said brother as he will
answer before the Tribunal seat of God to deal honestly and faithfully
with him and by him.” But how he fared we do not know. “And I charge
you Ed. Lascelles my sole executor before God to be punctual,” says
Robert Knox, for twenty years a captive in Ceylon, “in performing all
this that I have given, lest the cries of the widow and fatherless
come up to heaven against you, and your lot be a curse instead of a
blessing” (1711: died 1720).
Bishops and kings of old were next to none in the vigour of their
language. Theodred, Bishop of London in Edgar’s reign, is aggressively
violent: “And whosoever takes from my testament, may God take him from
the Kingdom of Heaven, unless he amend it before his death.” In the
same spirit, if with less directness, Henry VI. requires the fulfilment
of his will: “And that this my said will in every point before
rehearsed may the more effectually be executed ... I ... not only pray
and desire, but also exhort in Christ require and charge, all and every
of my said feoffees, my executors and surveyor or surveyors, in virtue
of the aspersion of Christ’s blessed blood and of His painful passion
that they having God and mine intention before their eyes, not letting
for dread or favour of any person living of what estate degree or
condition that he be, truly faithfully and diligently execute my same
will and every part thereof, as they will answer before the blessed and
dreadful visage of our Lord Jesu in His most fearful and last doom,
when every man shall most strictly be examined and deemed after his
demerits. And, furthermore, for the more sure accomplishment of this
my said will, I in the most entire and most fervent wise pray my said
heirs and successors and every one of them, that they show themselves
well willing faithful and tender lovers of my desire in this behalf;
and in the bowels of Christ our altogether just and strict judge
exhort them to remember the terrible comminations and full fearful
imprecations of Holy Scripture against the breakers of the law of God,
and the letters of good and holy works.”
If Bishops and Kings must write with such vehemence, how shall the
humble citizen fare? The possibility of the deceased’s wishes being
neglected or overridden was so real that old writers advise the
charitable to exercise their charity in their lifetime, and not to
trust to executors or friends. Their faithlessness had even passed
into a proverb: “three executors make three thieves.” Thus John Stow,
in his “Survey of London,” remarks how often wills were proved but not
performed: “Thus much for famous citizens have I noted their charitable
actions, for the most part done by them in their lifetime. The residue
left in trust to their executors. I have known some of them hardly (or
never) performed, wherefore I wish men to make their own hands their
executors, and their eyes their overseers, not forgetting the old
proverb:
“Women be forgetful, children be unkind,
Executors be covetous, and take what they find.
If any body ask where the dead’s goods became,
They answer, So God help me and holydom, he died a poor man.”
Jeremy Taylor, in “The Rule and Exercises of Holy Dying,” has the same
thought and the same proverb in his mind: “He that gives with his
own hand shall be sure to find it; but he that trusts executors with
his charity, and the economy and issues of his virtue, by which he
must enter into his hopes of heaven and pardon, shall find but an ill
account when his executors complain he died poor: ‘think on this.’”
This interesting proverb was written upon a wall in St. Edmund’s
Church, Lombard Street, and is thus quoted in Weever’s “Funeral
Monuments”:—
“Man, the behoveth oft to have this in mind,
That thow geveth wyth thin hond, that sall thow fynd.
For widowes be sloful, and chyldren beth unkynd,
Executors beth covetos, and kep al that they fynd.
If eny body ask wher the deddys goodys becam,
They answer,
So God help me and Halidam, he died a poor man.
think
on this.”
Other proverbial lines are quoted by Thomas Fuller, and a fresh turn is
given to the thought, in his “Cambridge History.” “It is the life of
a gift, to be done in the life of the giver; far better than funeral
legacies, which, like Benjamin, are born by the loss of a parent. For,
it is not so kindly charity, for men to give what they can keep no
longer: besides, such donations are most subject to abuses.
“Silver in the living
Is gold in the giving;
Gold in the dying
Is but silver a-flying;
Gold and silver in the dead
Turn too often into lead.”
It is pitiable to think how many elaborate and kindly dispositions
never bore fruit, and legitimate to believe that executors are more
honest now. But, in spite of failures, English life and customs are
largely bound up with bequests. Innumerable gifts meant for perpetuity
never took effect or have passed into oblivion; but a goodly number
remains, to which year by year additions are made. Picturesque
survivals may often be traced to some will, no less than studentships
or professors’ chairs, almshouses or doles, institutions or the
treasures that adorn them. Such a record as Johnson’s “Annuities to the
Blind” suggests how much one class owes to beneficent testators.
For nearly two hundred years a quaint custom has marked February 2nd
at Wotton, in Surrey, in pursuance of the will of William Glanvill.
Boys of twelve to sixteen stand bareheaded round the testator’s tomb,
recite the Lord’s Prayer, the Ten Commandments, and the Apostles’
Creed, read the 15th chapter of the First Epistle to the Corinthians,
and write down two verses therefrom. After these tests five boys are
selected, and receive 40s. apiece. As an instance of a school founded
by a will, John Neville, Lord Latimer (1542), may be quoted. “After my
decease the Master and Vicar (of Well, in Yorkshire) shall take all the
rents of the parsonage of Saint George Church in York, for the term of
forty years, and therewith to find a schoolmaster at Well for keeping a
school and teaching of grammar there, and to pray for me and them that
I am most bounden to pray for.” The school exists, but does the master
pray for the worthy founder still?
There are various reasons why wills should sometimes not be fulfilled.
The estate, for instance, may not be adequate. It is strange how vague
are the ideas of some testators in this respect, and one recalls
what Dr. Johnson said of a certain bequest to erect a hospital for
“ancient maids” that the word _maintain_ should be expunged and
_starve_ inserted, so insufficient were the funds. It is amusing (to
the outsider) when legacies are given with effusive expressions of
admiration or gratitude, while all the time there is no money to pay
them.
Some admit frankly that they have no material blessings to bestow.
Thomas Johnson, otherwise John Plummer (proved January 22, 1780),
left everything to his “dearly beloved and most deservedly esteemed
ever loving affectionate friend Ann Watson ... being thoroughly
sure she will take good care of the dear boy, J. H. Plummer, to
whom unfortunately I have nothing to leave but the wide world to
seek his fortune, excepting my prayers for his success.” Queen
Elizabeth Woodville, in her will dated April 10, 1492—a death-bed
will—pathetically says: “Whereas I have no worldly goods to do the
Queen’s Grace, my dearest daughter, a pleasure with, neither to reward
any of my children, according to my heart and mind, I beseech Almighty
God to bless her Grace, with all her noble issue; and with as good
heart and mind as is to me possible, I give her Grace my blessing, and
all the aforesaid my children.” _Maeonides nullas ipse reliquit opes._
Even Homer died penniless.
Another cause of non-fulfilment may be a legal barrier. There is no
legal method of enforcing a testator’s wishes for the disposal of his
body, except for anatomical purposes. The bequest is void if money be
given to expend the interest in keeping up a grave. In England there
is a legal obstacle against a bequest for the celebration of masses
for the repose of the soul: it is termed a “superstitious trust”
and is invalid. The famous decision in 1835 in the case of _West v.
Shuttleworth_ has not been superseded. The Master of the Rolls, Sir
Charles Pepys, afterwards Lord Cottenham, held that in this country
gifts to priests “that I may have the benefit of their prayers and
masses,” or “for the benefit of the prayers for the repose of my soul,
and that of my deceased husband,” were void, and void such bequests
remain.
Personal reasons, lastly, may bring about the breaking of a will.
Sir Edmund Bury Godfrey’s recommendations for his funeral have been
quoted: he desired to be buried in the meanest place, without pomp or
pageantry, without numerous attendants either of friends or relations,
very early in the morning or very late at night, as privately as
possible, without sermon or harangue. But the excitement and notoriety
of his end, the passions that it aroused or signified, could not suffer
him so to depart. His death and funeral are part of the history of his
time. On October 12, 1678, he disappeared: on the 17th he was found
dead in a ditch on the southern side of Primrose Hill. The funeral was
postponed till the 31st, when his body was borne to Old Bridewell, and
publicly lay in state. A solemn procession accompanied it through Fleet
Street and the Strand to St. Martin’s Church, where it was buried and a
sermon preached by the vicar, William Lloyd. Thus was his will wholly
set at nought—a remarkable but perhaps a pardonable violation.