Death, it is said, acquits us of all our obligations. This has been taken in various ways. King Henry VII of England made a deal with Dom Philip, Emperor Maximilian’s son, (or, to name him more honorably, father of the Emperor Charles V.) The agreement called for Philip to hand over the mortal enemy of Henry VII, the Duke of Suffolk with the white rose, who had fled and taken refuge in the Low Countries, on condition that he would not condemn the Duke to death. However, on his deathbed, Henry VII instructed his son to have the Duke killed immediately upon his own death.
In the tragedy of the Duke of Albenus that played out recently in Brussels, featuring the Counts of Horne and Aiguemond, included plenty of noteworthy events. This included the fact that the Count of Aiguemond, on whose faith and assurance the Count of Horne had surrendered to the Duke of Albe, insistently demanded that he be killed first, so that his death would free him from his obligation to the aforementioned Count of Horne. It seems that death did not release the first from his given oath, and that the second was cleared of it, even without dying.
We cannot be held to more than our strength and abilities. For this reason, because the effects and executions are in no way within our power, and good does not exist without the will, all rules of human duty are necessarily based on this and established in it. The Count of Aiguemond, attending to his soul, remained indebted to his promise, although the power to carry it out was not entirely in his hands. He was absolved of his duty when he had outlived the Count of Horne. But the King of England, failing in his word by his intention, cannot excuse himself for his posthumous disloyalty. Nor can the mason of Herodotus, who, having loyally preserved during his life the secret of the treasures of the King of Egypt, his master, revealed them to his children upon his death.
Many people in my time have been convinced by their conscience to refrain from doing evil at the close of their lives and make amends in their wills. But, in doing so, they make hollow gestures that neither put an end to something so pressing nor redress any injury or resentment. They owe more than that in life. And the more they pay, the more poignantly and inconveniently, the more just and meritorious is their created satisfaction. Penance makes its own demands.
The worst are those who reveal some hateful spite towards loved ones in their will, after hiding feelings during their lifetime. They show little honor and irritate the memory of the survivors. It is an attack against their own conscience, not even allowing malice the respect of death, extending it beyond their own life. They become judges who make rulings when they no longer have jurisdiction over the case.
I will take care, if I can, to prevent my death from saying something that my life has not already said first.