The substance of the whole was that the mallet would be advantageously employed in knocking out the brains of the man who was fool enough to dispossess himself, during his lifetime, of the control of his own property.[222]
The following legend, from the supplement to the Illustrated News, February 7th, 1874, seems to have a common origin with the preceding.
Jehan Connaxa was one of the merchant princes of Antwerp, who is supposed to have lived in the fifteenth century. His only children were two daughters, whom he had married to young noblemen. Not content with the handsome dowries he had given them on their marriage, and too impatient to wait for the time when all his vast wealth would become theirs by inheritance, they persuaded him to make it over to them during his life-time. For a short period he was treated with due consideration, but it was not long before he began to find that his presence in the houses of his sons-in-law was irksome to them and their wives; and at last he was plainly told that he must not expect any longer to find a home with them. Under these circumstances he hired a small residence, and turned over in his mind how he could manage so as to recover the position in his daughters’ houses which he had formerly occupied. At last he hit on this expedient. He invited his sons-in-law and their wives to dine with him on a certain day, and, when he was quite sure they would come, he went to an old friend, a rich merchant, and borrowed from him the sum of one thousand crowns for twenty-four hours, telling him to keep the transaction a profound secret, but to send a servant to his house the next day at a certain hour to fetch it back. Accordingly, the next day, when his daughters and their husbands were seated at his table, a message came that his friend had sent for the sum of money he had promised. He pretended to be displeased at being interrupted in the midst of his meal, but left the table, went into an adjoining apartment, and returned with a sack of money, from which he counted out the full sum of a thousand crowns, and delivered it to the messenger. The astonishment of his guests, who were not aware of how the money had come into his possession, was extreme, and, believing him to be still the owner of unbounded wealth, his sons-in-law insisted on his taking up his abode with them alternately for the rest of his days. Each vied with the other in showing him every attention, hoping thus to secure the greater share of the inheritance. He always brought with him a heavy strong box with three locks, which was supposed to contain untold wealth. At last, the time when he was to quit this world arrived, and on his death-bed he sent for his two sons-in-law and the Prior of a neighbouring Convent of Jacobins, and delivered to them the three keys of the box, which, he said, contained his will, but with strict injunctions that it was not to be opened till forty days after his funeral had elapsed. Wishing, however, as he said, to do good while he was yet alive, he begged his sons-in-law to advance a large sum for immediate distribution among the poor, and also to pay another large sum to the Prior to secure the prayers of the Church for his soul. This was done willingly, in anticipation of the expected rich inheritance, and the old man was sumptuously buried. At the expiration of the forty days the box was opened with due formality, and was found to contain a heap of old iron, lead, and stones, on the top of which was a large cudgel, with a parchment rolled round it, on which was written the will in these terms:—“Ego Johannes Connaxa tale condo testamentum, at qui sui curâ relictâ, alterius curam susceperit, mactetur hâc clavâ.”
[221] From Rachel Du Port.
“He that gives away all
Before he is dead,
Let ’em take this hatchet
And knock him on ye head.”
Notes and Queries, IV. Series, Vol. III., pp. 526 and 589. Vol. IV., p. 213. See Gentleman’s Magazine Library. Popular Superstitions. The Holy Maul, p. 181. Compare representation of a hammer or pickaxe, sculptured on threshold of west door of Vale Church.