Beside the last personage stands the figure of a monk-like form, clasping in both hands a pair of beads or rosary. Next we have, half leaning from out her seat placed upon a car, and bending over an open chest, into which she is dropping golden pieces of money from her claw-like fingers, a female form with hideous wings and vulture feet, such as harpies have. The chariot drawn by a wyvern-like animal, with its fiery long tongue thrust out, has knocked down an elderly man, who, from the tonsure on his grey head, would seem to be a priest, and its wheel is going to crush a youth upon the ground, while the wyvern’s outstretched claws are about to gripe a ghastly cut-off head. Hanging on the mouldings of this car are empty money-bags, crumpled-up deeds, and a wide-open account book. Alongside of this fiendish hag trips a flaunting courtier; before her rides Midas with ass’s ears to his bloated face, unkempt locks falling down its sides, a royal diadem upon his head, and a withered branch in his hand; and, as if bound to her chariot, walks a king, having with him his queen. Before, but on one side, paces another crowned prince on horseback, while full in front rides a third king carrying in his arms a naked woman.
Last of all and heading, as it were, this progress of Avarice, sits a female figure sidewise on a horse, which she has just reined up. In her right hand she bears a red standard emblazoned with a monkey on all fours, sharp clawed, and something which may be meant for gold pieces.
Flying down from the skies comes an angel, who, with his outstretched right hand, seems to stay the march of the frightful woman in the chariot with her kingly rout, and forbid its onward progress.
In the far-off landscape we discover a group of soldiers, near whom lies stretched out on the ground a dead body, upon which an angel gazes. Far to the right we find an open building, intended, may be, for a church; near it are two military men in armour; inside, a third seems holding out his hand as if he were leaving his offerings on the altar there. Outside, and not far from this same building, may be seen other four men, two of them pilgrims, of whom one kneeling before another looks as if he were making his confession.
The broad border to this large piece is designed with elaborate care. At each of the two lower corners it is figured with the one same subject, which consists in a group of three naked winged boys or angels; of these one holds a short-stemmed cup or chalice, from out of which rises a host or large round altar bread, showing marked on it our Lord hanging upon the cross, between the B. V. Mary and St. John Evangelist; a second angel kneeling has in his hands an uplifted crown of thorns, while lying behind him are two books; and the third angel shows us a tablet written with the Greek letters Α Ω. All the rest of this frame-work is filled in with flowers, fruits, birds, and snakes. Of the flowers the most frequent are the fritillary, the rose, the lily, the amaryllis, poppies, white campanulas, large daisies, fleurs-de-lis, and corn-flowers. Among the fruits we see the pomegranate, of which some are split, pears, Indian corn, apples, plums, and figs. The birds are mostly parrots, woodpeckers, storks, cocks, doves, and some other birds of the smaller kinds. In places may be discovered a knot of snakes coiled about a garland made of yellow leaves.
The allegory of the piece is read with ease. The progress of Avarice is headed by Wickedness, who carries aloft her blood-stained flag, emblazoned with the monkey, the emblem of moral ugliness and mischief. Hard upon the heels of Wickedness comes a lecherous potentate, the type of immorality. The crowned heads, whether mounted or on foot, that come next have for their brother-companion Midas, the emblem of the sensual miser’s greed of gold, to remind us how kings, nay queens too, sometimes thirst for their subjects’ wealth to gratify their evil wishes; and the gay young man behind them, coming by the chariot’s side, personates those courtiers who are reckless of what they do to help their royal masters in their love for lucre. Next we are told what harpy-avarice will not waver to execute while led on by wicked sovereigns. Look at those about and beneath her chariot: from them we learn that she beggars the nobility, and leaves them to walk through the world in rags; she destroys churches, and, when lacking other means for her fell purpose, will shed innocent blood and behead her opponents. But here below, Avarice and those who lead her on, though they be kings and queens, will have their day: Time will bring them to a stand. The rifled altar will be ornamented again, the rites of worship restored, and hospitals reopened. While an angel from heaven stops the progress of Avarice, high up in the eastern sky a thunder-storm is gathering; and on earth a man, whilst pointing with one hand to grim Death, armed with his scythe, amid a cloud of loathsome winged things flitting around him, with the other that same person warns a harpy that her sister harpy Avarice will soon be overtaken; and just as the heathen Januslike figure close by—emblem of the past, and of a certain future—he also tells her of that just retribution which, by the hands of Death and in another world, will be dealt out to herself and all this miscreant company.
It would seem that this piece was wrought to stigmatize the memory of some of those many wanton acts of spoliation perpetrated in France and Belgium during the latter years of the 16th and the beginning of the 17th centuries. Perhaps the clue to the history and import of this fine specimen of the Flemish loom may be found all about the person of that old man, who carries in one hand a reliquary so conspicuously painted red, and in the other two parchment scrolls, upon one of which we find a sort of sketch of some particular spot, with an important edifice on it. By its size and look it seems to be some great hospital, and from the presence there of a man having above his head the letter tau or T and a bell hanging to it, we are given to understand that this building belonged to some brotherhood of St. Anthony, in the service of the sick; and that its suffering inmates were principally those afflicted with erysipelas, a disease then, and even yet, called abroad St. Anthony’s fire, once so pestilential that it often swept away thousands everywhere. Near Vienne, in the South of France, stood a richly-endowed hospital, founded A.D. 1095, chiefly for those suffering under this direful malady. This house belonged to and was administered by Canons Regular of St. Anthony. The town where it stood was Didier-la-Mothe, better known as Bourg S. Antoine. During the troubled times in France this great wealthy hospital, here fitly represented like a town of itself, by those lofty walls and that tall wide gateway, had been plundered: hence, one of its brothers is shown upbraiding Avarice for her evil doings, of which those sad tokens of moneyless purses, well-searched rent-books, and ransacked title-deeds are still dangling on her car. If not all, most, at least, of the persons here figured are meant, as is probable, to be characterized as the likenesses of the very individual victims and the victimizers portrayed upon this tapestry.
Tapestry Wall-hanging; subject, Abraham’s upper servant meeting Rebecca at the spring of water. Flemish, late 17th century.
At top, in the middle of the broad border, a tablet gives us the following inscription:—Cumque pervenisset (servus?) ad fontem et sibi (aquam?) petiisset et Batuelis filia Rebecca ex hydria potum dedisset et camelis haustis et filio Abrahe eam fore conjugem oraculo cognovit.