eyes sparkling; her name was Lust; she was followed by an old Jewess picking up the shells of the seagulls’ eggs; her name was Avarice; and a gluttonous monk, gobbling chitterlings, cramming himself with sausages, and gulping incessantly like the sow on which he was mounted—he was Gluttony; then came Sloth, dragging along, pale and puffy, with lack-lustre eyes, chased by Anger, who drove her with a goad—Sloth wept and lamented, and fell on her knees, overcome with fatigue; then came lean Envy, with a viper’s head and pike’s teeth, biting Sloth because it was too leisurely, Anger because it was too lively, Gluttony because it was too replete, Lust because it was too red. Avarice because of the shells, and Pride because of his purple robe and crown. And the will-o’-the-wisps danced around.
And speaking with the plaintive voices of men, women, maidens, and children, they said, moaning:
“Pride, father of ambition, Anger, source of cruelty, ye slew us on the battlefield, in prisons and by torture, to keep your sceptres and your crowns. Envy, thou didst kill the germs of many noble and beautiful thoughts, we are the souls of persecuted inventors; Avarice, thou didst turn the blood of the poor into gold, we are the spirits of thy victims; Lust, companion and sister of Murder, the mother of Nero, Messalina, and Philip, King of Spain, thou buyest virtue and rewardest corruption, we are the souls of the dead; Sloth and Gluttony, ye defile the world and must be swept from it; we are the souls of the dead.
“Sap germinates in dunghills;
Seven is bad, but seven is good.
Stupid doctors have wise pupils;
How can the vagabond louse contrive
To have both coal and cinders?”
And the will-o’-the-wisps said:
“We are fire, the avengers of the ancient tears and pains of the poor; we take vengeance on the lords who hunted
