The annual outbreaks—and then some—of aged Marie Lavoe, known in Louisiana as the "Voodoo Queen," who was born in the Kongo and was brought to that State in the slavery days, only go to prove that her followers—and these are not all confined to the blacks—are just as eager to take part in her mysterious séances and wilder orgies as they were when she, as a young girl and stately specimen of the African queen, first introduced her startling exhibitions of conjuring and sorcery.
Even now, with the annual return of St. John’s Day, this voodoo queen is said to fall from her throne of Christian grace and to plunge again into all the strange practices that in past years won for her a following that has never been outnumbered by any of her rivals, male or female, throughout the South, the only section of the country where such practices are known, although in the large cities of the North charm sellers and voodoo doctors can always be found, if the right negro can be secured to act as guide through the "black belt."
If one would witness some wild dances and still wilder orgies, then one should hie away to Lake St. John, on St. John’s Day, and quietly trail the small bands of happy, smiling black folks to the charming oval clearing where[Pg 61] the "festivities" are to take place. Here the spectator will see a terpsichorean divertisement that might well be called "the dance of wild abandon," inasmuch as the dancers appear to have abandoned about all of their covering that the law will allow.
One has but to watch the contortions to discern the origin of many of the movements of fashionable dances as adopted by the society circles of "white folks" to-day. As to the music, one hears the same syncopated measures that lure our white brothers and sisters into the gilded tango palaces of the metropolis.
The scene is startling, if not inspiring. On a mat of "latanier"—scrub palm—sits the voodoo queen. In front of her is a charcoal brazier, a bowl containing milk, a small cage in which are white mice, and in a round basket rests the coiled, live snake that next to the sorceress is the most important property item of the weird scenes that are about to be enacted. While the aged queen is supposed to be a sorceress, judging from her equipment, she is a "caplata" to her worshipers and supporters.
Soon is heard the syncopated strum of the banjos, then the low minor chant of those seated about the charmed circle. One by one the male dancers divest themselves of their superfluous clothing, females the while making the same preparations. The queen liberates the half-starved snake and holds a tiny, frightened mouse before its glistening eyes. The snake darts forth its head and swallows the mouse with a single gulp. This is repeated until the snake has been fed three mice. As the snake bolts each morsel of living food, the queen throws some red-flash powder on the brazier, and for a moment the whole circle is lost in a sweetly perfumed cloud of vapor, which gradually rises and floats away.
When the dancing begins, the faces of the participants all wear a serious look, very much like that seen on faces of a bunch of college athletes about to engage in a hundred or four-hundred-yard sprint. The wild frenzy of the thing is to come later. It will be noticed that the dancers’ near-nude bodies are decorated with neck circlets of animal teeth—a custom probably adopted from the North American Indians—gayly colored chicken feathers, rabbits’ feet, curious medallions gathered from all parts of the world, but of small intrinsic value, perhaps, although some of the huge ear and nose rings worn by both sexes undoubtedly have been handed down the family line by native Africans.
Gradually the dancers work themselves into the real spirit of the grotesque celebration. They circle about their queen in pairs and singly, and their body contortions soon begin to equal those of the Indians of the Far West when engaged in a similar pastime. The music becomes wilder, the shouts of the nonparticipants become louder, and the dancers begin to puff and blow and grunt strange sounds and exclamations, much like so many blacks playing at craps. Their queen, the while, is not idle. She continues to cast the varicolored flash powders into the fire, and many times the dancers are lost in the misty clouds that the brazier throws off. The dance continues until the participants are completely exhausted and fall with fixed eyes and frothing mouths to the ground, where they gradually recover and then make way for a new "set."
Following the custom established when the thrifty Marie first established her reptilian fandango, each dancer must pay to her three pieces of silver of different denominations.[Pg 62] In the early days of her reign this meant a three-cent piece, a dime, and a quarter, but if her patron hasn’t a three-cent piece, which is now generally the case, he must pay a dime, a quarter, and a half—eighty-five cents in the total. In return for this presentation, the patron may receive a prettily mounted rabbit’s foot, guaranteed to have been killed in a graveyard at midnight, a conjure bag warranted to keep off bad spirits, or his pick from a variety of other "charms" that the chooser firmly believes will carry him safely through to the time when St. John’s Day shall have again rolled around.