Page:Weird Tales volume 02 number 03.djvu/69

68 not pleased that his cousin should die upon the gallows. Gold, lands, all the thethe [sic] mighty fortune of the mighty Sire de Retz, were offered the bishop of Nantes if only he would consent to have the sentence commuted. Churches would be endowed, countless masses should be said for the souls of the worthy poor, splendid abbeys should be built—

Next morning a procession of priests, monks and civil guards wound its way through Nantes to the meadow of Biesse on the further side of the river Loire.

Three men, hands bound to sides, irons clanking at their ankles, marched near its head.

The procession halted near a line of poplar trees, where three gibbets, the center one somewhat higher than its neighbors, had been erected.

""Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice; let Thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplication,""

chanted the choir.

The tallest of the three prisoners, elegantly dressed in white satin, mounted the rickety step-ladder standing beneath the center gallows. A masked executioner adjusted the noose about his neck, being careful not to disturb his pointed, blue-black beard or the creamy lace ruffles at his throat.

The other two condemned knelt in their chains beneath their respective gibbets.

"Be a brave soldier of our Lord, dear master!" they called.

A ruffle of drums, a swelling anew of the de profundus from the choir of monks. The tall stool was struck from under him, and the body of Gilles de Laval swayed grotesquely in mid-air above the fire of brushwood and pitch the executioner lighted under it.

From the crowd came six veiled women and six barefooted Carmelite friars, carrying an ornate coffin. The body of Gilles de Retz was cut down, scarcely scorched, and carried toward the Carmelite church of Our Lady.

Two more high stools crashed to earth, two more bodies dangled at ropes’ ends, two more fires roared beneath the gallows. But no coffin was brought forward for Henriet and Pontou. Their bodies crisped to ashes, borne away by the autumn breezes among the poplars of the Loire and the meadow of Biesse, while, in the Carmelite church of Our Lady, a mighty choir of monks chanted the responses of a solemn high mass of requiem above the remains of Gilles de Laval, Sire de Retz, chamberlain and courtier to the king, marshal of France and—Bluebeard, the greatest criminal ever tried before a court of justice.

This is the First of a Series of Articles Written for WEIRD TALES by Seabury Quinn. The Second Will Appear in the November Issue

 

HE annual snake dance of the Hopi Indians of Arizona is probably one of the most weird ceremonials, interwoven with traditions and superstitions of the past, that has survived to the present day.

It was observed by these aborigines of the southwest centuries before the advent of the paleface on this continent and has been continued by them in spite of hundreds of years of contact with civilization.

The Hopis were once a great and powerful nation. Today they number approximately a thousand souls, yet this pitifully small remnant of a one-time numerous people has never failed to stage the unique spectacle which annually attracts visitors from all parts of the world.

The dance is said to be a prayer for rain, intended for the great Manitou who supposedly controls the vast heavenly and subterranean reservoirs, beseeching him to release the waters so that springs may flow freely and streams may fill to irrigate the corn lands. Rattlesnakes and other venomous reptiles are carried, wriggling, squirming and hissing, suspended from the mouths of the half-naked dancers. Though many of the participants are bitten during each ceremonial, it is stated that no Hopi ever dies from the effects of the poison.

Authorities have intimated that if the Hopis do not discontinue the dance of their own accord the government may order it stopped, so it is possible that this year’s ceremony may be the last.