Madame LaLaurie's Unusual Fetish
Most of the ghost tours in 'Nawlins will swing past this stately town house and give you the gory history of Madame LaLaurie...
Mme. Lalaurie clipped across the wooden
bedroom floor, the sharp heel of her slipper only ceasing its' song when she
reached the Turkish rug near the window. She edged toward the scared little girl
who was on the third floor balcony, clutching a mother-of-pearl encrusted
hairbrush. Madam's starched dress rustled with her slowing steps; her cat o'
nine tails twitched neurotically, as did her wrist. "Stupid little nigger..."
she hissed, with a thick French coating to the acidic words. A pursed crimson
lip suddenly curled up at one corner, and she raised the whip up to her
shoulder's height. The little girl climbed out of the balcony onto the marble
ledge, her bare toes clinging to the warmed over stone. The afternoon showers
had made the edge a bit slippery... she held on the the window frame with one
trembling left hand, small brown fingers grasping the crevices with fingernails
worn from work. The smell of dinner was raising from the kitchen across the
garden, she noticed, just as Madame snapped the nine straps over her bare
knuckles. She hit the stone pavement of the patio below before her hand had a
chance to bleed...
The year was 1832. Dr. Louis LaLaurie and his aristocratic wife, Delphine,
were at the center of New Orleans high society. Gala balls were held at their
lush home, the most beautiful piece of architecture the city had seen to date.
As guests danced to talented local musicians, the couples large staff of slaves
would prepare delicious feasts of freshly caught seafood and expertly baked
pastries. The couple's daughters were coach driven to the local Catholic school,
their gowns of the newest French design. Indeed, the LaLauries were the
noblest French import since the Statue of Liberty.
Delphine, however, grew weary of her bird-in-a-cage existence in the New World.
As the commoners were dying of cholera in the city streets nearby, she developed
a little hobby to keep her mind off of the damp heat and constant illness it
brought to the city around her.
She was particularly fond of one of her slaves; a large, handsome black man.
She enlisted him to share in the fun she had reveled in in the cramped, hot
attic above her bedroom.
After a neighbor saw Mme chase a young slave girl out of the balcony and to
her death below, the local authorities were sent to impound the couple's slaves.
There was at the time a law prohibiting cruel treatment of slaves. The cook had
to be unshackled from the stove. Madam was notorious for her barbaric treatment
of them. A few weeks later, the same slaves were back in her "care", having been
purchased by relatives and friends of the family upon Delphine's request.
In 1834, the kitchen, which sat apart from the house, caught afire,
reportedly from another shackled and
desperate cook. The local firemen rushed into the main home just as flames from
the fire were spreading there. As the firemen swung their axes to break down the
locked attic door a bit later, a few of the men noticed an odd odor, foul and
unpleasant. The door finally submitted to their entry. One or two men dropped to
their knees, holding sooty hands over their gaping, horrified mouths. Another
completely lost
consciousness as a final spectator lost the contents of his bladder to the
crotch of his dungarees.
Within the confines of the tiny, stifling hot room laid the remains of many
slaves, some in pieces; most the putrid results of "experiments" gone awry.
Strapped to torture devices, shoved in cages like animals, the dead gave off a
choking stench that permeated the air like a pick axe. A few were still barely
alive, moaning or croaking out agonal last breaths. Eyes and mouths were sewn
shut. Limbs were broken and reset at odd angles so as to resemble crabs or other
sea animals, and internal organs were laid outside of body cavities in vain
attempts to observe physiology at work. And Madame
and her personal henchman were at the helm of the "laboratory".
Chased out of town by an angry mob after the story made its way around the
city, the LaLauries fled in a carriage; some say they lived the rest of their
lives comfortably in France, others say they were living right across Lake
Ponchatrain. The ghosts, however, stayed right in the house.
After being ransacked by the mob, the home was left to NewOrleans's homeless.
Some vagrants went into the house, it was said, never to again come out.
Bloodcurdling screams echoed out of broken windows at night.
Forty odd years later, the vandalized but sturdy old mansion had lost
some of its' notoriety. The next owners opened a girl's school. The girls would
tell stories of a stranger who would chase them down the corridors with a
whip... Many years later, the home was split into apartments. One unlucky
immigrant who lived there came home to find a naked, shackled black man, holding
his severed head in his hands, blocking the way to his apartment. Another later
owner turned the place into a furniture store. He would come to work in the
morning to find the furniture doused with some kind of rank, putrid liquid. A
tavern owner who opened an establishment there later, took full advantage of the
building's reputation, touting it as "the Haunted Saloon".
In the past 15 years, the Lalurie house has been purchased by an affluent
Louisiana
attorney. When the home was gutted for remodeling, the skulls of several slaves
were found inside the walls. The only haunting that the new owner admits to, it
is said, is the scent of French perfume in the master bedroom at times.
While remodeling the LaLaurie home back into a residence in the latter part of the last century, human bones were found within the walls. Upon further excavation, the skeletons of dozens of African Americans, many with oddly healed fractures or amputations, were found within the walls and beneath the infamous Lalaurie home - putting to rest the idea that it was all a "ghost story". Madame LaLaurie was never brought to justice.
This was taken while I was on a visit in 1999.