Mad Madame LaLaurie

by Victoria Cosner Love

  Soon a New Orleans fire brigade arrives. The men quickly locate an attic room with a heavy padlock. When the firemen demand the key, Madame claims to have lost it. The strong, competent men break the lock and throw the heavy door open.

  Many Creole mansions had attics used to store secrets or old clothes.

  They walk into a scene from hell. These men have been on the scene of many a fire and road accident. They have seen plenty of gore in their time. But what they see before them defies description. They might have frozen in horror if it were not for the smell, which pushes them back like a force of nature, causing these strong men to retch and vomit. The smell of death is overpowering, and it is mixed with the foul odors of infection, urine, feces, fear and filthy, unwashed bodies.

  They see the grotesque results of Dr. Lalaurie’s experiments. The crab woman, the peeled “caterpillar” woman, the sex change couple and the man with the hole drilled into his head, maggots crawling on his face. Some of the victims seem to have been mutilated for no obvious reason at all, the flesh stripped from their buttocks, knees and elbows. The floor is sticky with old blood and slick with puddles of fresh new gore. Buckets of body parts are strewn about the room as casually as if they are baskets of corn. The firemen retreat in horror and nausea.

  Madame’s nosey neighbor and second cousin, Montreuil, tells Judge Canongo that he knows where there are more slaves. He leads the judge and two others to an attached room.

  These are the victims of Madame Lalaurie. Their bodies are scored and striped with the lash. They are starved, concave bellies seeming to touch their own backbones. Some have their mouths and eyes bound with filthy, offal-soaked cloth, presumably to muffle their screams. Some of the chained slaves have been coated with honey. Ants, cockroaches and rats gnaw away at their helpless flesh.

  A few of the chained slaves are dead and clearly have been for some time. The rescuers find themselves feeling that the dead slaves are the lucky ones.

  The strong men of the New Orleans fire department move in quickly, along with the braver men from the neighborhood. They whisper comfort to the miserable slaves as they unlock their chains.

  Some of the slaves die in the attempt to move them. Their poor bodies have taken more punishment than they can bear, and their hearts give out. A few of the slaves have been driven utterly mad. The woman with her limbs broken and reset at horrible angles scuttles into the corner, refusing to let anyone approach her. She lets out a high-pitched, hissing scream whenever a would-be rescuer gets close. Some of the slaves are toxic with infection, burning with fever and ranting. Some cannot seem to pull out of the hopeless terror that has gripped them for so long. One poor soul runs for the attic window as soon as his chains are unlocked. He (sometimes a she in other versions) smashes through the glass and flings himself out the window to his death in the courtyard below.

  By this time, the crowd outside the Lalaurie Mansion has grown huge. There is a collective gasp when the first of the pathetic, filth-encrusted, bloody and mutilated slaves is carried from the attic. A few kind souls run and get food for the starved slaves. Only a few of the victims are strong enough to eat, and they immediately howl in pain and perish. The food is too much for their severely deprived bodies.

  As these hapless victims are slowly and painfully removed from the room, the crowd’s anger grows. Some city officials in the crowd decide that it would be best for the safety of the slaves to take them to the Cabildo, some eight blocks from the Lalaurie Mansion. A morbid parade of carnage moves down Royal Street, along Pirate Alley, to the gates of the prison at the Cabildo. There the victims are laid out in the same area where runaway slaves are whipped. The lashes and flails hang on the courtyard wall next to the groaning, bleeding slaves.

  The Cabildo gate provided a safe haven for the unfortunate victims of the Lalauries. The victims were laid out inside of the courtyard, protected from the mobs trying to view them. Photo by Victoria Cosner Love.

  The victims remain there for some hours, on display for all of New Orleans to see. More than four thousand people march grimly through the Cabildo to see the poor, wretched souls for themselves.

  The huge mob outside the Lalaurie house, a mix of Creoles, black slaves, free people of color and Americans, has never seen anything so horrible. The people howl for the blood of the Lalauries.

  Madame is only slightly concerned. She knows that Bastien will be bringing her carriage around for her evening ride momentarily. She can scarcely believe that the mob is so upset about the fate of a few worthless slaves. She smiles and shakes her pretty head in disbelief.

  Exactly on time, Bastien arrives in the carriage. Madame steps lightly in and takes her seat, arranging her opulent gown just so. Bastien lashes the horses and begins to shove his way through the crowd.

  Evening at St. John’s Bayou, circa 1903. Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Detroit Publishing Company Collection.

  Ugly, angry faces shout at her from every side. Madame smiles. Whether it is defiance, a lack of empathy or a display of impish and wildly inappropriate humor, she waves at the mob as the carriage gains speed. Soon the carriage is heading down the road to Bayou St. John, where Madame can hire a boat to take her across Lake Pontchartrain, until all of this silliness blows over.

  Delphine does not know where her husband Louis is, though she is not concerned about this. Louis is intelligent and cunning. He will find his own way to escape the mob. And if he doesn’t, it won’t make much difference to her. He was by far her most entertaining spouse, but he is just a husband. He can be replaced. And her children are safe. Delphine arranged to have her daughters and young son taken out through the back of the house while the mob was distracted by her departure.

  Madame’s carriage arrives at Bayou St. John. Loyal Bastien quickly finds a boat captain and pays him handsomely to take his mistress to the other side of the lake. Madame pats Bastien’s cheek fondly and boards the boat. As it paddles into the fog, she can hear the roar of the approaching mob and then the unmistakable shriek of horses in mortal agony. She is almost out of earshot when she hears Bastien begin to scream. She feels a pang for him, as if she has dropped and broken a pretty china music box.

  At last the boat makes landing. Madame hires a carriage to take her to the home of a family friend. She is welcomed warmly, given food and drink and a comfortable bed. Sometime during the night, Louis Lalaurie arrives at the house with the children. He is terrified, convinced that the ravening mob will find them at any minute and rip them limb from limb. Madame laughs her tinkling giggle and tells him that he is a silly boy.

  While at her friends’ house, Madame Lalaurie signs her power of attorney over to her trusted son-in-law. That way, if the ridiculous Americans attempt to press charges against her or seize her assets, she will be protected. Louis Lalaurie does the same.

  Madame wonders, however briefly, about her Devil Baby, whom she has never bothered to name. Had he been incinerated in the fire? Had he been pulled from the house by the blood-crazed mob and torn to pieces? She feels wistful for a moment or two. She will miss his shrieks and delightful gibbering, as well as the way he could rip apart a live chicken with his sharp little baby teeth.

  Back in New Orleans, after the fire has cooled and the house has been gutted, policemen stay on duty to make sure that no more damage is done to this once beautiful mansion. That very night, they begin to hear scratching and crying coming from somewhere in the house.

  The officers and firemen search the devastated mansion for hidden rooms, following the footprint of the house. They search day after day, but no other victims are found. The horrible sounds continue for three weeks before they finally stop.

  Rumors begin to circulate that the Lalaurie Mansion is haunted. The dead slaves are already coming back for revenge. The stories whip through the city, growing and changing, becoming more horrific with each whispered retelling. The legend of the most haunted house in America is born.

  Madame and Louis Lalaurie kn
ow nothing of this. They book passage to Paris as soon as they are able. They have friends and family aplenty there, and they are welcomed with open arms.

  From the moment they arrive, they don’t lack for food, lodging or fine company. Madame often tells the story of her slight misadventure in New Orleans and laughs about it. The hysterical, crude Americans had made a mountain out of a molehill. Imagine their nerve, chastising a highborn French Creole woman for merely disciplining her own domestics. Her friends and family laugh along with her.

  Louis is another matter. He grows more nervous day by day. Much to Madame’s irritation, he seems to regret his magnificent and colorful medical experiments. He is becoming a bore, and she seeks the company of other, more interesting gentlemen. One day, Louis packs his trunks and leaves without a word. Madame doesn’t miss him in the least.

  Her life continues on, one dazzling party after another, until the fateful day when a dreadful American preacher confronts her. He claims to have seen her at her home in New Orleans, torturing her slaves with her own lily-white hands.

  Well, this is somewhat embarrassing. Her friends begin to ask her questions she does not care to answer. So Madame retreats to a distant relative’s home in Pau, out in the wild French countryside.

  Madame Lalaurie enjoys her time there. For the first time in years, she can unleash her bloodlust, even if it is only on foxes and deer. She takes great satisfaction in watching her hounds rip a fox to pieces. It is almost as good as if she had done the deed herself.

  Almost.

  In December 1842, Madame Lalaurie accompanies her hosts on a hunt for wild boar. Everyone discouraged her from going. Boars can be dangerous, and hunting them is no job for a woman, they insisted. These arguments made Madame Lalaurie all the more keen to see the creature’s blood.

  The thrill of hot pursuit is overwhelming. She and her horse are right behind the beast. She can smell its fear, and the primal adrenaline rush of blood sport makes her heart pound. Soon she will be close enough to shoot and then, if she is lucky, to plunge her knife into the still-living creature’s throat.

  But her horse spooks and throws her. She lands hard in the bushes. Before she can catch her breath, the boar spins around and charges. She does not have time to scream before it splits her open from navel to neck. The last thing she sees is her own steaming intestines spilling out on the icy ground. She dies unrepentant, although her agony is overwhelming.

  Madame’s body is secretly shipped back to New Orleans, as was her wish. She is quietly entombed in the St. Louis No. 1 cemetery in the middle of the night, and there she remains to this day, visited by family who keep the location of her tomb a closely guarded secret.

  Do you believe that story?

  The authors find it to be about as credible as the plot of any given Saw movie. (Lorelei’s note: This is not to say that I don’t love the Saw movies.)

  If you want to know what conclusions we have drawn about the Lalaurie affair, turn the page, dear reader.

  Chapter 9

  Our Conclusions

  Ransom Stoddard: “You’re not going to use the story, Mr. Scott?” Maxwell Scott: “No, sir. This is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

  –The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962)

  Did she do it? Was it cruel punishment? Sadistic torture? Was Madame the perpetrator? Was it Dr. Lalaurie? Or was it both?

  We believe that, despite a possibly cruel temperament and an impetuous nature that she followed throughout her life, Madame Delphine Macarty López Blanque Lalaurie was not a serial killer, a sexual sadist or a perpetrator of bizarre medical experiments. She was a willful, spoiled, beautiful Creole socialite whose temper led her down the path of infamy. Were slaves abused and tortured at her house on Royal Street? Yes. Was Madame aware of their condition? Almost certainly. But knowing what we now know about her—her passion for surrounding herself with beauty, her avoidance of the unpleasant and her occasional acts of kindness—it seems unlikely that Delphine was the one to get her hands dirty, so to speak.

  Exactly how great a role she played in the torture and neglect of the slaves in her household will never be known. Perhaps she gave Louis Lalaurie, or even Bastien, orders to chain people to walls, beat them or break their limbs. Maybe she asked her husband to “discipline” the slaves however he saw fit and looked the other way. It’s even possible that Dr. Lalaurie, who had a documented history of physical abuse, committed the atrocities on his own. Perhaps Madame was too afraid of him to stop him, although considering her strong-willed nature, that seems unlikely. Perhaps she did not want to crack the veneer of domestic perfection in her household by attempting to stop the ongoing horrors. Whatever her level of involvement, Delphine Lalaurie was stained with guilt. But we do not believe that she was the legendary monster she has been made out to be. Sadly, the abuse of slaves was not uncommon, even by women. This story from Harper’s Weekly, July 4, 1863, tells a shocking story of a female slave owner brutalizing her female slave:

  Edmund, belonging on the Widow Gillespie’s plantation, has been a witness of or knowing to several cases of punishment by the burning process. Two of these were of girls belonging to the Widow G., in New Orleans, and the others occurring on her “island plantation,” before referred to. America, wife of Essex, one of the women in the party, related to me the particulars of one case, as follows: There was a middle-aged woman in the family, named Margaret, who had a nursing child. Mrs. Gillespie ordered Margaret to wean the child. The babe was weakly, and Margaret did not wish to do so. Mrs. G. told her that she would examine her breast the next Monday, and, if she found any milk in it, she would punish her severely. Monday came round, and on that day Margaret’s stint was to spin eighteen “broaches”—spools—but she did not finish it. At night the promised examination took place, and the breast of Margaret gave but too convincing proof that, in obedience to the yearnings of a mother’s heart, she had spurned the threat of the inhuman mistress. Mrs. G. then ordered the handsaw, the leather strap, and a washbowl of water. The woman was laid upon her face, her clothes stripped up to around her neck, and “Becky” and “Jane” were called to hold her hands and feet. Mrs. Gillespie then paddled her with the hand-saw, sitting composedly in a chair over her victim. After striking some one hundred blows she changed to the use of the leather strap, which she would dip into the wash-bowl in order to give it greater power of torture. Under this infliction the screams of the woman died away to a faint moan, but the “sound of the whip” continued until nearly 11 o’clock. “Jane” was then ordered to bring the hot tongs, the woman was turned over upon her back, and Mrs. Gillespie attempted to grasp the woman’s nipples with the heated implement. The writhings of the mother, however, foiled her purpose; but between the breasts the skin and flesh were horribly burned. During this terrible infliction “Jeems” came out of his room and remonstrated with his mother for “using the niggers so.” He “did not wish them punished in that way.” Her answer was, “They won’t mind me, and I will do with them as I please.” Margaret was a long time in recovering from her wounds.

  Why is Madame Lalaurie so famous and Mrs. Gillespie forgotten in history, despite better circulation of her story? It may be that the Lalaurie case stood out because the atrocities were committed in the city, inside a home, rather than in the fields. It was easy for the Creole elite to put the brutality of plantation life out of their minds when they did not see it every day. The ongoing cultural struggle between the Americans and the Creoles threw gasoline on the flames. Americans ran many of the papers that covered the incident, and they were only too happy to see a rich, haughty Creole family brought down by scandal. Whatever the reason, Delphine Lalaurie made history.

  This in no way excuses the Lalauries for the horrific treatment of their slaves, of course. But the stark, unpleasant reality is that they were no worse than many of their slaveholding contemporaries.

  We believe that most of what has been written about the Lalaurie case—including
the bizarre medical experiments, the buckets of blood and body parts and the dozens of victims hidden under the floor of the house—is pure myth and invention. We apologize for debunking and deflating a New Orleans legend, but we believe that Madame Lalaurie was, in her own way, a victim, too. She did not suffer the horrors that her slaves did, but she suffered at the hands of an abusive husband, and she was painted as an inhuman monster by the press of the time. This description was perhaps accurate, but if that is the case, almost all plantation owners should be put in the same category. The institution of slavery itself was fundamentally immoral and depraved. It facilitated and even encouraged immoral and depraved acts.

  In recent years, the term “serial killer” has been used to describe both Madame and Dr. Lalaurie. No matter what else they were, they did not fit the definition of serial killers.

  The term “serial killer” was coined by former Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) agent and author Robert Ressler in the 1970s. By his definition, a serial killer is a person who kills three or more victims over a period of more than thirty days, with a “cooling off” period in between. Ressler, in his 1988 work Sexual Homicide—Patterns and Motives, attributes almost all serial killing behavior to psychosexual urges. We have no idea if the Lalaurie case was motivated by sexual deviancy, but the Lalauries simply don’t fit Ressler’s description of serial killers in any other way.

  Russian author Peter Vronsky (2004’s Serial Killers: The Method and Madness of Monsters) has a much broader definition of a serial murder. He includes war crimes, the crimes of slave owners and even institutionalized mass killings of the kind that took place in the ancient Roman Coliseum, referring to the latter as “mass participatory serial murder.” That definition could be applied to the entire institution of slavery. Yet the legend of the Lalaurie atrocity still prevails over other true stories of abuse and murder of slaves in the American South.