In 1892 a former attorney by the name of Henry Castillanos began a series of historical articles for The New Orleans Times-Democrat detailing life in Old New Orleans, "back in the day." He was born in New Orleans in 1827 and many of his sketches are from personal memory and experience. In three years time he had amassed enough material to have a book published. The book is called "NEW ORLEANS AS IT WAS - EPISODES OF LOUISIANA LIFE" published in 1895. Among the many vignettes in the book is a detailed account of the infamous Madame Lalaurie incident.
As a tour guide, one of my most difficult challenges is undoing the damage from stories told to entertain, versus stories told to inform. Costumed tour guides have take the Lalaurie story to such extremes that the modern telling of it has spiraled out of control. Broken bones, dead children, the "Crab Lady" and many other additions (many of which are positively stomach churning) are nothing more than embellishments added for the purpose of churning stomachs and are simply untrue. I am often called upon to tell the story of Madame Lalaurie. I dread doing it because the story we told thirty years ago is radically different from the inventions of current variations and people are often disappointed that I don't regale them with...well....to spare us a case of nausea, I will refrain.
My solution to the problem is to tell the story as Henry Castellanos told it in 1895. I bring the book with me and show it as my source and invite people to read the tale for themselves. To make it easier I present it on this forum. In his account he includes the deposition of one of the participants at the official inquest as well as his personal memories. American Horror Story aside - here is one of the earliest tellings of what happened at the Lalaurie Mansion on April 10th, 1834.
A TALE OF SLAVERY TIMES.
It was on the morning of the l0th of April, 1834, that from
the comer of Royal and Hospital streets, crepitating flames were seen to burst
forth, threatening the entire destruction of a spacious brick mansion that
adorned that locality. It was an imposing family residence, three stories in
height, and the resort of the best society of New Orleans. Within its walls, European
notabilities, including the Marquis of Lafayette, had been housed and
entertained with that munificence, easy grace and cheerful hospitality peculiar
to a Creole generation, now so rapidly disappearing. Its furniture and appointments—exquisite
and costly gems of Parisian workmanship — were cited as “chefs -
d'œuvres” [masterpieces] in a city where objects of “vertu” [virtue] and princely elegance were by no means rare. (It
is a mistake to say that the Orleans
princes were ever guests in that residence, as their visit to our city had
occurred long before its construction. The Marignys were their hosts.)
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| Postcard, 1920's |
Around this house were congregated a dense and excited
throng, apparently feasting their eyes on the lambent and circling streams of
fire that with forked tongues were rapidly enveloping the upper portions of the
aristocratic abode. Their frowning brows and fiercely glistening eyes bespoke
the terrible passions that raged within their breasts, for, that house,
according to common tradition, was a hot-bed of cruelty and crime, and bore
upon its frontispiece the curse of God.
The entire width of Hospital Street was literally wedged in
by a compact, surging tide, overflowing even adjacent thoroughfares. The
pent-up blaze had burst forth from the kitchen above the basement, and from
thence was rapidly ascending the story occupied by the family. The firemen,
with their inadequate hand engines and equipments, were manning their brakes
with might and main against the devouring element with only partial success,
and were finally compelled to cut their way through the roof. On penetrating
into the attic, and while ranging through the apartments, their blood curdled
by the horrid spectacle which struck their view — seven slaves, more or less
mutilated, slowly perishing from hunger, deep lacerations and festering wounds.
In describing this appalling sight, Jerome Bayon, the proprietor of the New Orleans “Bee,” wrote: “We saw where the collar
and manacles had cut their way into their quivering flesh. For several months
they had been confined in those dismal dungeons, with no other nutriment than a
handful of gruel and an insufficient quantity of water, suffering the tortures
of the damned and longingly awaiting death, as a relief to their sufferings. We
saw Judge Canonge, Mr. Montreuil and others, making for some time fruitless
efforts to rescue those poor unfortunates, whom the infamous woman, Lalaurie,
had doomed to certain death and hoping that the devouring element might thus obliterate
the last traces of her nefarious deeds.”
When every door had been forced open, the victims were
carried off and escorted by an immense crowd to the Mayor's office, where their
irons were immediately struck off. Among those piteous blacks, was an
octogenarian whose tottering limbs barely supported his emaciated frame. Among
them, a woman confessed to the Mayor that she had purposely set fire to the house,
as the only means of putting an end to her sufferings and those of her fellow
captives. From nine o'clock in the morning until six in the evening, the jail
yard was a scene of unusual commotion. Two thousand persons, at least,
convinced themselves during that eventful day by ocular inspection of the
martyrdom to which those poor, degraded people had been subjected, while the
ravenous appetite with which they devoured the food placed before them fully
attested their sufferings from hunger. None of them, however, died from
surfeit, as it has been erroneously alleged. Numberless instruments of torture,
not the least noticeable of which were iron collars, “carcans,”[1]
with sharp cutting edges, were spread out upon a long deal table, as evidences
of guilt.
While these prison scenes were being enacted, supplying
aliment to public curiosity, the excitement around the doomed building was
increasing in intensity. As soon as the fact became generally known that Mrs.
Lalaurie, with the connivance of the Mayor, had eluded arrest and effected her
escape to a secure place of concealment, the howling mob, composed of every
class, became ungovernable. They demanded justice in no uncertain tones, and
had the hated woman fallen into their hands at that particular moment, it is impossible
to say what would have been her fate. Actæon-like, she in all probability would
have been torn to pieces, not by a pack of ravenous hounds, but by men whom rage
had converted into tigers. During the whole of that exciting period, the
populace awaited with anxiety, but without violence, the action of the
authorities. It was the lull that precedes the coming storm. It was said that Etienne
Mazureau, the Attorney General, had expressed his determination to wreak upon
the guilty parties the extreme vengeance of the law. But when the shadows of
night fell upon the city, and it was ascertained beyond a doubt that no steps
in that direction had been taken and that powerful influences were at work to
shield the culprits, their fury then knew no bounds and assumed at once an
active form. At eight o'clock that night, the multitude having swollen to immense
dimensions, a systematic attack upon the building was organized and begun.
Their first act was the demolition of one of her carriages, which happened to
be standing in front of Hospital
street, and the same, it was said, that had borne
her away. The sidewalk was literally strewn with its “débris.” Next came the onslaught
on the main entrance on Royal
street, the portals of which had been previously
barred and fastened and seemed to bid defiance to the shower of stones and
rocks hurled against it. Abandoning this attempt, they obtained axes and
battered down the window shutters, through which a wild horde of humanity
poured in. No earthly power at that moment could have restrained the phrenzy of
the mob — people resolved on exercising their reserved rights. Their work was
no child's play. Everything was demolished; nothing respected. Antique and rare
furniture, valued at mote than ten thousand dollars, was mercilessly shivered
to atoms. The cellars were emptied of their precious contents, and wines of
choicest vintage flowed in copious streams, even into the gutters. Gilt panels,
carved wainscots, floorings, carpets, oil paintings, objects of statuary,
exquisite moldings, staircases with their mahogany banisters and even the iron
balconies were detached from their fastenings and hurled upon the pavements. As
crash succeeded crash, yells of delight rent the air. When Royal and Hospital
streets became obstructed with the accumulating wrecks, the latter were heaped
together in monticules and set on fire, which, together with the glare of the
blazing torches, offered a sad and weird-like appearance. This first outburst
of popular retribution, notwithstanding the efforts of our local magistrates,
continued not only during the entire night — “noche triste” [“sad night”] — but long after sunrise on the following
morning. Then came a calm, a deceitful calm. The fire had only partially
destroyed the building, and to obliterate the last vestiges of this infamous
haunt became now the object of the rabble. The work of demolition lasted four
days, and only the charred partition walls remained standing, as a solemn
memorial of a people's anger. Tacitus says: “Solitudinem
faciunt, pacem vocant.” [“They make a desert, they call it peace”] In the instant case, the
work of destruction only ceased when there was nothing more to destroy. The
story that human bones, and among others those of a child who had committed
self-destruction to escape the merciless lash, had been found in a well, is not
correct, for the papers of the day report that, acting under that belief, the
mob had made diligent search, even to the extent of excavating the whole yard,
and had found nothing. When, on the subsidence of this unwonted spirit of
effervescence, reason had had time to resume her sway, the local troops, with
U. S. Regulars to support them, were called out, headed by Sheriff John
Holland, who proceeded to the scene of disturbance and read the “riot act” to
the crowd of curiosity mongers who were loitering in the neighborhood. Slowly and peaceably the people dispersed.
Their anger was allayed and their verdict carried into effect. They now
determined to wait and see what the constituted officers would do in
furtherance of public justice.
In the meantime, thousands had been repairing to the police
station to witness the condition of the slaves, and as the sickening sight only
excited and increased their resentment, our denizens were not slow in
expressing their contempt at the apathy and inaction of their municipal
worthies. Judge Canonge, a man of strict integrity, and sound judgment, had not
escaped the insults of the enraged populace on the night of the first attack,
and while in the act of expostulating with them upon the impropriety of their
course several pistols had been leveled at his head. Much, therefore, was yet
to be feared from the general discontent, as it was reported that bodies of men
had banded together for the purpose of looting several residences, where
similar barbarities were said to have been commonly practiced. In fact, this
report proved no idle rumor, for a gentleman's house in close proximity to Mrs.
Lalaurie's was partially sacked, for which act the city subsequently was
mulcted in damages.
To repeat what I have previously mentioned, nearly the
entire edifice was demolished, the bare walls only standing to indicate the
spot where the God accursed habitation had stood — walls upon which had been
placarded inscriptions in different languages, conveying anathemas in words
more forcible than elegant. The loss of property was estimated at nearly
forty-thousand dollars. Says a contemporary:
“This is the first act of the kind that our people have ever
engaged in, and although the provocation pleads much in favor of the excesses
committed, yet we dread the consequences of the precedent. To say the least, it
may be excused, but can't be justified. Summary punishment, the result of popular
excitement in a government of laws, can never admit of justification, let the
circumstances be ever so aggravated.”
At last the wheels of justice were set in motion and Judge
Canonge proceeded to the office of Gallien Préval, a justice of the peace, and
furnished under oath the following information. The facts therein stated may therefore,
be relied upon as strictly true, and furnish data of a reliable character, of
which some future historian of Louisiana
may avail himself.
“Deponent (J. F. Canonge) declares that on the l0th inst. a
fire having broken out at the residence of Mrs. Lalaurie, he repaired thither, as
a citizen, to afford assistance. When he reached the place, he was informed
that a number of manacled slaves were in the building and liable to perish in
the flames. At first he felt disinclined to speak to Mr. Lalaurie on the
subject and contented himself with imparting the fact only to several friends
of the family. But when he became aware that this act of barbarity was becoming
a subject of general comment, he made up his mind to speak himself to Mr. and
Mrs. Lalaurie, who flatly answered that the charge was a base calumny.
Thereupon, deponent asked the aid of the bystanders to make a thorough search
and ascertain with certainty the truth or falsity of the rumor. As Messrs.
Montreuil and Fernandez happened to be near him, he requested those gentlemen
to climb to the garret and see for themselves, adding, that having attempted to
do so himself, he had been almost blinded and smothered by the smoke. These
gentlemen returned after a while and reported that they had looked around
diligently and had failed to discover anything. A few moments after, someone, whom
he thinks to be Mr. Felix Lefebvre, came to inform him that, having broken a
pane of glass in a window of one of the rooms, he had perceived some slaves and
could show the place. Deponent hurried on, in company with several others.
Having found the door locked, he caused it to be forced open and entered with
the citizens who had followed him. He found two negro women, whom he ordered to
be taken out of the room. Then some one cried out that there were others in the
kitchen. He went there, but found no one. One of the above negresses was
wearing an iron collar, extremely wide and heavy, besides weighty chains
attached to her feet. She walked only with the greatest difficulty; the other,
he had no time to see, as she was standing behind some one whom he believes to
be Mr. Guillotte. This latter person told him he could point out a place where
another one could be found. Together they went into another apartment, at the
moment when some one was raising a mosquito bar. Stretched out upon a bed, he
perceived an old negro woman who had received a very deep wound on the head.
She seemed too weak to be able to walk. Deponent begged the bystanders to lift
her up with her mattress and to carry her in that position to the Mayor's
office, whither the other women had been already conveyed. At the time that he
asked Mr. Lalaurie if it were true that he had some slaves in his garret, the
latter replied in an insolent manner that some people had better stay at home
rather than come to others' houses to dictate laws and meddle with other
people's business.”
In support of the above statement, which is merely the
recital of the discoveries made by the Judge personally and does not purport to
include the result of the investigations of others, the names of Messrs.
Gottschalk and Fouché were appended as witnesses.
What was the final issue of the affair ? the reader will naturally
ask. Nothing, absolutely nothing. From the l0th to the 15th of April, the day
on which the riot was finally quelled by the intervention of the Sheriff, the
inactivity of the government officials had been glaring. The criminals, wife and husband, had been
deftly smuggled through the unsuspecting throng, driven up Chartres street in a
close carriage which I saw speeding at a furious gait and, after remaining in
concealment some time hurriedly departed for New York. From that point they had
continued their flight to Paris,
which they made their permanent residence. There I shall not follow them, nor
relate the effects of the ban under which refined society placed them, nor of
the hissing and hooting with which the “parterre”[2]
assailed her once at the theatre when their misdeeds became known. The woman,
it was currently reported in New
Orleans circles, finding every door closed against
her, had subsequently adopted a strictly pious life and, spending her time in
works of practical charity, was fast relieving her character from the odium
that attached to it. A characteristic trait in this singular woman's history
is, I am positively assured by persons who lived in her intimacy, that, at the
very time when she was engaged in those atrocious acts, her religious duties,
in external forms at least, were never neglected and her purse was ever open to
the hungry, the afflicted and the sick, like Doctor Jekyl's, her nature was
duplex, her heart at one time softening to excess at the sight of human
suffering, while at another it turned obdurate and hard as adamant. In manners,
language and ideas, she was refined — a thorough society woman. Her reunions
were recherché affairs, and during the lifetime of her former husband, Mr. Jean
Blanque, who figures so conspicuously in Louisiana’s
legislative history, and whose important services to the State during a long
series of years should be gratefully remembered, her home was the resort of
every dignitary in the infancy of our state. There the politicians of the period
met on neutral ground, eschewing for the nonce their petty jealousies, cabals
and intrigues, to join in scenes of enjoyment and refinement; among whom I may
cite Claiborne, the Governor; Wilkinson, the military commander ; Trudeau, the
Surveyor General ; Bosque, Marigny, Destrehan, Sauvé, Derbigny, Macarty, de la
Ronde, Villeré and others, all representatives of the “ancien regime;” Daniel
Clarke, our first delegate to Congress; Judge Hall, Gravier, Girod, Milne and
McDonough, destined to become millionaires, and hundreds of others whose names
now escape my memory.
But “revenons á nos moutons.” [“Let’s go back to the
point.”] There is a class of females, few in numbers it is true, the
idiosyncrasies of whose natures are at times so strange and illogical as to
defy the test of close analyzation, and to that class Mrs. Lalaurie, with her
sudden contrasts of levity and sternness, melting love and ferocity, formed no
exception. Whence proceeded this morbid spirit of cruelty? we ask ourselves.
Was it a general detestation of the African race? No, for, of her large retinue
of familiar servants, many were devotedly attached to her, and the affection
seems to have been as warmly returned. All the theories, therefore, that have
been built upon this particular case, from which deductions have been drawn
ascribing exclusively the wrongs which I have just narrated to the baneful and
pernicious influence of the institution of slavery, as some writers will have
it, rest upon no better foundation than mere speculation. Slavery was a social
device, replete, it is true, with inherent defects, but by no means conducive
to crime. The system was patriarchal in its character, not essentially
tyrannical. The master was not unlike the “pater familias” [“head of the
family”] of the Roman
Commonwealth, but more
restricted in power and dominion. Hence, it is more rational to suppose, and
such is the belief of many, that looking into the nature or “indoles,” as the Latins
had it, of the woman from its different points of view, she was undoubtedly
insane upon one peculiar subject — a morbid, insatiate thirst for revenge on
those who had incurred her enmity. Our lunatic asylums, it is said, are filled
with similar cases, all traceable to similar causes.
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| Circa 1880's before the third story was added. |
Upon the site of the old building, a fine structure, entirely
new, was erected, noticeable in its design and architectural proportions. A
belvedere was added to it. It has been named by some the “Haunted House.” There is no reason for the appellation, and
if several of its occupants, with whom I have often conversed, are to be
believed, there is nothing therein to haunt its inhabitants save ghastly
memories of a by-gone generation. No spirits wander through its wide halls and
open corridors, but in lieu thereof there rests a curse — a malediction — that
follows every one who has ever attempted to make it a permanent habitation. As
a school house for young ladies; as a private boarding house; as a private
residence; as a factory; as a commercial house and place of traffic, all these
have been tried, but every venture has proved a ruinous failure. A year or two
ago, it was the receptacle of the scum of Sicilian immigrants, and the fumes of
the malodorous filth which emanated from its interior proclaimed it what it
really is,
A HOUSE ACCURSED.
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