Mad Madame LaLaurie Read online

  You blink. You had visited the St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 earlier in the day. You saw voodoo queen Marie Laveau’s tomb, but you had no idea that you were passing so close to the final resting place of a mass murderer as well.

  The tour guide resumes her story:

  Despite the damage inflicted by the mob, the Lalaurie house has had many uses since its most notorious owners fled. It was a school for black and white girls during the Reconstruction era. This high-minded venture ended badly, with a mob coming in and physically removing the black girls from the school. For a while, the house was a music academy, but it was closed due to a public scandal. It was a furniture store, a bar called the Haunted Saloon, housing for Italian immigrants and a men’s home called Warrington House.

  Most of the owners reported paranormal incidents and a variety of specters. One man claimed to have seen a black man holding his head in his hands. Scrabbling, like the sound of a crab, has been heard in the attic over and over again.

  Throughout the years, neighbors have reported the mansion’s windows opening and closing by themselves and the front door opening with no human assistance. Moans, screams, a woman standing over sleeping occupants with a whip and a child tugging on sleeves have all been reported. Madame’s fury at the slave child and the child’s gory death are said to play out in their entirety for horrified spectators. The furniture store had to close because the furniture was repeatedly ripped during the night and found coated with some sort of unidentified goo in the morning. The owner waited up one night, thinking that vandals were responsible for the damage. He saw nothing and no one, but the next morning the furniture was ruined again. He closed the store that day for the last time.

  Illustration from Jeanne DeLavigne’s book.

  The guide turns toward you. You can see the glitter of her dark eyes in the fading light. She continues:

  Jeff Dwyer, author of The Ghost Hunter’s Guide to New Orleans, says that ghost hunters have the best chance to glimpse paranormal activity by observing the mansion from the far side of Governor Nicholls Street, where we are standing now.

  You and the guide stare at the house for a long moment. You start when she begins to speak again:

  The house was restored and divided into luxury apartments—that’s when the bodies beneath the floors were discovered. Most recently it was bought by actor Nicolas Cage, who at one time owned at least three haunted houses in the New Orleans area, including Anne Rice’s former residence in the Garden District. The Lalaurie house is currently on the market, for a sale price of $3.9 million. Care to buy it?

  The tour guide grins at you. You let out a nervous laugh. It is nearly dark outside. Windows inside the mansion are illuminated with a dull yellow light. You stare at the house and wonder. Is it haunted? An entire city seems to think so, and no house deserves to be haunted more than the Lalaurie Mansion.

  What you’ve just heard is the stuff of New Orleans legend. But how much of the legend is grounded in fact, and how much is the result of sensational journalism, nearly two centuries of gossip and the embellishments of the tourism industry?

  If you want to know the real story of Madame Lalaurie, turn the page. Her story is deep and complex, and shocking new twists have been unearthed. Discover the truth for yourself, if you dare.

  Chapter 2

  Delphine’s Early Life and First Marriage

  Your petition, whatever it is, is granted, you are so beautiful!

  –María Luisa of Parma (1751–1819), Queen of Spain, to Marie Delphine Macarty López

  Delphine Lalaurie has always been a mystery. Her early life is not well documented, and there is no reason to expect that it should be. Delphine Macarty was born into a wealthy, prolific New Orleans family in about 1775. Her family boasted a mayor, a governor, three chevaliers of the French Crown, ousted Irish nobility, several slave traders and some of the most gracious, renowned hostesses of eighteenth-century New Orleans.

  If there had been any hint in her childhood of her dark future, her parents would have kept it well hidden. Likewise, if Delphine had been abused in some way that affected her development, it would have been the darkest of secrets. The only certainty is that she was a beautiful child. Tales of her beauty and charm followed her throughout her life.

  Her father, Barthélémy Louis de Macarty, married Madame Marie Jeanne Lovable (Widow Lacompte), and the two started a family: two sons, Jean Baptiste François and Barthélémy Louis, and their uncommonly beautiful daughter, Marie Delphine.

  Delphine grew up in a typical wealthy Creole household. The family owned a plantation north of the city and a house in the Vieux Carré in the growing Faubourg St. Marie suburb. Delphine appears to have been a happy, sociable girl. Neighbors told of her gracious visits to their plantations. The Macarty plantation was a popular spot for dignitaries and despots visiting the blossoming New Orleans. Delphine would have been introduced to many people of high station, giving her plenty of practice refining her manners and charm.

  St. Louis Cathedral, where Delphine and Don Ramón López were married.

  As the daughter of a well-bred Creole family, she would have been taught to read and write, but the bulk of her education probably consisted of music, art lessons and etiquette. She would have learned the art of running a household from her mother.

  Creole girls were introduced to society at the age of fifteen and were often married by sixteen or seventeen. For some reason lost to history, Delphine didn’t marry until she was about twenty-four. It can be surmised that either her late marriage wasn’t late at all—her year of birth was listed incorrectly after all—or perhaps it had something to do with her affluent aunts waiting until an appropriate prize could be found for their beautiful niece. Her first husband was a prominent and controversial figure in the Spanish-controlled colonial government of Louisiana.

  On January 1, 1800, the new intendant of Louisiana, Don Ramón López y Angulo, took office. Most likely introduced by her influential aunt, Céleste Miró (wife of Governor Miró), Delphine married Don Ramón, Cabellero pensionado de la real y distinguida Orden espanola de Carlos III of Spain, on June 11, 1800. They were wed in the St. Louis Cathedral, with her parents as witnesses.

  Little is known about the details of their marriage or the true character of Don Ramón López. However, a variety of correspondence between López and Charles de Hault Delassus, the last Spanish lieutenant governor of Upper Louisiana, exists in the St. Vrain Collection of the Missouri History Museum’s archives. In his writings, López shows himself to be very thrifty, always worried about money. At one point, he makes a request to have the slave trade opened back up in the Louisiana territory due to lack of paid manpower to keep the crops, and thus the money flow, moving: “Don Raymond de López y Angulo…having decided to suspend on his behalf the existing prohibition on the importation of Negro slaves, due to extenuating circumstances in the colony.”

  This request was denied, and his frustration with the lack of funds continued to fester. On the surface, he seemed to be a man who was deeply invested in his job. However, a Louisiana historian, Arthur Preston Whitaker cited that López’s papers were in “utter confusion” when he left his position of intendant of New Orleans in 1801, due mostly to lack of interest in his position.

  López was a knight pensioner of the royal and distinguished order of Charles III, according to author Charles Gayerré. He married Delphine without the consent of the king of Spain, which was against the government’s protocol yet was a path that several other Spanish officers in Louisiana had pioneered. Why a man who already considered himself in his government’s bad graces would have made such a rash decision is somewhat baffling. It is easy to romanticize the situation and speculate that he was so taken with Delphine’s beauty and charm that he could not resist her. Or perhaps her family’s finances and power were too good to pass up. His actual reasons will never be known, but he paid dearly for his choice.

  López was stripped of his office and ordered to return to the Spanish c
ourt. López pleaded extenuating circumstances and precedents set by Governors Unzaga, Galvez and Miró (who married Delphine’s aunt); by his predecessor, acting intendant Morales; and by Minister Irujo of Philadelphia. The bishop of Louisiana tried to intercede as well, but to no avail, according to author Arthur Whitaker. He was exiled to San Sebastian, on the northern coast of Spain, near the French border.

  In the fall of 1801, Don Ramón de López y Angulo surrendered his office into the hands of Don Juan Ventura Morales, who was to fulfill his functions ad interim, and prepared to depart for Spain. But, in settling his accounts, it seems he got into serious difficulties with his successor, who brought an accusation against him before the Spanish ministry. In answer to it, López complained bitterly of Morales, who, he said, threw in his way interminable delays and litigation on the clearest and most insignificant points and on grounds that were unfounded and unjust, as Gayerré noted. “Wherefore,” he continued, “considering that the crafty and intense malignity of Morales and of his satellite, the assessor [Serano] who is also my mortal enemy, know no bounds, I again beg your Excellency [the minister in Spain] to suspend your decision.”

  Illustration of Iglesia del Espirito in Havana, Cuba, the probable burial place of Ramón López.

  In 1800, Spain ceded Louisiana back to France, but the Spanish government still held a strong presence in the territory. In 1803, the United States took possession of Louisiana from France with the famous Louisiana Purchase. On March 26, 1804, Don Ramón de López y Angulo was pardoned by the Spanish government. He was again granted a government position in New Orleans. Historians believe that while en route to Louisiana via the American ship Ulysses López died of heart failure, probably on a stopover in Havana, Cuba.

  There are two stories told about the end of this chapter of Delphine’s life. One is that López was called back to Spain to serve King Charles IV, but he died along the way, leaving behind a pregnant Delphine. His lovely bride was widowed and gave birth on the same unfortunate trip.

  The other story is one of a dutiful wife coming to the aid of her wronged husband. According to this story, told by author Elizabeth King,

  [Delphine] was a woman of such great beauty that when she went to Spain to solicit the protection of the Queen of Spain for her husband, who had incurred a military punishment, she did no more than kneel in a garden where the Queen took her morning walk. Her long black hair was unbound and hanging about her shoulders, her lovely eyes raised in supplication. The Queen stopped at sight of her, so young and so beautiful, and approached her with the words: “Your petition, whatever it is, is granted, you are so beautiful!”

  After successfully advocating for her husband’s cause, Delphine returned to Cuba (a common stop on the way from Louisiana to Europe), only to learn that López was already dead. Delphine’s daughter was born on the return trip back from Spain, but whether it was aboard the ship or in Havana is unclear. The historical records are contradictory.

  Named Marie Françoise de Boya de López y Angulo, Delphine’s daughter was noted for her beauty and was nicknamed “Borquita,” a diminutive form of her great-grandmother’s name. Borquita, educated in Europe, would eventually marry into the Forstall family, and her twelve children would establish a New Orleans and Louisiana dynasty.

  Chapter 3

  Delphine’s Second Marriage

  A few less scrupulous New Orleans merchants such as Jean Blanque, engaged sailors who plied both sides of the law.

  –historian William C. Davis

  In 1808, Delphine, now about thirty-two years of age and with an eightyear-old daughter, married a man named Jean Blanque.

  Jean Pierre Paulin Blanque, native of Béarn, France, came to Louisiana with Prefect Laussat in 1803. He was reputed to be an important man in New Orleans commerce and politics. The 1805 New Orleans Directory listed Jean Blanque as living at 24 Rue St. Louis with two other males over sixteen years of age, as well as two slaves. Historian Edward Larocque Tinker described him as having “dark hair and eyes, an oval face and [was a] noted orator.”

  Jean Blanque bought a “two story brick house, almost completed,” and designed by the prominent architect Dujarreau in 1808. The Blanques resided at 409 Royal Street (now Ida Manheim Antiques) and, according to legend, maintained a home outside of town called Ville Blanque. Although this other home has not been located, King described it: “In that stylish Royal Street home or in the ‘Villa Blanque,’ a charming country place fronting the Mississippi River just below the city limits, Delphine Macarty Blanque divided her time, both places frequented by the socially elect.”

  Louisiana historian Henry C. Castellanos noted that

  [h]er 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 the 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, Sauve, Derbigny, Macarty, de la Ronde, Villere and other all representatives of the “ancient regime.”

  The Creole socialites and political leaders of the day raved of Madame Blanque’s entertainment at the Blanque House on Royal Street. Photo by Victoria Cosner Love.

  The Blanques had four children: Marie Louise Jeanne (born 1810); Louise Marie Laure (born 1811); Jean Pierre Paulin (born 1815); and Marie Louise Pauline (born 1816). Delphine’s daughter from her previous marriage, Borquita, also lived in this household until she married. On the surface, Delphine and her family appeared to be living the respectable, genteel life of an upper-class Creole family. But where Jean Blanque’s money came from was a different matter entirely.

  Historian Arthur Clisby, in his book Old New Orleans, described Jean Blanque:

  Jean Blanque, once a well-known figure in old New Orleans. Merchant, lawyer, banker, legislator, and—this was told in whispers—the “man higher up” in certain transactions relative to the importation of “black ivory” and goods upon which customs duties were not collected. M. Blanque earned this distinction during the hectic days before the Battle of New Orleans was fought, when the slave smuggling activities of a swaggering company of Baratarians under the leadership of Pierre and Jean Laffite, sometimes designated as pirates were at their height. It will be remembered that it was to Jean Blanque that Jean Laffite sent his letters exposing the attempt of the British emissaries to seduce the Baratarians to the English cause prior to the appearance of the British invading army in 1815.

  Blanque comes up more than 350 times in the slave schedules, listed as buying and selling slaves. It was widely known that he owned boats used in privateering. He was on the New Orleans City Council, but his main claim to fame seems to have been that Jean Laffite, the famous pirate, wrote to him for assistance when Laffite was negotiating with the American army to help them with the Battle of New Orleans, according to Gayerré:

  These two letters of John (Jean, ed.) Lafitte the younger were forwarded to their destination by Pierre Lafitte, the elder, who had found the means not to remain long in the jail where he was incarcerated in New Orleans, and who added to the package this note to Blanque: “On my arrival here, I was informed of all the occurrences that have taken place. I think I may justly commend my brother’s conduct under such difficult circumstances. I am persuaded he could not have made a better choice than in making you the depositary of the papers that were sent to us, and which may be of great importance to the State. Being fully determined to follow the plan that may reconcile us with the Government, I herewith send you a letter directed to his Excellency the Governor, which I submit to your discretion to deliver, or not, as you may think proper. I have not yet been honored with an answer
from you. The moments are precious; pray, send me an answer that may serve to direct my measures in the circumstances in which I find myself.”

  William C. Davis described Jean Blanque as one of “a few less scrupulous New Orleans merchants…[who] engaged sailors who plied both sides of the law.” It was alleged that Blanque was the consignee of the cargo of “Captain Lafitte’s” prize British merchantman Hector, revealed later to be an impostor smuggling goods under forged ship’s papers. In 1806, Blanque was taken to federal court for purchasing twenty-seven thousand pounds of illegally obtained coffee. Although many merchants were attracted to the low prices and the variety of the goods being sold by pirates, Blanque’s purchases attracted enough attention to have him taken to court, according to Davis.

  To add more to the man’s mystique, he was the same Jean Paul Blanque, the commissioner of war under Napoleon, who came to Louisiana as a public servant of the country of France with Louisiana’s last French governor, Prefect Pierre Clement de Laussat. Laussat’s wicked sense of humor and great storytelling abilities make his memoirs an enjoyable read. From these memoirs, a little of Blanque’s personality emerges. In 1804, Blanque was sent by Laussat to attend the meetings with Clairborne and General Wilkenson during the transfer of the Louisiana Territory to America, so he must have been a man of some influence.

  Blanque was noted for his strong oratory skills and hot temper. Laussat recounts a story in which Blanque physically removed a man from Laussat’s presence, presumably due to some insult. Blanque also wrote a twenty-fourpage treatise in retaliation against a political opponent’s treatise directed at Laussat. Emotional phrases, including references to “Don Quixote” and “tilting at windmills,” highlighted the booklet that Blanque self-published and distributed throughout the Vieux Carré. (The booklet is available for viewing at the Williams Research Center.)