Impietas IV: Locus

The mysteries of Eleusis could be celebrated nowhere else. Demeter had different cult centers throughout Greece, including places that had their own mysteries just as ancient and esteemed as those at Eleusis. But there was only one Eleusis and one set of rites carried out there. 

This is why all attempts at transplanting them to other locations have been doomed to failure. 

It was here and only here that she finally settled after her long and painful search (hence the site’s name) ; only here where she was received by the king whom she instructed in gratitude for his kindness; only here where she adopted Triptolemos and sent him out to teach the world agriculture; here where she was reconciled with her daughter and all the rest that formed the backdrop of the mysteries. This happened nowhere else in all the world, so these mysteries could take place nowhere else. In those other places different things had happened such as her transformation into a mare or her seduction of a mortal man. As a result these places had their own unique mysteries. The mysteries that we will celebrate here are likewise going to be shaped by time, place and culture. 

Sannion 

New Orleans, 1726. From Wikimedia Commons.

Links between New Orleans and St. Domingue spiritual practices are tenuous and links between 19th and 21st century New Orleans Voodoo even shakier.  Today New Orleans spirituality encompasses the Thelema-influenced practices of Sallie Ann Glassman; the Belize-inspired work of Miriam Chemani; the Lukumi-flavored rituals of Lilith Dorsey.  It would be easy enough to follow Cat Yronwode's lead and dismiss the whole thing as a "newly constructed faux-religion which has no cultural, family, liturgical, or social roots in traditional African, African-American, or Haitian religions, but traces back to literary sources instead." Yet this easy dismissal ignores both Voodoo's cultural impact and the place in which this "faux-religion" takes root.

Like Blanche DuBois, New Orleans depends on the kindness of strangers. Many of her most influential figures came from elsewhere.  At a time when most Blacks were heading north Leafy Anderson left Chicago for New Orleans: within a decade after her 1920 arrival her guide Black Hawk was one of the city's most loved "hoodoo spirits."  Italian immigrants brought muffalettas and the Feast of St. Joseph. Spanish governors created much of her distinctive "French Quarter" architecture. And we wouldn't have Blanche, Stanley and Stella if a shy young man born in Mississippi, raised in St. Louis and nicknamed "Tennessee" hadn't found a spiritual home in the Vieux Carre.

New Orleans makes her living off desire.  She promised forbidden delights to frontiersmen slogging west through the malarial swampland: the Mississippi rolled along to ragtime and laughter and mosquitos whirling with moths around her whorehouse lanterns.  Yet she sates the spiritual hunger of pilgrims as happily as she meets more carnal needs.  Yronwode notes "New Orleans Voodoo has historically had no community membership base, in Louisiana other than as a source of employment for shop employees, dancers, authors, and publishers." She might consider how many other American cities have successfully monetized local spiritual practices.  The commercialization of New Orleans Voodoo is not a sign of decadence but of strength.

Port cities have always been places where people and Gods came together to share ideas, goods and beds.  Slaves from Mali brought their pentatonic scale with its distinctive flattened thirds and fifths: African griots became Louisiana bluesmen.  After the Spanish-American War, a shipment of Army surplus brass reorchestrated the blues into Dixieland jazz.  If contemporary New Orleans Voodoo draws from many different sources and honors many new spirits so did the faiths of Hellas, where Thracian Orpheus was honored with Cyprian Aphrodite and Luwian Hekate.  And if the old rituals have been washed away by time and the river, new ones have risen in the rich Delta soil.

Much as the Eleusinian Mysteries told the tale of Eleusis, New Orleans Voodoo tells the story of New Orleans. And just as Eleusis echoed the sagas of Greece and Rome, so does New Orleans Vodou contain within itself the American mystery. It is a faith crafted by travelers, created in a legendary land with a mythical past and an uncertain future.  It is a religion where African and European influences co-exist fruitfully and uneasily, where stylized Indians roam the land once held by real Indians, where sin and salvation walk hand in hand.  Its magic lies not in mojo bags or spoon dolls but in the sultry summer air and the muddy Mississippi, in the blood of those who walked its streets before we were born and who will walk them after we are dead.  If it is a flawed and hollow faith, it is but a reflection of the greater emptiness within ourselves.

Cultural Appropriation or, "Not This $#!+ again... "

It all started on Facebook, when I posted a link to this photo from F.A.I.R. Media (For Accurate Indigenous Representation).   F.A.I.R. takes issue - and rightly so - with non-indigenous people dressing up as "Indians."

As is often the case when these issues come up, a fair amount of commentary ensued.  Thankfully, none of my Facebook friends rose to the defense of those who wanted to dress up like cigar store Injuns.  Nobody felt that it's OK to name your team the "Washington Redskins" or "Atlanta Braves" even though it wouldn't be all right to call them the "San Francisco Chinks," "Texas Wetbacks" or "New York Christkillers."  But then that old, old issue raised its head -- cultural appropriation, or, more precisely, what is or is not cultural appropriation.  Ben Gruagach chimed in with these observations:

This discussion makes me uneasy because it leads to the question of when is it appropriate or inappropriate to borrow from outside one's genetic heritage? And what about the vast majority of us who are a mix of cultural backgrounds?

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Eli -- I understand the feelings and statements about misappropriation but have to wonder where the line is drawn? It could be argued that Voudou misappropriates, converts, perverts, twists, changes, mutates and otherwise subverts Catholicism. And Wicca misappropriates all sorts of stuff, mixing it up and presenting it in ways foreign to the origins of the things borrowed. And Christianity twists and changes not only Judaism but all sorts of pre-existing Pagan ideas, practices, etc. Is all religion wrong then?

Ben's questions raised several important points.  At what point does the mixing and matching of imagery, practices, and beliefs cross the line between eclecticism and cultural appropriation? And who gets to make that call?  We all appear to agree that dressing up as Tonto or Tiger Lily for Halloween is in poor taste.  Once we go beyond that we find ourselves in some very muddy waters.

Matt Deos responded with:

Ben, just so you know you've set up a straw man.... appropriation is something *other* than going through the traditions the way they're made to be worked; stealing is different than earning it (which is the very point many try to hammer home all the time)

While I understand where Matt is coming from, I'm not entirely sure the issue can be dismissed that easily.  A few points which may be grounds for further thought:

There are many devout Haitian and Cuban Catholics who are utterly horrified to see saint and madonna statues used for sorcery and idol worship.  Should we take their opinions into consideration when we are making offerings to Ogou Sen Jak (otherwise known as St. James the Greater, or St. Jacques Majeur) or placing a statute of Our Lady of Fatima on our Obatala shrine? Or it it only cultural appropriation when those offended are of a suitably low cultural and social caste -- in other words, when they are brown enough and poor enough to deserve our sympathy and when their religion is exotic enough to deserve preservation?

There are many "plastic shamans" who are not Native American: there are also a fair number who have at least some Indigenous ancestry and who have figured out that they can make a living selling "Indian ceremonies" to gullible non-Natives.  (Given the rates of poverty and unemployment among Native Americans, who can blame them?)  And there is not always consensus within a community as to what should and should not be shared with outsiders.  There are certainly Haitians who will not initiate non-Haitians into Vodou. Do their opinions matter, or should we only listen to those Haitians who are willing to teach us their secrets?

What constitutes "going through the traditions the way they're meant to be worked?" Who gets to decide what is or is not "the way they're meant to be worked?"Ask a random sampling of Haitian Houngans and Mambos whether or not initiations can be performed outside Haiti.  You will find some who will tell you that no initiation can be performed; you'll find others who will tell you that initiations up to Si Pwen level can be done; still others will tell you that you can make Asogwe in the United States if the proper preparations are made. There's no small amount of controversy about these issues. (And because Vodou is a money-making endeavor, there's also no small amount of "Listen... she says you can only do initiations in Haiti but that's because her cousin is a travel agent who sells you the plane tickets" or "he says you can do initiations here, but you should go to Haiti with me instead..."

And what about practices like New Orleans Voodoo? The Crescent City's spiritual practices have long mixed, matched, blended, and stir-fried traditions from all over the place: many of the "roots" of New Orleans Voodoo go no deeper than the mid-20th century with most dating back to the swinging 70s and Charles "Voodoo Charlie" Gandolfo.  Orisha and lwa are served alongside Catholic saints, Pagan gods and spoon dolls imported from China. And yet despite all that New Orleans Voodoo has become, for many people, a vital and enduring spiritual tradition.  These people may not have been "properly initiated" into the mysteries of Haitian Vodou - yet the lwa seem perfectly happy to answer their petitions.

I don't see any easy answers to these conundrums. But I think it's important that we keep asking ourselves these questions, even if we don't always come to the same conclusions.  I have no doubts about Matt's sincerity, nor do I question the bona fides of Mambo Maude Evans, his initiatory mother. If we disagree here, we do so as fellow Vodouisants, not sworn enemies. (I'll grant you that if you peruse a few Vodou forums it can sometimes be difficult to tell the difference... ). 

Dr. Corbeaux on the New Orleans Voodoo Handbook

Arkansas Hoodoo Man Dr. Lazarus Corbeaux has weighed in with his thoughts on the New Orleans Voodoo Handbook.  When you're done watching that, check out the rest of his channel: he has a lot of excellent hoodoo and rootwork advice for those interested in Ozarks folk magic.  (And if you aren't interested, you should be! While New Orleans gets the lion's share of the attention, Ozark witches have long practiced a potent blend of Elizabethan-era European folk magic and African-American hoodoo - and have recently begun adding Curanderismo, Brujeria and other Mexican and Central American practices to the mix).

It's always nice to get positive reviews, especially from those who know their stuff.  If they're liking my book in Arkansas, I know I must have done something right.

The Critics Speak on the New Orleans Voodoo Handbook

Kirkus Reviews has weighed in with their opinion, calling it a "winning blend of urban and religious history from famed New Orleans Vodou priest Filan" and stating

Filan includes everything the novice priest or priestess could want to know. From famous figures like Dr. John and Marie Laveau to the use of candles, oils, prayers and poppets (voodoo dolls), the author outlines the tenets of this spiritual practice with clarity, and his starter set of tools, accompanied by instructions on how to use them, is only limited by readers’ imaginations.

Meanwhile, Brother Ash at Crossroads of Sorcery says "With the “New Orleans Voodoo Handbook” Kenaz Filan gives readers a guide not only to Voodoo as it is practiced in the city, but also the culture and history that has shaped it," but cautions that "Someone looking for a simple cookbook of spells and formulas will be sorely disappointed."

Br. Ash is obviously a two-headed rootworker: as if on cue, we have a pair of one-star reviews on Amazon which state "Voodoo is vibrant and flourishing in New Orleans,but you won't find that out here.This is "Voodoo Lite" from an author who specializes in it" and call The New Orleans Voodoo Handbook the "[w]orst book on Voodoo instruction ever."

(I can sympathize somewhat with the critics.  I definitely was more interested in talking about New Orleans culture than in writing a spell-book.  New Orleans Voodoo and Haitian Vodou are both intimately tied to place and history: if you don't understand the backstory, you'll never figure out what's going on.   And while I found the story of New Orleans endlessly fascinating - and far more entertaining than many of the old clichés and legends - I can see where it might seem a distraction to someone who just wants to become a Voodoo Queen in 10 easy lessons). 

Whatever else happens, within its first month of release The New Orleans Voodoo Handbook is already shaping up to be my most talked-about and most controversial book yet.   

Spell Books and Spell Kits: for Matt Deos

For some time I've been promising Matt Deos a shout-out.  Matt, a Houngan Asogwe made by Boston/Jacmel Mambo Maude Evans, is not afraid to share his opinion on Vodou. We have butted heads on a number of occasions, but I've never questioned his devotion to the faith, his passion for the lwa or his knowledge.  (He has some great info on introductory ancestor work and sevis lwa here).  However, disagreement doth ever fuel the blogosphere. And so I thought I'd address one of his longstanding complaints here.  If I have misunderstood or misstated his position, I trust he will step in and correct me.

Matt dislikes Voodoo/Vodou/etc. "spell books" and "spell kits." He (and quite a few others in the various African Traditional Religious communities) think that spell books and kits are disrespectful.  They see them as attempts to profit from their religion by cheapening and commercializing the spirits and their sacred rites. Not only is it disrespectful, it's a waste of time and money, since these mass-produced products don't work. As Matt puts it:

A truth: information is useless unless it is given the proper way. That’s a core piece of Vodou… those pretty veve? UTTERLY USELESS unless they are handed to you by your teachers in your House. (seriously… veve differ, and each House/lineage has the veve that correspond to the spirits of the House. Veve are also useless unless made the proper way… so those sites and books that tell you to tape up a photocopy? TOTAL BULLSHIT. Its not real, its not a part of the tradition, and its not going to help you to use it… but of course, the book isnt gonna tell you that...

None of this ‘service kit for sale’ crap, none of this calling on random lwa who you dont even know if you have a relationship with… the buried rule here is that ANY lwa can do anything for you. Read that again. Get out of the mindset of each having ‘powers’ or ‘portfolios’ where only one spirit can perform a task for you, or the idea that each only has specific uses. Its not real. Any lwa can do anything for you… serve the ones you have. Get the reading, and skip out on the online or written accounts or kits (always for sale, funny that) that will teach you how to serve a specific spirit; you dont need it, and in essence its fraud.

I can't deny that many people come to these traditions with an attitude of entitlement. Neither can I deny that there are some atrocious Vodou books and websites out there, or that many of Vodou's most visible leaders serve primarily as public embarrassments.   But with all that being said, I still think there is something to be said for spell books and spell kits.

(Disclaimer: I have skin in this game, having penned Vodou Love Magic and Vodou Money Magic).

While spell books are less common in Haitian Vodou than in many other traditions, that may primarily be due to the country's low literacy rates.  It is not difficult to find spell books in English, Spanish and Portuguese which promise aid in love, money, gambling and various other earthly concerns. Spell kits are certainly found in another Kongo-influenced tradition, American Hoodoo.  In my forthcoming New Orleans Voodoo Handbook, I provide a recipe from the Cracker Jack Drugstore's 1930's era pamphlet Black and White Magic of Marie Laveau - a recipe which required ingredients sold by said drugstore.  So far as I can see, a "Peaceful Home spell kit" would differ from these instructions only by virtue of convenient packaging.

sprinkle every room of your house with “Peace Water” and burn the “John the Conqueror Incense” mixed with the “Helping Hand Incense.” Sprinkle some “Jinks Removing Salt” all around the outside of your house. Apply to your body daily the “Peace Powder” and anoint your head and clothes with “Bend Over Drops.” Burn for one hour each day or night the “Peace Candle” until you have burned three of them.

The person who purchases a spell kit is evidencing faith. They have put their money on the table and asked a lwa, orisha, saint, god, etc. to step into the picture. They have expressed a willingness to see magic in all its beauty and terror: they have dared to ask for the miraculous. That is an enormously courageous step in a society which denies the existence of magic and the miraculous and which mocks those who believe otherwise.

The spell kit (or the properly written spell) establishes commerce with the spirit.  An offering is made. This can be as simple as a candle and a prayer.  It can be an elaborate ritual involving expensive items offered at specific times at inaccessible places. Whatever it is, it establishes commerce between the supplicant and the spirit. It creates a sacred exchange: something is given in expectation something will be received.  It also establishes boundaries: you are giving the spirit a candle, a glass of wine and some flowers in lieu of offering an eternal pledge of fealty.

A spell book or kit may provide a good learning opportunity. If your petitions fall on deaf ears, you're out a comparatively small sum of money and time. If your spell works, on the other hand, you have established an important connection have seen real evidence of magic and the spirit world.  I have seen many people who became involved in Vodou after purchasing a spell kit.  Whether or not their lost love returned or their promotion came to pass, the candles and oils had a major positive effect on their lives.

I don't think that willy-nilly purchase of spell kits is the most effective way to approach the lwa. I would definitely recommend a reading from a competent practitioner and training with an actual functioning société.  Approaching random spirits with no guidance can be time-wasting at best and actively dangerous at worst.  But I have also found that the spirits will come where they will, and will use any available doorway.  If you seek the lwa, rest assured they will find you.

Best Wishes for Mardi Gras ... and a little something about throws

In honor of the occasion, here's an excerpt from The New Orleans Voodoo Handbook: this one covers the history of one celebrated party tradition - throws.  I will refrain from asking you to show me anything  before posting it...


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After putting all that effort into building a fine float and fancy costume, you want to make sure the audience appreciates your handiwork. And as everyone in the Crescent City knows, a little lagniappe (extra free gift) will always win hearts and minds. To that end, "throws" – gifts tossed into the crowd – are an intrinsic part of Mardi Gras parades. (An earlier custom of throwing flour and pepper into the audience wasn't nearly so endearing).

Some time in the 1920s the members of the Rex Crewe acquired a large number of inexpensive glass beads from Czechoslovakia, strung them into necklaces, and threw them from their floats as mementos. They were warmly received by the crowd and began a trend which has lived on: Mardi Gras beads. After World War II the beads were imported from Japan: later, plastic replaced glass and China replaced Japan as the primary supplier.  According to Fred Berger, owner of Mardi Gras Imports of Slidell, Louisiana, the average Mardi Gras krewe member spends approximately $800 on beads and "[s]ome people won't bat an eye at spending $2,000 or $2,500."

In 1959 New Orleans artist Alvin Sharpe created another famous Mardi Gras tradition: the doubloon. The Rex krewe ordered 83,000 of his intricately detailed aluminum doubloons. Unsure how they would go over, they asked him to leave off the date on all but a few, so that any left over could be used another year. But it turned out that they were a huge hit: between 1960 and 1970 Rex threw 2.75 million doubloons. Others soon followed suit: today collectors strive to acquire complete collections of their favorite krewes at the parade or at various online and offline memorabilia stores.

Other krewes throw plastic toys or cups emblazoned with their logo. But few gifts are as prized as the Zulu krewe's hand-painted coconuts. Originally the Zulu krewe became famous for throwing "golden nuggets," or gold-painted walnuts. Although these were cheaper than glass beads, they were greatly appreciated by the crowd since they could be eaten while watching the parade or at the tavern afterwards. (Bar owners along the route were less thrilled about the walnut shells which inevitably littered their floor). Later they began throwing coconuts that were painted gold and decorated with glitter: most featured the Zulu blackface design and some even featured hair and hats. After a number of lawsuits from people who were hit by thrown coconuts, the club briefly suspended the practice.  But to keep the tradition alive, the Louisiana legislature passed SB188 (the "Coconut Bill"), excluding the krewe from liability for injuries caused by coconuts handed off (as opposed to tossed from) the float. Over 100,000 coconuts are passed out during a typical Zulu parade.

But while the regular coconuts are treasured, those who are especially favored by the Zulus (or who wish to purchase one from their master engraver, Willie Clark) may get one of their special "Mardi Gras Coconuts." These are meticulously decorated and engraved: they may have as many as 37 colors and 68 color mixtures on their surface. As Zulu member Lester Pollard says "Our organization centers around the coconut --- the coconut is everything to us! Man, we've got laws passed concerning our coconuts!"

Call for Submissions: New Orleans Photos

I just received word that Inner Traditions has accepted my latest manuscript, The New Orleans Voodoo Handbook. Given the subject matter, I'd like to include as many illustrations as possible: the Big Easy is one of America's most photogenic cities and New Orleans Voodoo is one of our most photogenic traditions.

Anyone who would like to donate photos of New Orleans or of their N.O. Voodoo altars is invited to send photos to kenazfilan@gmail.com.  If your images are included in the final manuscript you will receive a free copy of the final book and appropriate credit. (Even if they are not you will receive my undying gratitude!)

I am looking forward to seeing this book in print: it was great fun to research and I hope it will be equally enjoyable to read.

Response on "Spiritual Occultist" re Voodoo Dolls

This is a response I recently posted to the Yahoo group Spiritual Occultist concerning the use of "voodoo dolls" in New Orleans Voodoo. (The original essay, which was reposted to Yahoo, can be found at Haunted American Tours).

Popular among slaves, some speculate that making voodoo dolls and sticking them with pins was one method by which the slave could exert some control over the master: from the very start white plantation owners, mostly of European descent, feared this and its obvious connection to the more familiar poppet magic of their cultures. More often than not, however, the voodoo doll was employed as a weapon against other believers in voodoo, or vodusi, who did not hesitate to use it and immediately recognized its consequences. Primitive dolls, often bound with twine or cat-gut and stuck through with everything from pins to fish bones, have been unearthed on several plantations in South Louisiana, evidence that the concept of vicarious punishment through use of an image doll was firmly in place among the African slave populations of 18th and 19th century Louisiana.

1) Sticking pins in poppets to curse someone is almost exclusively a European practice. There are definitely some hair-raising African and African-American curses, but they are typically transmitted through the feet i.e. by sprinkling powder in your opponent's path or on his doorstep, or by getting some dust from her footprints and mixing it with various noxious substances.
2) There WAS a Kongo tradition of sticking nails and pins into a power object (nkisi) but it was not intended for curses: rather, it was meant to wake up the spirit indwelling in the object. Sme pictures of nkisi nail fetishes can be found here.

But the idea of using voodoo dolls and other forms of hexes such as gris-gris and mojo,

Gris-gris and mojo bags are generally built not to hex but to bring good luck to their owners.

The lore of 19th century voodoo is filled with the tales of victims of this vengeful magic who awoke after a fitful night’s sleep to find bones, graveyard dust and the inevitable voodoo doll laying on their porch steps — placed there in the darkness by Marie Laveaux herself. The tales would otherwise be a footnote in New Orleans history were it not for the fact that, according to reliable sources, nearly all the voodoo Marie Laveau performed actually worked.

So far as I know, there is only one fairly reliable tale connecting Marie Laveau to a doll - the records of a court trial wherein Mme. Laveau and another Voodoo Queen had a dispute over the ownership of an "ugly fetish" which was almost certainly a Kongo nkisi. See Carolyn Morrow Long's excellent book A New Orleans Voudou Priestess: The Legend and Reality of Marie Laveau for more information on that.

Some proponents of Voodoo as a religion attempt to distance themselves from the voodoo doll cursing tradition and there are many examples of dolls created for more positive purposes such as healing and spiritual enlightenment. These practitioners claim that use of voodoo dolls for vengeance and punishment is a form of Bokor (Black) Voodoo that has contributed to the bad reputation the religion has had to bear over the centuries.

The word "Bokor" only appears in Haitian Vodou and in later-period (post 1970s) New Orleans Voodoo. It describes a particular type of sorcerer and has nothing to do with blackness (which would be "neg" in Kreyol and "noir" in French). And there is a long tradition of using dolls for benevolent purposes, or as homes for benevolent/protective spirits, in African Diaspora traditions.

But it remains a fact that most, if not all, people who seek out a Voodoo practitioner for the creation and manipulation of a Voodoo doll is usually bent on vengeance, at a minimum, or often genuine, irreversible harm. There is something viscerally satisfying about pricking and puncturing an effigy of your worst enemy; the natural expansion of this concept lends itself easily to the act of greater harm and the consequent feeling of control one can obtain from this.

Among people seeking a modern day New Orleans Voodoo practitioner, this may be true. In Haitian Vodou someone seeking a doll is more likely trying to provide a home for a spirit.

More than just consecrating the doll as the image of a certain person, a lot of the “magic” of making voodoo dolls, especially “black” voodoo dolls, comes from the person creating it. Traditionally, the maker is instructed to concentrate all her thought and effort into the making of the doll, envisioning during the construction all the evil that can possibly be heaped on the victim. Some practitioners will spend days in the creation and “charging” of their doll, keeping it in sight and venting their anger and frustration at the doll until, when the time comes, the doll is finally given the name of the intended victim and the ritual abuse of the voodoo doll can begin. This process, according to experts in the field, rarely fails, unless the will of the creator falters at some point. The resulting humiliation or punishment of the victim may then be less potent than otherwise intended.

This is a common way of charging a poppet in European witchcraft. While it can be quite effective, it once again owes more to European folk customs than African ones.

A form of positive (though still manipulative) magic for which the voodoo doll is excellently suited is the traditional magic “binding.” In this instance, the practitioner ritually binds the voodoo doll, charged and named for the individual in question, from doing harm or evil toward others. Thus bound, the ill-intentioned efforts of that person will come to nothing; the person whom the practitioner has protected will experience no harm at the hands of a person thus bound. Conversely, a person can be bound with evil intent and although this is often used in Bokor Voodoo the tradition is an ancient one.

This is an interesting issue. In many Kongo traditions one "binds" a spirit by tying it with thread or string. The idea is not that you are capturing or enslaving the spirit. Rather, you are helping the spirit to stay comfortably in its new house, much as you tie your shoes so you can walk in them.

“Just don’t name it unless you really intend to use it.” This is the warning given by most reputable mambos or priestesses who provide such items to the public. Obviously, how a voodoo doll is used depends on the person who owns it, but there have been instances where even the most garish-looking tourist trinket voodoo doll has ultimately caused harm — however minor — after arriving at its destination. The lesson here should be obvious.

I am inclined to agree with this. Someone with the right degree of anger and will can use just about anything as a focus, and it's not all that difficult to catch the attention of the spirit world. When you put out a bright shiny "voodoo doll" beacon, you may well find something that wants to inhabit it - and said "something" may not be benevolent or easily controlled.

Other dolls available are rendered in synch with devotion to a particular Lwa but are designed to invoke the power of the Lwa in the owner’s life. These devotional dolls are created more for actual use than for display, and since most are one of a kind, created from an intimate consultation with a practicing mambo or priest, the dolls are highly prized and extremely personal. These dolls are also kept very secure because any ill-intentioned person possessing such a creation can produce no end of aggravation and harm to the devotee it represents.

This is actually the most common way that dolls are used in Haitian Vodou and other Afro-Caribbean traditions.

Another use of dolls in authentic Vodou practice is the incorporation of plastic doll babies in altars and objects used to represent or honor the spirits, or in pwen, which recalls the aforementioned use of bocio and nkisi figures in Africa.

The bottom of this page features some excellent examples of Haitian doll sculpture from the master of the craft, the late Pierrot Barra.

Happy St. Joseph's Day

In honor of St. Joseph's feast day, here is an excerpt from The New Orleans Voodoo Handbook. While in Haiti St. Joseph is most famous as the image used to represent Papa Loko, in New Orleans he is a major saint in his own right. I listed him as one of the "bringers of good fortune" because he is such a powerful intercessor in financial matters. If you need some financial success, here are some ways you can call on his assistance.

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Oh, St. Joseph, you worked as a humble carpenter, earning your wages by the sweat of your brow. Assist me in obtaining my wages that I may be able to support myself and my loved ones as you supported Jesus and Mary. Oh, St. Joseph, whose protection is so great, so strong, so prompt before the throne of God, assist me by your powerful intercession, and obtain for me from your divine Son all spiritual blessings, so that I may offer my thanksgiving and homage to the most loving of Fathers.

After the Civil War New Orleans became a favorite destination for Italians traveling to the New World. Between 1850 and 1870 the city had more Italian immigrants than any other city in America: the French Quarter became known as “Little Palermo” and “Little Sicily” thanks to its large Italian population. These new residents brought with them their cuisine (which is still enjoyed today in po’ boys and muffaletta sandwiches) and their work ethic. They also brought with them an undying devotion to a saint who has become a New Orleans favorite – St. Joseph, the foster father of Jesus.

In Italy, as in New Orleans, one celebrates a holiday by feasting. St. Joseph is typically honored on his day (March 19) with groaning tables of food put out in his honor. This tradition has been carried over to the Crescent City. A table put out in the 1920s by Mrs. Messina, a New Orleans Italian, gives you some idea of how big these repasts can be:

I have five hundred different kinds of food. Besides the three sorts of Saint Joseph’s bread, I have stuffed artichokes, stuffed crabs, stuffed peppers, stuffed celery, stuffed eggs and stuffed tomatoes. I have lobsters, red snapper fish, shrimps, crayfish, spaghettis, macaronis, spinach, peanuts, layer cakes, pies, pineapples… My God! I have everything!

In addition to food, these tables are also decorated with flowers, candles, electic lights, and statues of saints, with a large statue of Saint Joseph occupying the place of honor. Whatever else they may contain, they always have St. Joseph’s Bread (a braided egg bread which is almost identical to the challah bread served on the Sabbath in Jewish homes). They also have a large bowl of fava beans. At the end of the feast the leftover food is given to the poor. Participants take with them a bean and a small piece of bread. The bread is kept in the house until next year: it is said that in return St. Joseph will keep the household from going hungry. The beans are said to bring good luck. While it is traditional to leave a coin on the altar in exchange for this gift, gamblers will sometimes leave large sums of money in exchange for a lucky bean.

If you want to win St. Joseph’s favor, you can make a special St. Joseph’s potpourri for him. Place in a white bowl the following: Balm Of Gilead buds, juniper berries, tonka beans (also known as wishing beans), fava beans and star anise. If you can find them you can add fishberries, also known as Levant berries. Fishberries were part of the original mixture catalogued by Zora Neale Hurston but can be difficult to find as they are quite toxic and no longer widely used in conventional or alternative medicine. Basil (also known as St. Joseph’s Wort) will be an acceptable substitute. Put this bowl before your St. Joseph statue or image and add fresh potpourri regularly: not only will it be a great offering, but it will fill your space with a subtle fresh scent that will draw positive energy and good fortune.

To make a powerful St. Joseph’s oil, place this mixture at the bottom of an oil lamp: fill the lamp with high quality olive oil and place it before your St. Joseph image, then light it and leave it burning while you say a Rosary in St. Joseph’s name. When you are finished, snuff out the lamp: repeat this for nine days (a Novena). After you have said these prayers, strain out the potpourri and save the oil. You can then use the oil to anoint the doorway of your business or your workplace: you can also put a few drops on your wallet or bankbook if you are looking for a raise. As the patron saint of workers, St. Joseph will be happy to offer his assistance if you’re willing to do your share and earn your money.

And while St. Joseph is typically called upon to help out in money matters, he is also a sympathetic defender of lovelorn men. New Orleanians who suspect their wives of infidelity will often come to St. Joseph for his help. They reason that since his wife had someone else’s baby, he will understand their plight and come to their aid. This may seem disrespectful, but it has a long history. In medieval mystery plays, St. Joseph was often played for comic relief as a cuckolded husband: among Eastern Christians, he was frequently presented in Nativity scenes as despondent and downhearted, unable to comprehend the great mystery of the Incarnation and filled with doubt at his wife’s purity. Yet he was able to overcome those doubts, become a loving husband to Mary, and support the young Jesus as his own child. It is not surprising that he would take pity on others who find themselves in a similar situation and offer them his help.

The Sultan's Ghost: from the New Orleans Voodoo Handbook

According to the legend Jean-Baptiste La Prete, being short on funds, leased his winter home on 716 Dauphine Street to a turbaned gentleman who claimed to be the Sultan of Turkey. Upon signing the lease, the Sultan moved in along with an entourage of harem girls, beardless boys and eunuch guards who patrolled the balconies with drawn scimitars. Those who gained entrance to the Sultan's inner sanctum told wild tales of debauched orgies and banquets: those who stood outside the gates noticed the constant smells of opium and incense.

Then, one morning, police were called when neighbors noticed rivulets of blood running beneath the iron gates. When no one answered their summons, they forced the doors and entered the home. There they found body parts scattered throughout the house: the servants, guards, harem girls and slave boys had literally been hacked to bits.

Going into the garden, they found a hand sticking out from the dirt: the Sultan had been buried alive and suffocated before he was able to claw his way out of his shallow grave.  The crime was never solved. Some claimed the culprits were pirates who wanted the Sultan’s treasure. Others said the Sultan was really the Sultan’s brother, who had escaped to New Orleans after stealing gold and slaves only to find that an ocean was no shield against the Ottoman Emperor’s wrath.

Since that time, 716 Dauphine has gained a reputation as one of the most haunted houses in New Orleans. People have reported hearing the tinkle of Oriental music, the smell of incense, or bloodcurdling screams. Apparations of a light-haired man in Turkish garb have also been spotted, and some say that a gnarled tree in the garden is possessed by the spirit of the murdered Sultan, who has caused it to twist in the form of his death throes. Says Virgie Posten, a choreographer who lived at 716 Dauphine for a brief time in the late 1950s:

...I moved out of that place a few months afterwards because I saw a man in my apartment on two different occasions and could never really explain how he could have gotten in or out of there so quickly without a sound.

My two-room apartment had only one door, which opened into the main hall only a few yards from the foot of the enormous central staircase that wound its way up to the floors above. I always kept it locked, and even if whoever it was had had a key, I think I would have at least heard it turning in the lock. Yet there was nothing. Only silence. One minute he was there…the next he was gone! He didn't seem hostile. He'd just stand there and look at me, but it was terribly eerie and nerve-wracking!

After that second time, when I woke up in the middle of the night and saw him standing at the foot of the bed staring at me, I made up my mind to get out of there," continued the still-attractive brunette. "There was no sign of him when I turned on the lights and got up to check, but I abandoned everything there the next day and went to stay temporarily with a girlfriend until I could find another place to live. Of course, I still wasn't thinking about ghosts.

It wasn't until a few days afterward that I happened by chance to see an article in the newspaper about the house and its legend. Then I realized where I was living. The description that the paper gave of the "sultan" - how he was supposed to have been 'to the blond side,' despite his Turkish origin - seemed to fit the person I'd seen and set me thinking.

My third and last experience, however, was the most frightening of all. That was the night my girlfriend and I stopped by the house to get a few of my things, which I'd left there until I could move them out. We were standing in the dimly lit hallway in the empty house, as I locked the door, when we suddenly heard a blood-curdling scream come out of the inky blackness somewhere at the top of the staircase just a few feet from us! It was petrifying - a long shrill scream that ended in a horrible gurgle! We ran as if the devil himself were after us to the street door. For a moment we even got wedged in the doorway, as both of us tried to get out at the same time! We laugh about it today but it was pretty frightening at that moment! The very next day I got my things out of there.

Alas, details of this story are sketchy. Some versions of the legend claim the atrocity took place in 1792, even though the La Prete House was not built until 1836. And there is no contemporary mention of this Sultan or his murder in any of the local papers. (Even in the Big Easy a crime this brutal would surely have gained attention from the press!) I was tempted to write this off as yet another legend created for "ghost-hunting" tourists. Then I discovered an earlier story compiled in 1866 by local historian Charles Gayarré.

In the beginning of 1727, a French vessel of war landed at New Orleans a man of haughty mien, who wore the Turkish dress, and whose whole attendance was a single servant. He was received by the governor with the highest distinction, and was conducted by him to a small but comfortable house with a pretty garden, then existing at the corner of Orleans and Dauphine streets, and which, from the circumstance of its being so distant from other dwellings, might have been called a rural retreat, although situated in the limits of the city. There, the stranger, who was understood to be a prisoner of state, lived in the greatest seclusion; and although neither he nor his attendant could be guilty of indiscretion, because none understood their language, and although Governor Périer severely rebuked the slightest inquiry, yet it seemed to be the settled conviction in Louisiana, that the mysterious stranger was a brother of the Sultan, or some great personage of the Ottoman empire, who had fled from the anger of the viceregent of Mohammed, and who had taken refuge in France. The Sultan had peremptorily demanded the fugitive, and the French government, thinking it derogatory to its dignity to comply with that request, but at the same time not wishing to expose its friendly relations with the Moslem monarch, and perhaps desiring, for political purposes, to keep in hostage the important guest it had in its hands, had recourse to the expedient of answering, that he had fled to Louisiana, which was so distant a country that it might be looked upon as the grave, where, as it was suggested, the fugitive might be suffered to wait in peace for actual death, without danger or offense to the Sultan. Whether this story be true or not is now a matter of so little consequence, that it would not repay the trouble of a strict historical investigation.

The year 1727 was drawing to its close, when on a dark, stormy night, the howling and barking of the numerous dogs in the streets of New Orleans were observed to be fiercer than usual, and some of that class of individuals who pretend to know every thing, declared that, by the vivid flashes of the lightning, they had seen, swiftly and stealthily gliding toward the residence of the unknown, a body of men who wore the scowling appearance of malefactors and ministers of blood. There afterward came also a report, that a piratical-looking Turkish vessel had been hovering a few days previous in the bay of Barataria. Be it as it may, on the next morning the house of the stranger was deserted. There were no traces of mortal struggle to be seen; but in the garden, the earth had been dug, and there was the unmistakable indication of a recent grave. Soon, however, all doubts were removed by the finding of an inscription in Arabic characters, engraved on a marble tablet, which was subsequently sent to France. It ran thus: "The justice of heaven is satisfied, and the date-tree shall grow on the traitor's tomb. The sublime Emperor of the faithful, the supporter of the faith, the omnipotent master and Sultan of the world, has redeemed his vow. God is great, and Mohammed is his prophet. Allah!" Some time after this event, a foreign-looking tree was seen to peep out of this spot where a corpse must have been deposited in that stormy night, when the rage of the elements yielded to the pitiless fury of man, and it thus explained in some degree this part of the inscription, "the date-tree shall grow on the traitor's grave."

This "small but comfortable house" was located on the site of the La Prete House: the date palm in question grows in its garden. Could that old legend, retold and updated as time went on, be the basis of 716 Dauphine's evil reputation?  Does the ghost of that murdered Turk still wander the halls of the La Prete home, condemned to relive his murder over and over through the ages? Perhaps Gayarré had the best suggestion for those who would find out. "Ask Nemesis, or — at that hour when evil spirits are allowed to roam over the earth, and magical incantations are made — go, and interrogate the tree of the dead."

The New Orleans Voodoo Handbook: Nsambi, Simbi, and Li Grand Zombi

Thanks to Dr. Eoghan Ballard for his very useful comments when I was first drafting this chapter, and apologies for the gross oversimplification of Kongo cosmology. (Giving it due attention would have required a book of its own, never mind a paragraph!)

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According to Kongo legend, Nsambi created the heavens, the earth and the animals. Then, after creating man and woman, he taught them how to survive in his world and how to harness the magical power of his creation. By using those teachings they could break the blazing droughts and bring down the summer rain: they could heal sickness and ensure fertile crops. They could also communicate with the mpungas, deceased ancestors and nature spirits who assisted Nsambi in maintaining his creation. Today Nzambi is still honored in Cuba by practitioners of Las Reglas de Congo (also known as Palo Mayombe), who say “Nsambi primero” or “Nsambi is first.”

Kongo cosmology envisioned the cosmos as two worlds – nza yayi (this world) and the nsi a bafwa (the land of spirits). Between these two worlds lay the kalunga, a vast ocean which also served as threshold between the living and the dead. Because snakes were frequently seen climbing trees, burrowing beneath the ground and resting in or near rivers or bodies of water, they were considered travelers between the realms. Since Kongo religious practices were concerned largely with commerce between the various worlds, it is not surprising that snakes play a major role in Kongo religions.

In Haiti Vodouisants honor the Simbi family of lwa. Like the basimbi, snake spirits living in the rivers and streams of southern Africa, they were known to be shy but powerful magicians. Those who approach them with due patience and respect and gain their trust find they are powerful allies who can act as intermediaries between the worlds of flesh and spirit and life and death. Milo Rigaud said of them:

The voodoo Mercury has the name of Simbi, a loa of many forms. He is the conductor of souls, who leads the souls of the dead in all directions bordered by the four magical orients of the cross. He is the Messiah of Legba, the messenger of the sun. Simbi corresponds to the hermetic Mercury of the cabalistic alchemy of the ritual sacrifice.

The lwa Simbi Makaya is one of the great sorcerers of Haitian Vodou. As patron of the secret Sanpwel society, he teaches his chosen followers powerful wangas that can be used for healing or destruction. Those who are not members regularly accuse the Sanpwel of human sacrifice, corpse desecration, and all sorts of related misdeeds. Within New Orleans Li Grand Zombi had a similarly mixed reputation. Believers and practitioners considered the great serpent a benevolent protector and wise teacher. Those who were not so affiliated generally associated Grand Zombi with orgies and devil worship. As with Simbi Makaya, one’s attitude toward Grand Zombi marked your status within the group.

In New Orleans the snake served simultaneously to advertise to one’s clientele and to set them apart as outsiders. This is similar to Simbi’s liminal position in Haiti. As a traveler between worlds, Simbi is tough to pin down. One of the most popular Simbis, Simbi Andezo, literally resides “in two waters” (an de zo), occupying the space where fresh water meets the salty ocean. Li Grand Zombi is similarly placed between public Voodoo rituals for tourists and private devotions, between religion and entertainment, between African root and American money-making spectacles. In this, he is a fitting patron for the city of New Orleans and its religion.

The best way to honor Li Grand Zombi is with a live snake. This is not a commitment to be undertaken lightly. Taking responsibility for a pet is no small matter, especially when that pet is also a spirit animal! While snakes are relatively low-maintenance companions, they have
certain needs which must be met. If not provided with appropriate temperatures and humidity, they are likely to become ill and die. A suitably large cage must be procured, along with a supply of the proper food.

A snake which is going to be handled in public ritual also needs to have a suitably tractable disposition – and when stressed even the most docile snake may respond by biting, musking or defecating on the nearest available target. That large python you are dancing with may be less impressive when you are soaked with runny snake dung or nursing a bloody open wound. The care of your personal Grand Zombi is beyond the scope of this book: as with any other pet, do your research before making your purchase and make sure you are able to live up to your commitment.

Should you be unable to do so at this time, there is no shame in admitting this. Snake sheds can also be used as offerings for Grand Zombi, as well as snake statues or imagery. I do not recommend using snakeskins, since they are harvested by killing the animals. (You want to honor the great serpent, not present him with the corpse of one of his siblings!) These can be placed on an altar along with offerings of eggs, candles or, if you are rhythmically talented, drumming. All these will show your devotion and help you to establish a link with Li Grand Zombi.

From The New Orleans Voodoo Handbook: Yon Sue

Yon Sue, mighty warrior and king, hear my plea. Always you have been the champion of your people: you raise up the weak and bring low the mighty. King Agassou, panther who stalks in the night, strike down those who would do evil against me. As you led your people to their promised land, guide me through the darkness and protect me from the schemes of those who would hold me back.

Since the days of Marie Laveau, many in New Orleans have petitioned St. Anthony of Padua by another name. When addressed as “Yon Sue,” the benevolent old monk could become a powerful guardian. Indeed, some said that he was the special protector of those who followed the old African traditions. A few of his wealthy Creole followers claimed he was actually a mighty king: they wore red neckerchiefs in honor of their royal patron, whom they addressed as “Monsieur Agassou.”

A bit of research will soon verify M. Agassou’s regal bona fides. According to an African legend, a young princess named Aligbonon of Tado met a leopard in the jungle and fell in love with it: their union produced a son named Agassou. When the king of Tado died, Agassou tried to ascend the throne. Alas, his claim was denied: while his mother’s royal lineage was not in question, no one could determine whether his feline father was of the right social set.

Undeterred, Agassou and his followers left the kingdom and moved into the Abomey plateau (in modern-day Benin). There he proved his leadership credentials by setting up and ruling a small colony. The chief of one small nearby village, Da, complained that these new migrants were taking up so much room that they would soon be building a palace on his belly. Agassou responded by taking up arms against Da’s village. After killing him, they threw him into a pit and proceeded to place their new palace atop his body: its name, “Dahomey,” can be translated as “On the Belly of Da.” To honor his divine ancestor, the new king chose the leopard as the heraldic symbol of his dynasty.

While skeptics may question tales of Agassou’s divine parentage, none can dispute the success of his kingdom. Dahomey became famous for the discipline of its armies, including thousands of female soldiers who were known to European observers as the “Amazons of Dahomey.” This military might allowed them to expand throughout the Abomey plateau and on toward the coast. In 1645 King Houegbadja declared that each Dahomean king should leave his successor more land than he inherited. His successors took his suggestion to heart: by 1724 Dahomey had conquered the important port of Allada and become an important slave-trading kingdom.

The slave trade brought great wealth to Dahomey’s monarchy, and to the artisans and weavers who worked to decorate its palaces and temples. But although Dahomey was flush with gold, it lacked in basic human freedoms. Each citizen of Dahomey owed absolute allegiance to the king, who was honored as Dada (father of the whole community), Dokounnon (holder and distributor of wealth), Sèmèdo (master of the world) and Aïnon (master of the earth), among other titles. The slightest disobedience could be punished by death: a court official who fell into royal disfavor, or a relative who might pose a challenge to the throne, could be sold into slavery.

But even in the New World those slaves who carried Agassou’s blood continued to pay tribute to their half-divine ancestor. In New Orleans Yon Sue was known as the guardian of the old ways, the one who kept trouble away from the Voodoo queens and ensured they could continue their devotions to the African spirits. When the chips were down and legal or social pressures threatened the community, Yon Sue would make sure that his people survived to perform the traditional rituals. Police, crusading evangelists and muckraking journalists regularly launched crusades against Voodoo and its believers: Yon Sue saw to it that all their efforts came to naught.

To serve Yon Sue, you can get a small statue of St. Anthony of Padua or a leopard or spotted panther figurine. Tie a red ribbon about the statue: as you do, welcome Yon Sue into his new home and offer him your respects. You can serve him with red candles, rare steak and high-proof alcohol. Yon Sue is not one to be petitioned lightly: you don’t trouble the king for trivial matters. But if you approach him with the appropriate reverence and respect he will help you to triumph and prosper in the face of adversity.

If you are being harassed for your interest in Voodoo, you can ask Yon Sue for his aid – but make sure you are prepared for his response! Your tormentors may very well wind up dead or horribly injured. As a Dahomean king, Yon Sue has little patience for blasphemy and disrespect: he also knows the value of fear in maintaining order and discouraging wrongdoers. You may do better to call on him for advice in leading your group, or ask him to bless your rituals so that the spirits look upon them with favor.

New Orleans Voodoo: the Haitian Influence

It's one of the great Creation Myths of New Orleans Voodoo: plantation owners fleeing the Haitian Revolution brought their slaves to the Louisiana Territory, thereby establishing Vodou in and around New Orleans. Like most myths, it has attracted a number of skeptics who point out that there is no evidence of a survival of Haitian customs in the New World before the Duvalier-era diaspora.

It's true that we don't see assons, dwapo lwa, or some of the other items we've come to associate with Haitian Vodou in traditional New Orleans practices. (They are part of the "New Wave" of NO Voodoo, which began in the 1970s and persists to this day). However, that's not necessarily evidence against an NO/Haiti connection. What we call "Haitian Vodou" or "Orthodox Vodou" became popular during the early part of the 20th century, as growing urbanization drew many Haitian farmers off their land and away from their ancestral and village practices.

More damning are the numerous laws against importing slaves from the French Antilles into North America. At this time the slaveholding states were in terrified that the Saint-Domingue revolution would spread throughout the Americas. As early as 1782 there were laws against bringing in slaves from the French Antilles: they had a reputation for being surly and seditious. (Given the conditions on Saint-Domingue and other sugar-producing colonies, who could blame them?!) By 1791 there were searches at most ports to ensure that no one imported Saint-Domingue slaves -- and the Saint-Domingue uprising.

There may have been a few Domingan slaves brought to New Orleans, since it was pretty well-known even then as a smuggling hub. But they were few and far between: as in the rest of the United States, the majority of slaves were from the Kongo regions of central and southern Africa. Kongo practices form the major African influence on both Hoodoo and New Orleans Voodoo. The veneration of the dead, mojo hands, and homage to "La Grande Zombi" (the great Nsambi, or spirit) among others, can all be traced to the Kongo. And of course we have the clearing in the Tremé neighborhood where slaves and free blacks would gather on Sundays to sell their wares and dance, the famous "Congo Square."

But if the Domingans did not bring Haitian Vodou with them, they helped create the conditions in which New Orleans Voodoo was born. They provided a French-speaking and Catholic bulwark against the flood of Anglophone Protestants. This helped to ensure that many folk practices in the city would have a Catholic flavor, as opposed to the Protestant-inspired Hoodoo found in most of the south. They also brought with them a three-caste system of whites, blacks, and mixed-race "people of color." Many Domingan refugees were wealthy, educated gens du coleur who helped establish New Orleans Creole culture: others were free blacks who established themselves as tradesmen and skilled artisans. And they brought with them a culture where interaction between the races was far more common than in the more rigidly segregated Anglophone regions.

All this was instrumental in forming the culture which gave us the folk customs of New Orleans. So while there may not be a direct lineage between the mamalois and papalois of the bayou and the practitioners in Port-au-Prince, there's no question that New Orleans culture owes an immense debt to the Haitian Revolution.

The Men Who Made New Orleans: John Law

I've recently begun research on The New Orleans Voodoo Handbook, a guide to the magic of New Orleans. So far I'm only up to the early 18th century, and already I'm finding plenty of entertaining rogues and rapscallions. My favorite so far is John Law, the Scotsman who was responsible for bankrupting thousands of Frenchmen and selling swampland in a way that would put Florida realtors to shame.

Law was a drunkard, a carouser, a rake, and an inveterate gambler: he was also a mathematical genius. After being run out of Britain for his part in a duel over the affections of a young lady, he made his way to the Netherlands and ultimately to France. There he proposed a radical idea. In exchange for the charter to the Louisiana (a stretch of land which encompassed the Mississippi Valley), a "Mississippi Company" would take over the French Crown's debt. To finance this, Law proposed selling shares in the company to the French public, in exchange for dividends on the Mississippi Company's profits.

At first Law's scheme was wildly successful. He preached of the fortunes to be made in Louisiana's gold mines and fertile land. Speculators across France invested their life savings in the Mississippi Company hoping to become wealthy.

Unfortunately there was no gold to be found in Louisiana -- and while was certainly plenty of fertile land, there was a serious labor shortage. Efforts to attract farmers to the colony were undone by (accurate) reports of the heat, humidity, mosquitoes and disease. To counter this, the Company tried settling "volunteers" from jails and debtors prisons, along with convicted "ladies of ill repute." Alas, this only served to saddle New Orleans with a reputation for lawlessness and prostitution which persists to this day.

By 1720, when the promised dividends had failed to materialize, the "Mississippi Bubble" burst. Thousands of Frenchmen were ruined and the French currency was destabilized: a cry arose for Mr. Law's head on a post. Dismissed from his post, Law returned to London (having previously secured a pardon for his conviction) after his gambling efforts in Rome, Venice and Copenhagen failed to restore his lost wealth. In 1729 he died a pauper in Venice: despite his genius, he had somehow failed to invent the "Golden Parachute."