Death sleeps in New Orleans, tucked in with a jazz funeral lullaby. It seems only appropriate to talk about the town's tethering to the spirit world before examining its modern soul and rebuilding following Katrina.
Marie Laveau's remains lay within a plaster tomb in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1. Her grave
is one of the most visited in the United States.
She is New Orleans' voodoo queen. With her name comes the tales of cures she brought sickness and hexes she made to enemies. In Martha Ward's biography of her "Voodoo Queen: The Spirited Lives of Marie Laveau," she is portrayed as that eclectic mix of good and evil, multi-cultural heritage and religious hybrid of which the town is known. Laveau was a Creole who lived in the early to mid 1800s. Her ancestry ranged from French to American Indian to African American.
To me, she was one of our country's first feminists. She, a woman of color, married a pedigreed husband from French lineage. She kept her name, even named her daughter Marie #2.
She carved her own spiritual path, mixing Catechism with African spiritual traditions that resulted in her version of voodoo. She led upper crust women into Congo Square, where they writhed and twisted "like snakes," according to historical references. But she was so mythical it is hard to distinguish her good deeds in helping with cholera epidemics to the vengeful deeds she passed along to clients who had an axe to grind.
Tourists leave Mardi Gras beads at Laveau's tomb. A few have carved "XXX" symbolizing favors they are asking the queen. Her decomposed body lies among the stone, plaster and marble tombs, among other prominent families from Old New Orleans. Today's voodoo priestesses and curious travelers keep her memory alive.
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