Magic of the Dark Moonlight
by Layla
Article 2 – The Quadroon Ladies of Placage
As I walk around the French Quarter on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, I wonder who walked these streets before me? Did they enjoy the city and believe it to be a romantic place? Every city has its angels and demons. Did they have the same ones we do? As this thought consumes me, the sun has seemed to have disappeared as the clouds and fog come in from the Mississippi River. The day takes a very hazy turn. As I continue my walk, I wait for the down poor that’s coming. But it never does. Instead, the fog gets so thick I can’t see the unrelenting cracks in the sidewalk that no ankles should have to endure.
Eventually the fog and clouds lift, and it seems I’m walking on a dirt road. Where am I? And why does the French Quarter look different, yet the same? I see a beautiful young lady dressed in 1800s clothing. Then I realized I have stumbled into a movie filming in the Quarter.
I walk up to the actress and ask, “what are you filming today?”
She looks confused “Pardon? I don’t understand. I’m gathering my roses for my dinner table. Who are you? And why do you have strange clothes on?”
Now I’m confused. At this point a very aggravated older man walks towards her and grabs her arm, pulling her into the house, stating
“I don’t have a lot of time and I’m hungry!”
More confused, I turn around to look for the cameras dreading I had walked into a scene. But, no cameras, no lights, no crew and no film trucks. In fact, no cars anywhere and everyone is dressed in the 1800s style. I start to panic.
Just then I hear a voice behind me “come here, quick! You need to get out of site! Let me help you.”
You don’t need to tell me twice! I turn and there is another beautiful woman. She takes me inside her cute shotgun home.
I ask “where am I? Am I in New Orleans?”
She answers “yes, you are.”
I look around “what year is it? Who are you? What is going on?”
She is very patient with me “my name is Marie Louise. I was born here in 1797. The Year is 1815.”
I have no thoughts at this point. She continues “I know the magic of the city and her need for her legends and history to live on. Our worlds have come together for that reason.”
This experience seems very familiar to me. So, I decide to listen to my inner voice and learn this woman’s history.
She explains “you are in the neighborhood where many placees live. This is a placage neighborhood.”
Intrigued I ask “what is that? Tell me more.”
“Our story is not well known. It’s part of a romantic legend and part of a harsh history where the reality is very blurred. It’s hard to know where to start when talking about emotions. I’ll start with my story, after all, I am living history. Placage is a practice of a recognized extralegal system in which white French and Spanish men enter the equivalent of a common law ‘marriage,’ which is an arrangement, with a quadroon woman so that she could maintain a well-to-do lifestyle. A quadroon woman is considered a quarter African and the most beautiful women in the city. Like me. Most of the time quadroon women are free women of color, however some of them are enslaved women. I am a free woman of color. My family began with my great grandmother being brought here from Africa as an enslaved woman. She was allowed to save all her money from her ‘second’ job and buy her freedom. Which she did. Thus, she freed all her descendants. As a quadroon woman, and as a placee, the arrangement is not a legal marriage. I live here in the home of a white Frenchman. His name is Jacque St. Germaine. While I live here, he lives on his plantation with his wife and 3 children.” When he comes into the city for business, he stays 2-3 weeks in the city and lives here. With me.”
“What? I’m confused. Did you agree to enter this placage system?”
She continues “I really didn’t have a choice. I come from a home of 9 children. I am 18 and it was time for me to leave home. I had nowhere to go and no way to support myself. This is the case with most free women of color. Also, some placees are enslaved women the white man either purchased or inherited. The placage system gives all of us the security we need to live and hopefully, to become an established lady in the city. While we are not prostitutes the short explanation is ‘you visit your mistress, you live with your wife.’ We do have long term relationships with our white men. Sometimes it’s a lifetime with the white man living under the same roof in love. And some placees own their homes and have become entrepreneurs and ladies of the city. They will go to church and outings with their white man. I guess that is the romantic part of placage. But while it sounds like paradise, it is bittersweet. They will never be able to be married. It is illegal for a white man to marry a woman of color. And they will never leave their white wife. He is an established gentleman and man of honor if he is married to his wife. With all that said, it’s still the dream we all hope for.” She sighs. “For me, this is my home and when he visits this is our home. I have a nice man. But I know my place, and he will never love me. He loves his wife and family. He likes me and his home with me. This is an escape from family life, his business and his ‘real’ life. I know it sounds bad, but some placees have men that simply don’t care for them and treat them as their servants and prostitutes.”
This system just blows my mind. “Can you have children with your white man? What happens to them? Wait, how do you meet them and get involved in the first place?”
“Well, this is where the legend comes in. How we meet each other. Legend says we meet at Quadroon Balls. At these balls, the white men will walk around and then pick out a quadroon woman they like. The match is made. Then the mother of the girl and the white man would draw up a contract as to where her daughter will live, how she will be cared for and the conditions if they have children. Then the white man will get the quadroon.” Rolling her eyes she continues “this couldn’t be farther from the truth. The very few quadroon balls are a tourist attraction. They were parties marketed to sailors and visitors for a one-night stand. Where we really meet white men is at church, in the park or in businesses. We would talk to them and get to know them. Then the house would be purchased, and the contract and arrangement would be established and begin. Even though this arrangement is based on French culture, all white men take part in it. Like I said their house in the city and their mistress is a means to escape their real life. If we have children with our white man, he will take care of them just as he does with his children of his wife. The children will take the white man’s last name; they will go to school and have the best education. If they want to go to school in France or any part of Europe, he will take care of all expenses. Also, these children will be in the white man’s will. He will take care of them forever.”
“Ok, so what happens when the white man wants to end the relationship or dies?”
As she ends the story of her arrangement, she takes a deep breath and says “from what I know, if the white man no longer wants his placee then the terms of the contract are honored. The placee will get either the house or a cash settlement. The children, if any, will always be taken care of. If the white man dies during the placage then the mistress will get a third of the man’s property. His children are already heirs and in the white man’s will.”
“Wow! I did not know this. Thank you for sharing your story with me. I would be honored to keep your story alive and to make sure future generations know your history. “
She smiled with a small tear in the corner of her eye. “Thank you. I’m one of many and it will be all worth it if our story is told and remains alive in New Orleans.”
“It will be my honor.”
At this point we both knew it was time for me to leave. As we said good-bye she put something small in my hand.
“Don’t look until you get back” she said with a grin.
At this point our muse, New Orleans, knew both our hearts were full and the story of Placage and of the quadroon ladies would live in our city. As I left her the clouds and fog once again came into the city. I continued to walk somehow knowing I would be back in my French Quarter. And just like that I was. I opened my hand to find Marie Louise’s St. Christopher medal. The patron saint of travelers. Think I’m going to need this in the future.