Los Angeles herald., 1891-03-21
FOR ISOBEI..

WIN dlScover1eS made when the old Bau-
deret house, on Bourbon street, NewsOr-
leans, was torn down, was told the
story of Augustin Verot.
1t was in the year 1889 that this young
man, rich, gifted and handsome, came
to New Orleans to spend winter with
Charles Marot Bauderet, whose acqrnaint-
ance he had formed in Paris. Thettwo
men were OF the same age, and their
tastes were similar. Verot had been
captivated by Bauderet's wit, learning
and subtitle personal charm. In turn,
Bauderet's imagination was touched into
singular activity and his sympathies
borne away by Verot's magnetic genius.
1t is rare indeed that two young men,
poets both, find such an overmastering
mutual interest flowing between them.
Their friendship became at once "a pas
sion.
When Bauderet left Paris after a
years sojourn there he exacted a prom
ise from his new friend that he should
come to New Orleans and spend some
months with him. Thus it came about
that early in the autumn of 1889 Verot
arrived, after q pleasant voyage, and
took up his abode in the Bauderet man
sion on Bourbon street.
Charles Marot Bauderet, as some of
my readers will remember, was a bach
elor orphan, occupying the large, silent
old house all alone, save that he was
surrounded with many faithful slaves.
The house was a low, far spreading,
gloomy brick structure, whose immense
ly thick walls and small windows gave
it jail like appearance. Vines clam
bered over it from base to roof, and it
was embowered in dusky trees. Sur
rounding it was high brick wall topped
with picketing of iron. The gates
were massive, and closed with huge
spring locks that could be opened only
from within. They were attended by
statuesque keepers as black as night.
Bauderet was descended from fam
lily of buccaneers. His wealth was the
result of ancestral piracy, murder and
rapine. In the young mans blood burned
the taint of unbridled passion, and in
his brain lawless imagination held
high carousal. His poems were, like
those of Poe, Baudelaire and Villon,
suffused with something that suggested
madness, but the young man showed no
sign of an unsound mind. On the con-
trary, he was brilliantly, fascinatingly
sane and logical in his conversation. He
went little into society and entertained
scarcely at all, in the general meaning
Of the word. A few friends, rarely
more than one at time, were admitted
through his protentous looking gates
and into his luxurious twilight parlors
and dusk dim library. He was a con.
noisseur of wines, cigars and old books;
he smoked almost necessarily, rarely
drank to excess, read medieval poetry
and in his conversation was much given
to advancing preposterously romantic
theories touching almost all the relations
of life.
When Veo,t arrived Bauderet met him
at the wharf with every outward show
of irrepressible delight; but the young
Parisian at once felt that some great
change had taken place in his friend.
At first he was inclined to fear that
Bauderet was not sincere in his express
sions of affectionate joy over his arrival;
but soon enough the mystery was ade-
quately explained. Bauderet was in
love. His whole nature was absorbed
in the new passion.
Mile. Des Champs was the daughter of
a retired planter, whose home was but a
few steps from Bauderets gate. Recently
the poet had met her. To meet her was
to love her, and now he could find room
for no other thought. Isobel Des
Champs was the subject of his most
eloquent conversation, his strangely me-
lodious poetry, his curiously brilliant
sketches in water colors.
Verot found Bauderet's house very
palace of enchantment; SO vague and yet
so effective were the impressions made
by its rich tapestry, its massive mahoga-
ny furniture, its dim vistas of books and
pictures and its solemn silence. The
young patrician Frenchman had been
accustomed to old houses, but here, in
this city of the New World, his creole
friend had given him the freedom of one
that seemed filed with an antiquity far
greater than the Roman buildings of
France could boast of--even the most
ruined in old Provence.
Bauderet was anxious to have Verot
see Isobel Des Champs, and, Of course,
the young visitor, especially AFTER Baude-
ret's eloquent description, felt quite will
ing to meet the beautiful girl. Nor was
he in the least disappointed when he saw
her; indeed, her loveliness SO far sur
passed expectation, so dwarfed all former
visions Of maidenly attractiveness, that
Verot was struck to the heart by her first
glance.
If Isobel captivated Verot it was not a
loss of love at first sight, for the hand
some Partisan did not fail to impress her
imagination in turn. From the moment
of their first meeting they were ardent
lovers, as everybody could plainly see,
save only Bauderet. So lost in the in
fatuation of absolute devotion was he
that he could see nothing but Isobels
dazzling beauty, could hear nothing but
the rich, low music Of her creole voice.
Soon enough Verot was in the seventh
heaven Of successful courtship- mot
oourtship> hut love telling and love liz
ren1ng-while poor Bauderet went right
ON in hlissful enjoyment of his imagi-
nary lordShip Of Isobel's heart.
The autumn sped; the winter went
like dream, and out flashed the orange