Breijit Bardaux became a symbol of an entire era. Her face was on magazine covers. Her name was on the lips of French intellectuals and her image became literally the face of France itself, the model for Marianne, the official emblem of the French Republic in 1969. But there was another Bardau girl born four years after Breijit, raised in the same apartment, taught the same ballet steps, shaped by the same strict Catholic household on the Rud de la Pomp in Paris. She went into acting, too.
She walked onto the same sets. She watched everything her sister had become. And then quietly and deliberately she walked away from all of it and built something the cameras never captured. This is the untold story of Mijanu Bardau. The Bardau apartment and the two girls inside it. The building matters.
So does the neighborhood. The Bardaux family lived in a seven-bedroom apartment in the 16th Arandism of Paris. one of the city’s most prestigious neighborhoods. The kind of address that announced before you had said a word exactly what kind of family you came from. The 16th sat on the right bank tucked between the Bad Bulong and the Sen, full of wide treelined boulevards and the heavy stone buildings of the French bourgeoisi, professionals and industrialists and old money.
the kind of Paris that existed at a considerable remove from the cafes and the street life of the left bank and that prized order manners and the correct performance of one’s station above almost everything else. Louis Bardaux known inside the family by his affectionate nickname Pu was an engineer who managed family-owned factories and businesses.
He was also a poet and an amateur filmmaker which gave him a creative dimension that the word industrialist alone doesn’t capture. He had genuine intellectual curiosity about the world and a warmth that the family’s nickname culture reflected. A household that used pet names was a household where affection was present even if it was also strictly administered.
His wife, Anmarie, born Mukl and known to her children and husband as Toti, was a homemaker and a society woman who had been beautiful in her youth, and who retained both the beauty and a careful attention to how her household presented itself. She enrolled both daughters in ballet classes when they were very young at the conservatire dearie where Bri studied under the Russian choreographer Boris Kyazf from around the age of five.
This was not a casual extracurricular. It was a commitment to a specific kind of formation, physical discipline, aesthetic development, the cultivation of poise. It was also in the 16th Aondismo Milure simply what one did with daughters. Bridget was born in September 1934 and went by brie. Marie Jean arrived on May 5th 1938 and was given the nickname Mijanu.
A small warm endearment that stuck so thoroughly it eventually became the name she used professionally. Four years separated the sisters which is not much in the long view of a life but is considerable in the specific arithmetic of childhood. When Breijit was 10, Mijanu was six. When Breijit was 13 and beginning to move toward the modeling world, Mijanu was nine and still firmly in childhood.
The gap meant they inhabited different phases of life simultaneously. that Mijanu was always seeing from slightly behind what Breijit was doing in the slightly ahead position. The household rules were strict in the way of their era and class. Louie and Anmarie supervised their daughters friendships closely, controlling who they spent time with, how they dressed in public, where they could go, and when they had to return.
The girls lives were essentially managed from the apartment with a completeness that was in the France of the 1940s and 1950s considered responsible parenting rather than excessive control. When rules were broken, punishments were applied without particular hesitation. Brrigit later described in her autobiography Initiales BB an incident involving a broken Chinese vase that the two girls had accidentally shattered when they were seven and four.
The punishment that followed was by Bridget’s account severe and the episode stayed with her as a memory of how the household operated. Whether Mijanu, who was only four at the time, retained the same specific impression of that day is impossible to know. What both girls absorbed from growing up in that particular environment was a clear understanding that expectations were high, that performance mattered, and that the world they would eventually move into would judge them by specific standards.
The girls attended their lessons, did their schoolwork, practiced their ballet. They spent summers between the Paris apartment and the family’s country retreats. The maternal grandfather was nicknamed Leoom, the little ecosystem of family names, suggesting a household that, for all its strictness, contained genuine warmth and playfulness within its walls.
It was a contained world, comfortable, ordered, and in its own way quite beautiful. And into that contained world, when Mijanu was still a teenager, the outside came in explosively through her older sister. The explosion of Breijgit. Roger Vadim was the catalyst. He was a young aspiring director and screenwriter who encountered Breijit Bardaux, then a 15-year-old modeling for the cover of L magazine, and pursued her with a persistence that the Bardau parents found deeply unwelcome.
Louis and Anmarie had very specific ideas about who their eldest daughter should marry and when, and a rakish 20-year-old filmmaker was nowhere in the picture they had imagined. They tried to discourage the relationship. They refused permission for Breijgit to be out late. They imposed conditions and issued refusals.
Louie particularly was resistant, seeing in Vadim someone who was pursuing his daughter for reasons that had more to do with her beauty and her name than with her best interests. Breijgit and Vadim married anyway on December 21st, 1952, when Breijit was 18. She had cleared the legal age and could not be prevented.
Her parents faced with the fa accomply of the marriage eventually accepted it. But the break from the household’s controlled world was real and complete. The apartment on the Ruda La Pump had contained Breijit Bardaux as long as it was physically and legally able to. Once she was outside it, she was outside it in every sense.
For Mijanu, who was 14 when her sister married Vadim, this transformation of the household and its atmosphere must have registered powerfully. She was now the only daughter left at home in a household that had been organized around controlling, too. The particular dynamics of being the only child remaining with a famous sister somewhere else living the life that had just scandalized the family were ones that only she experienced.
Bridget’s early career moved through small film roles from 1952 onward. Then in 1956, Roger Vadim directed Edure Crealam and God created Woman and released it in Sanrope, a modest fishing village on the French Riviera that the film essentially transformed into an international destination overnight. The film’s provocative sexuality and Breijit’s presence in it made her an international phenomenon with startling speed. She was 22 years old.
She was on the front pages of newspapers in the United States, Britain, Germany, and across Europe. She was something the world had not quite assembled in this specific form before. A French woman who was sexual and beautiful and unapologetic about both, who represented something new rather than something traditional, something that could not be entirely managed or contained.
The American response was particularly intense. The film was initially banned or heavily restricted in several American states and was the subject of significant controversy. This controversy did nothing except make more people want to see it, and more people did. Bardau’s face was everywhere. Her figure was everywhere.
The phrase sex kitten entered popular vocabulary largely because of what she had made visible in that film. Simone devoir wrote a famous essay about her in 1959. Brrigit Bardaux and the Lolita syndrome published first in Esquire that examined what Bardau represented with genuine philosophical seriousness. Dovvoir described her as a woman who existed differently in the social world than most women of her era as both a subject and an object simultaneously pursuing her desires as actively as any man while being desired by the entire
world in return. The essay was the kind of intellectual attention that transformed a film star into a cultural figure and a cultural figure into a permanent symbol. Mijanu was 18 when and God created woman came out. She was watching all of this happen to her sister from Los Angeles and she was making her own first moves toward the same world, tentative, careful, and with a self-awareness that would define how they went.
Mijanu steps forward. Mihanu Bardaux made her screen debut in 1956, the same year that and God created woman made her sister world famous. The film was club de farms known in English as women’s club directed by Ralph Habib and featuring Jean Louie Trantin who would go on to become one of the most celebrated French actors of his generation.
The timing of these two events, the younger sister’s first screen role arriving simultaneously with the older sister’s global breakthrough, carried its own particular weight, though the world had very little attention left over from Breijit to direct elsewhere. She was 18 years old. Her photo appeared on the cover of L magazine in November 1956.
the same publication whose cover had launched her sister’s modeling career years earlier. A detail that underlines the specific ways in which Mijanu’s early career ran along parallel tracks to Breijits. But parallel tracks by definition do not meet. Mijanu was not going to become the same kind of phenomenon her sister had become.
The question was whether she wanted to and whether she was built for the particular form of exposure that Breijit had chosen. The answer to both questions was gradually and honestly no. She told Su magazine in 2009 that she had always been shy in front of cameras and that she had decided quite quickly to stop film making because she felt bad on set.
specifically because she felt as though she hadn’t done anything with her days when she had spent them performing for a camera. It was not the usual language of someone explaining a career retreat. It was the language of someone describing a genuine incompatibility between who she was and what the work required.
She felt she said that she was wasting herself in a particular way that the work of acting didn’t resolve. She added in a book by Dominique Shaolong that she had briefly believed everyone felt the same way about being on set, that the discomfort was universal, and she was simply enduring what everyone endured.
When she realized that others didn’t experience it the way she did, that some people genuinely thrived in front of a camera rather than merely tolerating it, she stopped. not because she had failed, but because the information told her something true about herself that she was willing to act on. This is a rare and admirable form of self-nowledge, especially in a young woman of the late 1950s and early 1960s in a world that was telling her loudly through every channel available that what she should want was what her sister had. The career continued for a few more
years despite the growing sense that it wasn’t her natural home. She appeared in Unbal Donano in 1958, a comedy directed by Michelle Deil and Charl Gerard. In 1959, she had the lead role in Ramuncho directed by Pierre Shonorfa, a serious film adapted from Pierre Lott’s novel set in the Basque country that required something more sustained of her than lighter material.
During the production, she was asked to perform a nude bathing scene. She declined plainly and without apology, saying she did not expose herself, and suggesting with a dry practicality that must have been slightly startling that the director could perhaps ask her sister instead. Mijanu’s boundary remained intact.
The scene went to someone else. the willingness to let her sister’s name be offered as a practical alternative, not as self-deprecation, not as resentment, but simply as a factual observation about two different women with two different approaches to the same kind of request says something precise about how Mijanu understood herself in relation to Breijit.
She was not in competition. She was not diminished by the comparison. She was simply different and she knew it and she said so plainly. In 1960 she appeared in Sex Kittens Go to College, an American comedy alongside my van Doran and Tuesday Weld which took her to Hollywood and the orbit of American commercial filmm.
The experience exposed her to a world even more organized around a specific kind of female display than the French industry had been, and it appears to have confirmed rather than changed her trajectory. She remained in the film world for a few more years, appearing in Laurs in 1967, the Eric Roma film that brought her together with Patrick Balo and in two further productions after that.
And then by around 1970 she was done. She had made roughly nine films across approximately 12 years. She had had a cover of L. She had appeared in a Hollywood production and a new wave masterwork and a handful of films in between. And she had decided quietly and without drama that this was enough. The film that changed everything.
In 1967, Mijanu Bardaux appeared in La Collection, a French film directed by Eric Roma as part of his six moral tales series, one of the foundational works of the French new wave cinema movement. The film was a genuine piece of serious cinema as opposed to the lighter commercial material she had appeared in before.
Thoughtful, character-driven, morally interesting in the specific way that Roma’s work consistently was. It followed a young woman spending a summer at a villa in the south of France, observed by two men who attempt to avoid being drawn into her sphere while inevitably being drawn in. Mijanu’s role was small but placed her in the company of filmmakers and actors doing work that the culture would continue to discuss for decades.
Roma’s method was the opposite of the Hollywood approach. Loose, observational, built on extended conversation and the subtle revelation of character through ordinary behavior. Actors who worked with him described a filmmaking environment that was more like documentation than performance in which naturalism was the goal and the camera was trying to catch something rather than construct it.
For someone who had always felt uncomfortable in front of cameras, the new wave approach might have been either more or less comfortable than the conventional kind. The question is whether the discomfort was about cameras as such or about the performance of something that wasn’t genuinely herself. On the set of La Collection, she met Patrick Bcho, though they had in fact already married 5 years earlier on July 26th, 1962.
The shoot brought them together professionally in a way that the personal connection had preceded which is its own kind of completeness. They co-starred in the film and came out of the production with both their marriage and their professional collaboration confirmed as real. Patrick Nicholas Jang 6day Gizlam Bao was a Belgian actor of remarkable breadth.
He had studied at Oxford University on an academic scholarship and was fluent in multiple languages, French, English, German, Spanish, Italian, and more. His father, Henry Balshau, was a Belgian lawyer, writer, and psychoanalyst who had served in the Belgian underground during World War II. a man of considerable intellectual distinction who would go on to become one of the major writers of the French language in the 20th century.
Patrick brought that inheritance into a life that combined serious acting with a cosmopolitan intellectual openness that was not entirely common in the film world of the 1960s. Mihanu appeared in two more films after La Collexion. the collector in 1967 and Despu del Duvio in 1968. And then by around 1970, she stopped entirely.
The exit was as quiet as everything else about how she had conducted her career. No final press conference, no announcement, just the simple fact of films made and then no more films. the Atlantic crossing. When Mijanu and Patrick Bao moved to the United States, specifically to Los Angeles, it was the final step in a departure that had been building for years.
Los Angeles in the late 1960s and 1970s was many things simultaneously. The film Capital of the World, a sprawling experiment in a new kind of life, a city without the accumulated weight of European history pressing down on every street corner. For someone who had grown up in the 16th Arandism of Paris, in the seven-bedroom apartment, in the shadow of one of the most famous women in France, Los Angeles represented a genuine kind of freedom.
The city didn’t know who Breijgit Bardaux’s family was in any personal intimate way. It had its own famous people to manage. Mijanu could be herself there. Not a Bardeaux, not the younger sister, not the girl who had appeared in a handful of French films before deciding that acting wasn’t for her, just a woman building a life with a husband she had chosen and a daughter she was raising.
Patrick Borcho’s background was remarkable in its own right, entirely independent of the Bardau connection. His father, Henry Borcho, was a Belgian lawyer, writer, and psychoanalyst of considerable distinction who had served in the Belgian underground during the Second World War and who later became one of the major writers of the French language in the 20th century.
Patrick had grown up in Belgium, Switzerland, and England, attended Oxford University on an academic scholarship, and spoke German, French, English, Spanish, Italian, and several other languages. He carried an intellectual openness and a cosmopolitan ease that were genuinely unusual, and that made him a distinctive presence in any film or television production he joined.
His career in the United States unfolded over decades with genuine range. He appeared in a view to a kill in 1985, the James Bond film starring Roger Moore and Christopher Walkan, in which he played Max Zorin’s associate, a small role that nonetheless placed him in one of the most commercially visible productions of that year.
He appeared in The Rapture in 1991, a quietly remarkable film directed by Michael Tolken, and in Panic Room in 2002, the Jodie Foster thriller directed by David Fincher. on television. He was a main cast member in The Pretender, the NBC series that ran from 1996 to 2000, a long run on a network show that established him in the American television landscape in a sustained way.
He appeared in Carnival, the HBO drama. He had memorable guest appearances in Columbbo and House MD. He was, in the quiet way of character actors who worked consistently across decades, a genuine presence in American culture, recognized by people who couldn’t always name him, but knew the face and trusted what it brought to a scene.
This was what the family Mijanu had built looked like from the outside. a Belgian actor with multilingual range working steadily in Hollywood and a French woman who had walked away from a film career to start a furniture company. Espat Loia, founded in 1979, specialized in loft beds, space-saving sleeping solutions designed to transform single room apartments or small urban spaces into more livable and stylish environments by lifting the sleeping area off the floor and freeing the space beneath for other uses.
The concept was ahead of the trend. Urban density, rising real estate prices, and the pressure to make small spaces functional were going to become defining features of how a certain generation of Americans and Europeans lived. Mihanu had identified something real before the market had fully articulated the need.
The business grew through the 1980s, developing a range of products and finding an audience among exactly the urban dwellers for whom the problem was real and pressing. It was by any honest measure a genuine commercial success built from a genuine idea sustained by actual skill and sold in 1992 to Philipe Malignak in the kind of clean transaction that well-run businesses make possible.
This was the life that the cameras never saw. Not glamorous by the standard the Bardau name implied. not a retreat from greatness because Mijanu had never claimed greatness in the public sense was what she was pursuing. It was a life that she had chosen on its own terms, stable, creative, anchored by a marriage that lasted, marked by a business she built and ran successfully and oriented by the values she had always had.
Privacy, integrity, and the refusal to perform a version of herself that wasn’t genuine. the sister bond and the animal thread. The relationship between Breijit and Mijanu in their adult years was one defined by genuine affection and genuine distance. The two things coexisting without apparent contradiction, which is perhaps the honest portrait of what many sibling relationships actually look like across a lifetime.
They had not seen each other in person for more than 20 years, according to French reporting from the period before Breijit’s death. The physical distance between Los Angeles and Sanrope was part of it. The different trajectories their lives had taken was part of it. Bridget’s world, especially in her later decades, had contracted into the specific and allconsuming campaign of her animal rights foundation.
She was living and breathing that work at a level that left very little room for other presences, even beloved ones. She was famously difficult to reach in her final years, preferring animals to people with a frankness that was part of her late life identity, but the bond had not broken. Mijanu told interviewers in the years before Breijit’s death that they spoke regularly despite the distance, that there was a connection between them, that the years and the kilometers did not dissolve.
The sisterhood was a fact that existed underneath and beyond the practical details of how often they saw each other or talked. What connected them most visibly across all the differences in their lives was animals. Brrigit’s transformation from screen icon to animal rights activist was one of the most complete public reinventions in 20th century French life.
She had announced her retirement from acting in 1973 at the age of 39 at the height of her remaining commercial viability and had devoted herself immediately and entirely to the cause of animal protection. She had been in the preceding years beginning to feel what she described as a profound disillusionment with the film world and with the social world it inhabited.
A sense that the life she had been living for 20 years was not the life that was true for her. The animals, she said later, were the first thing that felt completely right. She founded the Bridget Bardau Foundation for the welfare and protection of animals in 1986. She sold her jewelry, her possessions, her momentos of the film career to raise money for animals.
She fought fur industries, puppy mills, the culling of seals, the export of horses for slaughter. She filed lawsuits. She lobbied governments. She was relentless in the way of someone who had transferred the full force of an extraordinary personality from one arena to another and intended to use all of it.
Peter’s founder, Ingred Newkerk, in a tribute after Bridget’s death, described her as having rescued tens of thousands of animals, fighting for them at every level, and said that animals were safer because she had existed. Breit had also in her later years become politically controversial in ways that complicated her legacy. Her comments about certain immigrant communities, particularly in connection with animal welfare practices she found cruel, generated multiple legal convictions in France for inciting racial hatred.
These episodes were genuinely difficult. A woman who had spent decades doing extraordinary work for animals and whose opinions about people had at moments been indefensible. The French public’s view of Bridget in her final decades was divided and occasionally heated in ways that must have been difficult for Mijanu to watch from Los Angeles.
Mijanu didn’t give press conferences about her sister’s controversies. She didn’t distance herself publicly. She stayed in contact through the decades and she stayed privately. In Los Angeles, Mihanu was living her own version of the animals commitment, more quietly, less publicly, but no less genuinely. She was surrounded by dogs.
She spoke about animals with the same warmth and concern that characterized Bridget’s public advocacy. The love of animals was the deepest common thread in two lives that had traveled very different roads, and it held. When Breijit died on December 28th, 2025 at her home in Sanrope at the age of 91, on a day that came just 3 days after Christmas, as if she had waited to see the holiday through before letting go, Mihanu posted a tribute on Facebook from Los Angeles.
She called her sister my breit, a possessive that was tender rather than proprietary, the language of someone speaking not about a public figure, but about a person who belonged first and most fundamentally to the small number of people who had known her before any of the fame had arrived. She posted a photograph of Breijit as a child.
She wrote words that were described by those who read them as simple and strong and full of grief and love that had never diminished across the decades. She prayed, she wrote that Breijit would not feel alone wherever she had gone. The prayer of a little sister for a big one sent across whatever distance now separated them.
The French president Emmanuel Macron wrote a tribute that said Breijit had embodied a life of freedom. He meant it as a public statement about a cultural icon. But in Mijanu’s words on Facebook addressed to her personally using the private name my Brigit there was something that the official tributes couldn’t reach. The person underneath the icon, the girl who had gone by Bri Bree in the apartment on the Rud de la Pomp, the sister who had been there first.
What Mijanu built in the quiet. The life that Mijanu Bardau built in the decades after she walked away from acting deserves to be looked at directly rather than as a footnote to her sister’s story. She has been married to Patrick Borau since July 26th, 1962, more than 60 years as of the time of writing. This is in the landscape of two lives that began in postwar Paris and moved through the film world of the 1960s and eventually arrived in Los Angeles.
A remarkable fact. They met on a film set, specifically on the set of La Collection in 1967, where they co-starred in Eric Roma’s Spare and Beautiful film. They built a family, raised a daughter named Camille, and stayed. The word stayed is doing real work there in a world, the film world, the European cultural world, the Los Angeles social world, where staying was often the harder, less dramatic, less discussed choice.
Their daughter Camille grew up in Los Angeles with a Belgian actor father and a French former actress mother in a household where the film industry was a familiar backdrop rather than a consuming ambition. She grew up knowing that her mother was the younger sister of Bridget Bardaux and presumably grew up understanding what that knowledge came loaded with.
Both the inheritance of a famous name and the deliberate choice her mother had made not to live inside it. Patrick Bcho’s career in American film and television gave the family stability of a different kind than the Bardau name might have suggested. It was earned stability role by role, production by production, built on his own talent and his multilingual range rather than anyone else’s inheritance.
His appearance in A View to a Kill as Max Zorin’s associate, his years on The Pretender, his work in Carnival, his guest appearances in Columbbo and House MD. These were the things his daughter Camille grew up watching her father do. And they were things he had built himself in a language that wasn’t his first, in a country that wasn’t his by birth, starting from nothing except genuine ability.
Mishanu’s Espas Loia, founded in 1979 and sold in 1992, was a genuine commercial enterprise, not a vanity project, not a celebrity endorsement, but a company that made a specific and useful product and found a real market for it. The loft bed concept it developed was ahead of its time in certain ways, anticipating the urban space optimization businesses that would become common in the following decades as real estate prices climbed and apartments shrank.
The decision to sell it in 1992 rather than hold on indefinitely suggests someone who understood the natural arc of a business venture and knew when the right moment to exit had arrived. the kind of judgment that has nothing to do with fame and everything to do with practical wisdom. She also wrote, “She is described as a writer as well as a former actress and businesswoman, though the specific details of her writing work are not widely documented in English language sources.
The combination of actress, businesswoman, and writer across a single life reflects someone for whom intellectual and creative activity was a continuous thread rather than something tied to any single professional phase. She is 87 years old in 2025. She lives in Los Angeles, surrounded by her dogs in the city she chose over the one she was born in.
She is the last surviving member of the Bardaux family in the direct line. Her parents gone, her sister gone, the Paris apartment of her childhood long since inhabited by other people’s lives. The 16th Arandism continues to be what it always was. Wide boulevards, heavy stone buildings, the particular hush of old money.
The girl who grew up there is in California with her dogs. and the world that formed her is now mostly history. The woman the camera didn’t catch. There is a specific kind of life that gets very little attention in any culture organized around celebrity. The life lived alongside someone famous in the same household or bloodline that doesn’t pivot into performance or spectacle or the machinery of public consumption.
These lives are no less complex than the famous ones. They are simply quieter, and quieter tends to be invisible. Mihanu Bardau knew from a very young age what it looked like to inhabit a famous life. She watched it happen to her sister in real time, from a 4-year distance, from within the same apartment and the same family.
She saw what the camera required of Breijit, the giving over of privacy, the management of an image, the specific diminishment that comes when who you are in the world’s eyes is fixed and exaggerated and eventually hardened into myth. She saw the four marriages that didn’t last. Roger Vadim, Jacqu Sharier, Ga Saxs, and finally Bernna Dormal, the last of whom stayed until the end.
She saw the ways that the world’s appetite for Breijit consumed things that Breit might have wanted to keep. The youth, the privacy, the simple ordinary life that the 16th Aaron Dismo had prepared both sisters for, and that only one of them ended up with. and Mijanu made a different choice. The choice was not made in a single dramatic moment.
It was made gradually across the years of a modest film career through the accumulating evidence of her own discomfort on set and her own sense that there was something more genuine available to her elsewhere. She had been shy in front of cameras. She had felt, she said, that she hadn’t done anything with her days when she spent them acting.
When she realized that others didn’t feel this way, that some people thrived on what she found hollow, she stopped. Not with a press conference, not with a withdrawal announcement, just stopped and turned toward the life that was actually hers to build. It was made by a shy woman who knew what she was and what she wasn’t and who had enough self-possession at a young age to act on that knowledge rather than force herself into a shape the world was offering because the world had always offered it to Bardau women. Breijit
Bardaux became one of the defining images of the 20th century. She became Marianne. She became the woman whose name was synonymous with a particular kind of French freedom and female audacity. She also became in the end someone who lived in Sanrope, estranged from much of the world she had once inhabited, giving everything she had left to the animals she loved.
Mijanu built something different. A marriage that lasted, a daughter, a business, a life in a new country where the name she carried was just a name among many names in a city too large and too busy to be particularly impressed by it. A friendship with her sister conducted by telephone across an ocean, sustained by the shared thread of loving animals, maintained through the decades by something that didn’t depend on proximity or cameras or the world’s attention to remain real.
She said when her sister died, my Breijgit say everything about what the famous one meant to the quiet one. Not the icon, not the symbol, not Marianne, my Breijit, the girl from the apartment, the one who went by Brie Brie when they were small, the person who existed before the world got hold of her. That is the life Mijanu Bardau built.
