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The looped river runs saffron； for the sun is setting。 It is getting dark。
Dark。 Darker。 In the moonlight； the slate roof shines palely milkily
white。
The roses have faded at Malmaison； nipped by the frost。 What need
for roses？ Smooth； open petals her arms。 Fragrant； outcurved petals
her breasts。 He rises like a sun above her； stooping to touch the petals；
press them wider。 Eagles。 Bees。 What are they to open roses！ A little
shivering breeze runs through the linden…trees； and the tiered clouds blow
across the sky like ships of the line； stately with canvas。
III
The gates stand wide at Malmaison； stand wide all day。 The gravel of
the avenue glints under the continual rolling of wheels。 An officer gallops
up with his sabre clicking； a mameluke gallops down with his charger
kicking。 ‘Valets de pied' run about in ones； and twos； and groups； like
swirled blown leaves。 Tramp！ Tramp！ The guard is changing； and the
grenadiers off duty lounge out of sight； ranging along the roads toward
Paris。
The slate roof sparkles in the sun； but it sparkles milkily； vaguely； the
great glass…houses put out its shining。 Glass； stone； and onyx now for the
sun's mirror。 Much has come to pass at Malmaison。 New rocks and
fountains； blocks of carven marble； fluted pillars uprearing antique
temples； vases and urns in unexpected places； bridges of stone； bridges of
wood； arbours and statues； and a flood of flowers everywhere； new
flowers； rare flowers； parterre after parterre of flowers。 Indeed； the roses
bloom at Malmaison。 It is youth； youth untrammeled and advancing；
trundling a country ahead of it as though it were a hoop。 Laughter； and
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Men； Women and Ghosts
spur janglings in tessellated vestibules。 Tripping of clocked and
embroidered stockings in little low…heeled shoes over smooth grass…plots。
India muslins spangled with silver patterns slide through trees mingle
separate white day fireflies flashing moon…brilliance in the shade of
foliage。
〃The kangaroos！ I vow； Captain； I must see the kangaroos。〃
〃As you please； dear Lady； but I recommend the shady linden alley
and feeding the cockatoos。〃
〃They say that Madame Bonaparte's breed of sheep is the best in all
France。〃
〃And； oh； have you seen the enchanting little cedar she planted when
the First Consul sent home the news of the victory of Marengo？〃
Picking； choosing； the chattering company flits to and fro。 Over the
trees the great clouds go； tiered； stately； like ships of the line bright with
canvas。
Prisoners'…base； and its swooping； veering； racing； giggling； bumping。
The First Consul runs plump into M。 de Beauharnais and falls。 But he
picks himself up smartly； and starts after M。 Isabey。 Too late； M。 Le
Premier Consul； Mademoiselle Hortense is out after you。 Quickly； my
dear Sir！ Stir your short legs； she is swift and eager； and as graceful as
her mother。 She is there； that other； playing too； but lightly； warily；
bearing herself with care； rather floating out upon the air than running；
never far from goal。 She is there； borne up above her guests as
something indefinably fair； a rose above periwinkles。 A blown rose；
smooth as satin； reflexed； one loosened petal hanging back and down。 A
rose that undulates languorously as the breeze takes it； resting upon its
leaves in a faintness of perfume。
There are rumours about the First Consul。 Malmaison is full of
women； and Paris is only two leagues distant。 Madame Bonaparte stands
on the wooden bridge at sunset； and watches a black swan pushing the
pink and silver water in front of him as he swims； crinkling its smoothness
into pleats of changing colour with his breast。 Madame Bonaparte presses
against the parapet of the bridge； and the crushed roses at her belt melt；
petal by petal； into the pink water。
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Men； Women and Ghosts
IV
A vile day； Porter。 But keep your wits about you。 The Empress will
soon be here。 Queer； without the Emperor！ It is indeed； but best not
consider that。 Scratch your head and prick up your ears。 Divorce is not
for you to debate about。 She is late？ Ah； well； the roads are muddy。
The rain spears are as sharp as whetted knives。 They dart down and down；
edged and shining。 Clop…trop！ Clop…trop！ A carriage grows out of the
mist。 Hist； Porter。 You can keep on your hat。 It is only Her Majesty's
dogs and her parrot。 Clop…trop！ The Ladies in Waiting； Porter。 Clop…
trop！ It is Her Majesty。 At least； I suppose it is； but the blinds are
drawn。
〃In all the years I have served Her Majesty she never before passed the
gate without giving me a smile！〃
You're a droll fellow； to expect the Empress to put out her head in the
pouring rain and salute you。 She has affairs of her own to think about。
Clang the gate； no need for further waiting； nobody else will be
coming to Malmaison to…night。
White under her veil； drained and shaking； the woman crosses the
antechamber。 Empress！ Empress！ Foolish splendour； perished to dust。
Ashes of roses； ashes of youth。 Empress forsooth！
Over the glass domes of the hot…houses drenches the rain。 Behind her
a clock ticks ticks again。 The sound knocks upon her thought with the
echoing shudder of hollow vases。 She places her hands on her ears； but
the minutes pass； knocking。 Tears in Malmaison。 And years to come
each knocking by； minute after minute。 Years； many years； and tears； and
cold pouring rain。
〃I feel as though I had died； and the only sensation I have is that I am
no more。〃
Rain！ Heavy； thudding rain！