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that he Was no friend to the people； and so they laid Some charge against
him； a cavalcade Of citizens took him away； they meant Well； but I think
there was some mistake。 He just pottered round in his garden； bent On
growing things； we were so awake In those days for the New Republic's
sake。 He's gone； and the garden is all that's left Not in ruin； but the
currants and apricots； And peaches； furred and sweet； with a cleft Full of
morning dew； in those green…glazed pots； Why； Mademoiselle； there is
never an eft Or worm among them； and as for theft； How the old woman
keeps them I cannot say； But they're finer than any grown this way。〃
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Men； Women and Ghosts
Jeanne Tourmont drew back the filigree ring Of her striped silk purse；
tipped it upside down And shook it； two coins fell with a ding Of striking
silver； beneath her gown One rolled； the other lay； a thing Sparked white
and sharply glistening； In a drop of sunlight between two shades。 She
jerked the purse； took its empty ends And crumpled them toward the
centre braids。 The whole collapsed to a mass of blends Of colours and
stripes。 〃Monsieur Popain； friends We have always been。 In the days
before The Great Revolution my aunt was kind When you needed help。
You need no more； 'Tis we now who must beg at your door； And will you
refuse？〃 The little man Bustled； denied； his heart was good； But times
were hard。 He went to a pan And poured upon the counter a flood Of
pungent raspberries； tanged like wood。 He took a melon with rough green
rind And rubbed it well with his apron tip。 Then he hunted over the shop to
find Some walnuts cracking at the lip； And added to these a barberry slip
Whose acrid； oval berries hung Like fringe and trembled。 He reached a
round Basket； with handles； from where it swung Against the wall； laid it
on the ground And filled it； then he searched and found The francs Jeanne
Tourmont had let fall。 〃You'll return the basket； Mademoiselle？〃 She
smiled； 〃The next time that I call； Monsieur。 You know that very well。〃
'Twas lightly said； but meant to tell。 Monsieur Popain bowed； somewhat
abashed。 She took her basket and stepped out。 The sunlight was so bright
it flashed Her eyes to blindness； and the rout Of the little street was all
about。 Through glare and noise she stumbled； dazed。 The heavy basket
was a care。 She heard a shout and almost grazed The panels of a chaise
and pair。 The postboy yelled； and an amazed Face from the carriage
window gazed。 She jumped back just in time； her heart Beating with fear。
Through whirling light The chaise departed； but her smart Was keen and
bitter。 In the white Dust of the street she saw a bright Streak of colours；
wet and gay； Red like blood。 Crushed but fair； Her fruit stained the
cobbles of the way。 Monsieur Popain joined her there。 〃Tiens；
Mademoiselle； c'est le General Bonaparte； partant pour la Guerre！〃
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Men； Women and Ghosts
Malmaison
I
How the slates of the roof sparkle in the sun； over there； over there；
beyond the high wall！ How quietly the Seine runs in loops and windings；
over there； over there； sliding through the green countryside！ Like ships
of the line； stately with canvas； the tall clouds pass along the sky； over the
glittering roof； over the trees； over the looped and curving river。 A breeze
quivers through the linden…trees。 Roses bloom at Malmaison。 Roses！
Roses！ But the road is dusty。 Already the Citoyenne Beauharnais
wearies of her walk。 Her skin is chalked and powdered with dust； she
smells dust； and behind the wall are roses！ Roses with smooth open
petals； poised above rippling leaves 。 。 。 Roses 。 。 。 They have told her so。
The Citoyenne Beauharnais shrugs her shoulders and makes a little face。
She must mend her pace if she would be back in time for dinner。 Roses
indeed！ The guillotine more likely。
The tiered clouds float over Malmaison； and the slate roof sparkles in
the sun。
II
Gallop！ Gallop！ The General brooks no delay。 Make way； good
people； and scatter out of his path； you； and your hens； and your dogs； and
your children。 The General is returned from Egypt； and is come in a
‘caleche' and four to visit his new property。 Throw open the gates； you；
Porter of Malmaison。 Pull off your cap； my man； this is your master； the
husband of Madame。 Faster！ Faster！ A jerk and a jingle and they are
arrived； he and she。 Madame has red eyes。 Fie！ It is for joy at her
husband's return。 Learn your place； Porter。 A gentleman here for two
months？ Fie！ Fie； then！ Since when have you taken to gossiping。
Madame may have a brother； I suppose。 That all green； and red； and
glitter； with flesh as dark as ebony that is a slave； a bloodthirsty；
stabbing； slashing heathen； come from the hot countries to cure your
tongue of idle whispering。
A fine afternoon it is； with tall bright clouds sailing over the trees。
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Men； Women and Ghosts
〃Bonaparte； mon ami； the trees are golden like my star； the star I
pinned to your destiny when I married you。 The gypsy； you remember
her prophecy！ My dear friend； not here； the servants are watching； send
them away； and that flashing splendour； Roustan。 Superb Imperial；
but 。 。 。 My dear； your arm is trembling； I faint to feel it touching me！ No；
no； Bonaparte； not that spare me that did we not bury that last night！
You hurt me； my friend； you are so hot and strong。 Not long； Dear； no；
thank God； not long。〃
The looped river runs saffron； for the sun is setting。 It is getting dark。