Olga Rudge & Ezra Pound: "What Thou Lovest Well..."

105 Rare and Unforgettable Concerts
One can only imagine Olga’s thoughts of the primo amore—what might
have been!
In a New Year’s letter to Ezra, Olga explained her situation: ‘‘the
complication being that she needs a job in default of an income, that she
ain’t found one, except a shadowy, undefined, but still there in the background,
one of—may we say—‘geisha’ to the noble samurai Arturo
[Brown] who, having forked out 5,000 francs, has a right . . . to teapouring
and kowtowings . . . all vague and not to be counted on. . . . Will
He [Pound] still remember her and be glad to see her end of January?’’
Ezra was willing to accept more responsibility, but his o√er was couched
in none too reassuring terms: ‘‘wotter baht him lookin’ fer some lucrative
employment—abaht time—seems to have carried bein’ artistic a bit too
far . . . he better git the nubel [Nobel Prize] that’d give her 2,000 francs a
month . . . as fer eatin’ / she is welcome to what he actually earns, i.e. gate
receipts.’’
Early in the new year, she enrolled in a stenotyping class, hoping to
earn the three thousand francs a month she needed to live comfortably and
bring Mary up properly. Mabel Duncan did what she could, ‘‘provided a
hand-me-down tailleur . . . complete with hat, scarf, and petticoat, fresh
from [the] cleaners.’’
Olga was still enjoying social success in the French capital, and was
learning to ice skate again, a sport neglected since the early years with
Julia. But ‘‘He gets larger and larger in the distance, and everyone near
gets smaller and smaller . . . she is an incorrigible hero-worshipper.’’
At the end of January, she confessed the birth of Mary to her mother’s
friend Etta Glover, a woman wise in the ways of the world. Etta was
pleased with the news: ‘‘You set the seal to my final approval of you when
you threw everything to the winds for it and the Leoncina resulted. Let
those who will sneer at a grand passion; it’s they who know nothing and
are in eternal outer darkness. . . . But, my dear, there’s another time later
on and a very di√erent one for the woman when, if she doesn’t consolidate
her position, all the past joy and glory will turn to bitterness, and there’ll
be nothing else to take its place. . . . I’m amused at the stenotyping—a rich
man’s secretary?’’
Olga was preparing to apply for a position at an American consulate (in