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

158 The Road to Hell
On April 30 Olga, understanding the seriousness of their situation,
wrote an agitated letter to Mary in Gais, ‘‘in haste to give you a few
addresses in case anything should happen to me.’’ She listed the family
and friends of most importance to her: Uncle Teddy Rudge, Mabel and
Ethel Duncan (‘‘our dearest friends, Mabel knew your great-grandmother
Paige’’), Don Arturo Brown, Adrian Stokes, Mrs. Cecily (Richards) Walters,
Auntie Lou, Mrs. Ernest Harold Baynes (‘‘if she is still alive’’), Stella
Bowen, Dorothea Watts Landsburg, James Laughlin, Reverend Desmond
Chute, Lindy Shaw-Paige, Etta and Halcott Glover, T. S. Eliot (‘‘to give
you advice about your writing’’).
‘‘Some furniture I left in Paris to be sold by Mme. Chauvin, 33 rue
Dragon . . . [the] most important papers in my little dispatch case. . . . Your
passport is No. 675 (April 19, 1941) [issued in] Firenze: see about getting a
new one as soon as possible. . . . You know the jewelry I have . . . the large
seal ring with Babbo’s head, three gold bracelets, and a glass medallion
with your hair and tiny gold coin.’’ Among other keepsakes, ‘‘the d’Annunzio
bird, my silver seal, my violin, my Japanese gown (with brocade
sash), in the tin trunk in Venice—most important!’’
Olga’s ‘‘last words’’ to her only child: ‘‘Take care of yourself, and try to
forget the war and be happy . . . read EP’s works and study them well. . . .
You have always been a joy and consolation to me. I believe happy times
will come soon for you.’’
On Wednesday, May 3, it was Dorothy’s turn to go down the hill to pay
her weekly duty call on Isabel Pound. Olga, having heard that the Americans
were back in Rapallo to stay, went down to see what she could find
out. She waited for more than an hour at the o≈ce of Major Robinson,
who, she was told, was the o≈cer in charge. But the major was busy with
local authorities and refused to see her. Olga wearily climbed back up the
salita. At the entrance to Casa 60, she was surprised to discover the door
locked. ‘‘Caro!’’ she called. No answer. Ezra was gone!
Just before noon, Pound had been working at the typewriter, with the
Legge translation of Confucius open in front of him. As he recalled later,
first he heard footsteps, then the butts of Tommy-guns beating on the
door. The door was kicked open. Two Italian partisans he did not recognize,
in shabby uniforms, entered the room. He knew instinctively that