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

176 What Thou Lovest Well Remains
opera, Cavalcanti, based on the Sonnets and Ballate of the thirteenthcentury
Tuscan poet Guido Cavalcanti, whose works Pound had translated
and published in 1912 (including the familiar stanza, ‘‘Donna mi prega’’).
When composing the new score, he heeded Olga’s advice: it would not be
as di≈cult to perform as Le Testament, with simple 4/4 rhythm and bel
canto flow. But ‘‘economia is the order of the day,’’ Olga reminded him, and
since her present job was what one might call a sinecure, ‘‘it was not for her
to scare the amministrazione by suggesting further expenses.’’
She described the picturesque scene in winter: ‘‘snowing again in Via di
Città . . . the girls and young men caught without hats look very bal
poudre. . . . chat at meal times (quite Shakespearian) between His Nibs and
the butler, Sabatino—considered an oracle on the weather by reason of his
corns! The Count likes to mimic his way of talking, like a dog with a sore
throat barking in Sienese. . . . The Marchesa spends three hours a day
on crossword puzzles, three hours at cinema, and three hours solid gossip
on family a√airs of Sienese and Florentine aristocracy—a little goes a
long way!’’
She had not been with Ezra for almost two years and was relieved when
a long-awaited letter from the U.S. vice-consul in Florence advised that
her passport could be renewed upon presentation of evidence that she had
made definite travel plans. But again Pound voiced strong disapproval:
‘‘the idea of anybody being ass enough to cross the ocean . . . puts up his
blood pressure . . . anybody, who starts for this country under one millun
$$ is ipso facto nuts.’’
Olga was beginning to look back with nostalgia on the Paris years in
light of her present position. ‘‘She does not doubt what He says about
di≈culty of life in the States, but has she been treated to such comfort
during 15 years at Sant’Ambrogio? He not think it was easy for her,
coming from rue Chamfort. . . . I would like to send you a letter of
Egerton’s (I found in the wreck in Venice). It would show you the kind of
thing I had and did not respect—karma! I suppose one doesn’t get such [a
love] twice in a life. . . . I am butting my head against a wall. And He
probably getting consolation elsewhere.’’ With rare insight into Pound’s
personality, she added: ‘‘If I am hurt or unhappy . . . your reaction is anger