Treason

by Sallie Bingham

  EZRA

  (To DOROTHY)

  You’d go to Brunnenburg, too?

  DOROTHY

  For a while, to get you settled.

  (Privately)

  But it won’t be as it was in Rapallo.

  EZRA

  I ain’t heard from Olga in—

  DOROTHY

  (Quickly, to MARCELLA)

  Robert Frost went to see the president twice, asking for a pardon.

  EZRA

  No way to pardon a man ain’t been tried and convicted.

  DOROTHY

  A release, rather—into my custody. Robert’s worked hard for it.

  EZRA

  Took him long enough. Some of them first verses he wrote at the start warn’t too arwful. But then he had to go to pontificating.

  (To MARCELLA)

  For your genuine, homegrown product, never or hardly ever left Amer’cun soil, I propose to you good old Dr. William Carlos Williams. Though I don’t hear much from him anymore. He’s one-seventeenth Yid, you know.

  DOROTHY

  Miss Spann, would you mind terribly … my husband and I have some private matters to discuss.

  MARCELLA

  (Hastily gathering her things, then to DOROTHY)

  Thank you for the tea. Professor …

  (She shakes EZRA’s hand, avoids his kiss; DOROTHY is watching closely.)

  Goodbye, Mrs. Pound. I’ll call again before you leave.

  (MARCELLA exits.)

  EZRA

  Good head on her shoulders.

  DOROTHY

  So it appears. I’ve asked Dr. Overholser to pay you a visit, Mao.

  EZRA

  Good old Overholser! He saved my neck, twelve years ago when they wuz fixing to hang me—what’s he got to say to me now?

  DR. OVERHOLSER

  (Appears at the door, taps)

  I’m not interrupting?

  DOROTHY

  Not at all.

  DR. OVERHOLSER

  (Going to EZRA)

  Good morning Ezra. How’s that bladder infection?

  DOROTHY

  The new medication seems to be working.

  EZRA

  Old pisser just about dried up—no more piddling!

  (Cagey)

  I only see you on Sundays, Dr. O. This is Wednesday.

  DR. OVERHOLSER

  I wanted to give you the news myself. The court has decided to quash the indictment because you’ll never be well enough to stand trial.

  EZRA

  I guess that means I’m still nuts!

  DOROTHY

  Only Olga believes that.

  DR. OVERHOLSER

  And as a result of this, the court is releasing you into your wife’s custody.

  EZRA

  (Turning sharply away)

  I can’t leave here, Overholser. My work is here—my students.

  DR. OVERHOLSER

  I can give you two weeks to get your things together, say your goodbyes. If that will help.

  DOROTHY

  That’s most kind of you.

  DR. OVERHOLSER

  I’ve started reading your Cantos, Mr. Pound—or it might be more accurate to say trying to read them. Perhaps one afternoon you could …

  EZRA

  (Sitting on bed, head in hands)

  Old man he tired.

  DOROTHY

  You’ll have a good rest at Brunnenburg. Mary has started to bring your papers and books from Rapallo. Even your mother’s portrait! You’ll have your own apartment, in the castle.

  DR. OVERHOLSER

  (Privately, to DOROTHY)

  You’ve booked passage?

  DOROTHY

  Two weeks from now—the Cristoforo Columbo. First class.

  DR. OVERHOLSER

  Good.

  (He shakes hands with her.)

  Goodbye, Mrs. Pound. Of course, we’ll confer before you leave.

  (He approaches EZRA to shake hands; EZRA hides his hands.)

  You have many good years ahead of you, Ezra—no need to spend them here.

  (DR. OVERHOLSER exits.)

  EZRA (Childish)

  Don’t pull me out of here, Mao.

  DOROTHY

  Now, Ezra—there’s no use in a scene.

  EZRA

  First real home I’ve had.

  DOROTHY

  Not our little apartment in Church Walk? The white house in Paris with the pretty garden? The waterfront apartment in Rapallo—

  EZRA

  I always had to take charge, those places—feuds and misunderstandings!

  DOROTHY

  You won’t have to take charge anymore, Mao, I promise you.

  (Taking out steamship tickets, showing them to him)

  Steamship tickets, first class …

  EZRA

  There’ll be no one to help me, in Brunnenburg—Mary so busy with the enfants. I’ll need typing, for the new work—get the Cantos together, tidy everything up.

  DOROTHY

  What are you proposing?

  EZRA

  A secretary. To go with us. Not going to find anybody in Italia.

  DOROTHY (Firmly)

  Not Sheri.

  EZRA

  No, no. That girl who was just here. Smart enough, and probably looking for a way out of teaching.

  DOROTHY

  Miss Spann.

  EZRA

  Yes. Decent sort. Teachable.

  DOROTHY

  I’ll think about it.

  EZRA

  Dr. Overholser’s a good friend of mine, if I tell him I don’t want to go—

  DOROTHY

  Remember, in ’48 when I quashed your habeas corpus appeal? It wasn’t the right time to go, then. Now, it is the right time. The furor has died down. And I want to go home.

  (A standoff. They stare at each other.)

  EZRA

  Dorothy—that summer, in Sirmio—

  DOROTHY

  I haven’t forgotten.

  EZRA

  “If, at Sirmio,

  my soul I meet thee, when this life’s outrun …”

  DOROTHY

  “One hour was sunlit.”

  That was forty years ago, Ezra.

  (She begins to gather up the tea things. EZRA watches her.)

  Goodbye, Mao.

  (Ritualistic kiss)

  I’ll see you tomorrow.

  (She exits. For a moment, EZRA stands as though stunned, staring vacantly. Then he turns to his papers, begins rapidly sorting through them, making corrections, muttering to himself. SHERI enters.)

  SHERI

  I passed Dorothy in the hall, she wouldn’t speak to me.

  EZRA

  Things on her mind.

  SHERI

  They acquitted me, Grandpaw.

  EZRA

  So that’s why you’re here.

  (He is still looking through papers.)

  SHERI

  And I brought you an artichoke.

  (Takes out of bag)

  Steamed! And hollandaise sauce—that was one bitch to make!

  EZRA

  Always vinaigrette, in France.

  SHERI

  You told me you prefer hollandaise.

  (Spreading out food)

  The jury took one look at me—I was dressed right, my nice gray suit, hat, gloves—knew right off the bat there wasn’t a grain of truth in the police story.

  EZRA

  (Finally turning to her)

  Let’s see your arms, honey.

  SHERI

  Grandpaw, what in the world—

  (She tries to resist him.)

  EZRA

  (Taking hold of her firmly, rolling up her sleeves)

  Old Kasp was just here, made me face some facts I needed to face. But I still need to see for myself.

  (Sees the needle tracks; SHERI tries to cover them. EZRA, disgusted, turns away.)

  SHERI

  It takes me ages to heal! Delicate skin bruises easily …
Grandpaw!

  EZRA

  You can leave the artichoke.

  SHERI

  But I’m only half finished with Dorothy’s portrait!

  EZRA

  She don’t want it. Dorothy’s an English lady, she don’t hold with carryings-on.

  (Pause)

  Goodbye, Sheri. I’ll be leaving here soon, in any event.

  SHERI

  But Grandpaw, I made a vow—I told you about it! “Never to leave you until …”

  EZRA

  Big mistake to make vows. They always get broken.

  (He is pushing her toward the door.)

  Goodbye, take care of yourself.

  SHERI

  A man can’t just dispose of his spirit love!

  EZRA

  This one just has.

  (He pushes her through the door, closes it, listens for a moment to SHERI, pleading outside. The pleading stops.)

  The female is a chaos.

  (EZRA begins to eat the artichoke. Lights fade on EZRA. We see DR. OVERHOLSER reading the New York Times of April 19, 1958.)

  DR. OVERHOLSER

  “Treason charges against Ezra Pound were dismissed today, opening the way for the 72-year-old poet’s return to Italy. The case was never tried because the poet was found insane, and that he would in all likelihood never be mentally competent to stand trial and that the alleged radio broadcasts he made from Italy during World War II might have been the result of insanity. Medical advice to this effect had come from Dr. Winfred Overholser, superintendent of St. Elizabeths Hospital.”

  (DR. OVERHOLSER puts the paper down.)

  Arrivederci, Mr. Pound.

  CURTAIN

  SCENE 2

  Setting: The sala of a rundown, partly refurbished castle in the Tyrol.

  A month later, June 1958

  (A few sticks of old furniture, candelabra, big desk, the Gaudier-Brzeska Hieratic Head of Ezra Pound, ancestor portraits. Fresh flowers are everywhere. MARY, dressed for a festivity, stands looking out of a large window, watching for EZRA’s arrival.)

  MARY

  (Seeing him—waving)

  Babbo! My Babbo!

  (She runs to the door to greet him.)

  EZRA

  Leoncina!

  MARY

  Let me look at you—

  (With a sense of wonder)

  Babbo! Your hair’s gone all white!

  (They embrace.)

  EZRA

  From missing you …

  MARY

  Everything’s here—your books, your papers, the manuscripts you sent. We’ll work together again, Babbo!

  EZRA

  My homecoming—and Auld Robbie Burns’s birthday.

  MARY

  Haggis and Johnnie Walker Black Label? Just as you requested.

  EZRA

  (Looking at portrait)

  My mother, the proud Isabella! I had them send white roses, for her funeral.

  MARY

  She looked very majestic and serene in her coffin, in her precious cashmere shawl.

  EZRA

  I never appreciated what she did for me until after she was dead. Too late.

  (He continues to prowl around the room.)

  MARY

  And Boris rang the castle bells—

  (Bells continue to ring.)

  EZRA

  Your Prince! As bad as the bells at St. Mary’s in Kensington—I petitioned the vicar to stop them, but “these bells have been rung, Mr. Pound, for seven hundred years.” Will Boris go on ringing these for seven hundred years?

  MARY

  They’re celebrating your return home. The villagers are coming up later, with torches and a band, for a feast—

  EZRA

  For me?

  MARY

  It’s for my birthday, too, we have a tradition—

  (The bells stop.)

  EZRA

  Thank God!

  (Collapsing in chair)

  Fatigue deep as the grave.

  MARY

  (Kneeling beside him)

  Here you can rest. And for one beautiful day there will be peace …

  EZRA

  “I surrender neither the empire nor the temples Nor the constitution nor yet the city of Dioce …” (MARY gets up, goes to the desk.)

  MARY

  I’ve put the new Cantos here—the pages you sent me from St. Elizabeths; they’re arranged chronologically, we can begin our work exactly where you left off … I thought you could read the new poems to me—your handwriting is still impossible to decipher, Babbo!—and I can type them up as you read. Then you can go over what I’ve typed, make changes, and then I’ll do a final draft.… There’s a new ribbon in the typewriter, plenty of foolscap—

  (MARY indicates all the arrangements.)

  What do you think?

  EZRA

  The futility of “might have been.”

  MARY

  Don’t say that, Babbo! This is a new beginning!

  (No response)

  There’re all these boxes—your papers from Rapallo to sort through—work that needs finishing.

  (MARCELLA enters with briefcase, papers, books, typewriter. EZRA sits in the chair, eyes closed.)

  Babbo?

  (MARCELLA approaches MARY. MARCELLA holds out her hand.)

  MARCELLA

  I’m Marcella Spann.

  MARY

  (Shaking hands)

  How do you do.

  MARCELLA

  Surely someone told you.

  MARY

  In fact, no.

  EZRA

  (Seeing the Gaudier sculpture)

  You have the Gaudier!

  (Caresses the statue)

  Henri got it right! Said, when he was carving this, “It will not look like you. It will be the expression of certain emotions I get from your character.” Dead in the trenches, in the “Great” War. The war to end all wars, they said.

  MARCELLA

  Mr. and Mrs. Pound asked me to accompany them, to put his papers in order, type up the new Cantos, continue work on the anthology.

  EZRA

  The SPANNthology. “From Confucius to Cummings.”

  MARY

  I haven’t heard anything about the … Spannthology.

  (To EZRA)

  I thought we were going to work on the new Cantos—

  EZRA

  (Springing to life)

  Look here, Marcella—everything’s arranged, ready to go first thing in the mattina.

  (Shows MARCELLA desk and so forth)

  Here’s my new pages from St. Liz—you’ll need to type them up as I read them, handwriting’s horrible—then I’ll edit, you’ll type the final drafts. There’s a new ribbon in the typewriter, plenty of foolscap—

  MARY

  I don’t understand, Babbo. I was counting on helping you—

  EZRA

  Marcella’s a trained secre’try, takes shorthand—

  MARCELLA

  Now you know that’s not true—I’m just here to help—

  EZRA

  And to see Italy.

  MARCELLA

  Yes—Dorothy wants that.

  MARY

  I’ll have to find a room. The castle’s not completely furnished, we’re short on suitable beds.

  MARCELLA

  I’m very sorry to trouble you.

  MARY

  No trouble at all, when it’s for Babbo.

  (MARY exits.)

  MARCELLA

  You didn’t tell her.

  EZRA

  Well, Mary’s adaptable…. Open those boxes—I want to see what Olga sent from Rapallo, what I’ve got here—almost fourteen years in storage!

  (MARCELLA begins to open the boxes. EZRA goes through the papers with growing excitement.)

  My notes from the Languedoc—1912, the summer of Margaret Cravens’s suicide …

  (He begins to go through the notes excitedly.)

  Marcella, look here. The notes I mad
e for the book on the troubadours.

  (She comes to look, shares his excitement.)

  I want you to begin transcribing these.

  (As MARCELLA gets her typewriter and sets it up.)

  There’s enough here for a book! Sit down …

  (MARCELLA drags a chair to the typewriter, puts in paper, gets ready to type.)

  MARCELLA

  (Looking at notes)

  Very difficult to read—

  EZRA

  Written under a tree! Here—I’ll read to you …

  (Reads)

  “Roquefixade: the castle on the rock. I climbed up there this morning, took my life in my hands. The courtyard where the first Troubadours sang their verses—to the lady who could never be won …”

  MARCELLA

  (As she types)

  Was Dorothy with you?

  EZRA

  Back in London, shopping for a bed.

  (DOROTHY enters, hears this. She is carrying more papers and books.)

  DOROTHY

  I wrote you, “Let’s not get soft-headed, the way other married couples do.” The letter’s there somewhere.

  MARCELLA

  (Going to her)

  Let me help you with those.

  DOROTHY

  I can manage.

  (She begins to unpack EZRA’s own published works, arranging them on a shelf.)

  EZRA

  Early stuff. Half-baked.

  DOROTHY

  (Reading from a book)

  “I am torn, torn with thy beauty

  O rose of the sharpest thorn!”

  EZRA

  I cut that out of my collected works.

  DOROTHY (Continues)

  “So have the thoughts of my heart

  gone out slowly in the twilight,

  toward my beloved,

  toward the crimson rose, the fairest …”

  EZRA

  Oh Lord, those roses.

  (MARCELLA laughs.)

  EZRA

  (Leaping up, snatching the book from DOROTHY, cramming it onto the shelf.)