After that I transformed the English language!
(Seizing another book)
And made all those gawdashed roses into THIS:
(He searches for, and finds, another poem.)
“In orchard under the hawthorne
she has her lover till morn.
Till the traist man cry out to warn
Them. God how swift the night,
And the day comes.”
DOROTHY (Tranquilly)
I believe I prefer the earlier version.
EZRA
I was hammering word into word, bursting my way into Parnassus.
DOROTHY
Still, the earlier poems …
MARCELLA
(Still putting away papers)
… surely can’t compare to the Cantos—their scope, their power.
(Pause. DOROTHY stares at MARCELLA, who, realizing she is being watched, looks up. EZRA flings himself into a chair, closes his eyes.)
DOROTHY
Did you like the Baths of Caracalla?
MARCELLA (Startled)
Very fine, of course … it was wonderful to have a whole day to see Rome, but …
DOROTHY
But?
MARCELLA
There was something so oppressively massive about the Baths—and intimidating, like Mussolini’s railroad station across the street. All those columns …
DOROTHY
The Duce knew what was worth copying. If you’re settled, Mao, I’ll go down to help Mary—the villagers are coming up later, with torches … and a band.
(She kisses EZRA on his forehead. He does not open his eyes.)
You’re home, at last, Mao.
(DOROTHY exits. EZRA is stretched in a chair, eyes closed.)
MARCELLA
Shall I come back later, Ezra?
EZRA
(Leaping up)
No, no—must get started. No time to lose. Where are we in the troubadours?
MARCELLA
(Consulting notes)
Roquefixada.
(She reads.)
“I have lain in Roquefixada,
level with sunset …”
Beautiful—
(She types these lines, as EZRA continues to study the paper.)
Read me the rest.
EZRA
“Oh God of silence
Purifiez nos coeurs …”
MARCELLA
(Translates as she types)
Oh God of silence, purify our hearts …
EZRA
(Throwing the paper down)
Give it up, Marcella. Scraps and rags.
MARCELLA
(Beginning to go through papers)
But there’s a great deal more here—surely enough for a book.
(She begins to read.)
“’Tis not a game that plays at mates and mating,
Provence knew …”
EZRA
(Snatching it from her)
I said give it up! The summer was ruined—I had to rush back to Paris to deal with Margaret Cravens’s Indiana aunt, asking questions about Margaret’s suicide. I gave her a poem, to explain it all—
(He rummages.)
Here it is.
(He reads.)
“POST MORTEM
A brown, fat babe sitting in a lotus,
And you were glad and laughing
With a laughter not of this world.
It is good to splash in the water
And laughter is the end of all things.”
Her Indiana aunt wasn’t satisfied.
MARCELLA
But—this is beautiful.
(She takes it, begins to type it.)
EZRA
(Another poem)
“The eyes of the dead lady speak to me.”
(Anguished)
Give it up, Marcella.
MARCELLA
(Dropping the papers)
I’m very sorry, Ezra, I must have misunderstood. Shall we work on the Spannthology?
(EZRA turns away.)
EZRA
Margaret was transformed. Do you believe that, Marcella?
(Before she can answer)
The transformations I’ve made—tried to make—mistaken, all of them, some fatal. Dorothy—I wrote of her:
“How have I not laboured
To bring her soul to birth …”
MARCELLA
I’m quite sure she never understood that.
EZRA
She understood. She hated it.
(Moving on quickly)
Where are we in the Spannthology?
MARCELLA
(Consulting stack of papers)
Only up to Chaucer.
EZRA
(Begins to go through papers. MARCELLA prepares to type.)
Here are the lines I want—from the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales:
(Reading)
“Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
(EZRA leans over MARCELLA as she types, hand on her shoulder.)
Of which vertue is engendered.”
Should have learned Old English but Provençal was my dish …
(He leans closer, kisses her hair, MARCELLA continues to type.)
We’ll add this next:
“Western wind, when will thou blow,
The small rain down can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again!”
(They kiss.)
We’ll revive the old customs, the way we did in Rapallo. Mary has ordered in haggis and Johnnie Walker Black Label—we’ll celebrate auld Robbie Burns’s birthday.
(He finds a small book of poems, begins to read. MARY and DOROTHY enter, with the Johnnie Walker and glasses on a tray. They stand listening. With an expansive gesture, EZRA draws DOROTHY and MARY closer. MARCELLA gets up from the typewriter and joins them. MARY begins to pour the whiskey; DOROTHY passes it.)
“Or were I in the wildest waste,
sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
the desert were a paradise,
if thou wert there, if thou wert there.”
(Music of the Tyrolean band approaching interrupts.)
MARY
Oh, Babbo! It’s the band from the village.
DOROTHY
Come see, Mao …
(DOROTHY and MARY go to the window as we hear the band approaching. MARCELLA starts to follow, but EZRA stops her.)
EZRA
(Continuing the poem to MARCELLA)
“or were I monarch o’ the globe,
wi’ thee to reign, wi’ thee to reign;
the brightest jewel in all my crown
wad be my queen, wad be my queen.”
(EZRA grabs MARCELLA and begins dancing her around the room to the louder and louder music of the band. They laugh as they swirl. DOROTHY turns and watches them.)
CURTAIN
SCENE 3
Setting: The sala of the castle in the Tyrol.
Several months later, winter, 1958–1959
(EZRA sits in the sala, huddled in a chair, wrapped in blankets. A broken chair, with tools, lies nearby. MARCELLA is combing his hair. EZRA hums or groans while she is doing this.)
MARCELLA
(Giving EZRA a hand mirror)
Look, Ezra—so much better.
EZRA
(Pushing mirror away)
A brown husk that is finished … maybe they should have shot me.
MARCELLA
You have no right to say that.
EZRA
Old man he tired …
MARCELLA
I’ve heard that a lot of that, lately. You might appreciate what we’re doing for you; I’ve got the Spannthology up to Whitman at last, Mary is planting a magnolia tree by your Gaudier head, Dorothy’s loaning you more money—
EZRA
Loaning! First t
he Jew bankers, now my wife!
MARCELLA
Reality, Ezra.
EZRA
Never my strong suit … I’m freezing! Damn castle don’t have no heat.
MARCELLA
Here.
(Marcella covers him with another lap rug.)
EZRA
Damn castle cold as the tomb. Can’t get away from here. Can’t get no peace! Fuss and botheration! Worse than Rapallo.
MARCELLA
Mary’s taking very good care of you.
EZRA
Learned that from her mother.
MARCELLA
Have you heard from Olga?
EZRA
She’s mad at me. Wanted me to go to her when I got out of St. Liz. Couldn’t face the climb, getting up to her place at Sant’Ambrogio…. But now, the altitude here—I’m gasping like a fish. Or is it the attitude.
MARCELLA
Mary adores you.
EZRA
My wrecks and errors lie about me.
“This is the house of Bedlam.
This is the man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is the time
of the tragic man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.”
MARCELLA
You didn’t write that one, Ezra. That was Elizabeth Bishop, after she visited you at St. Elizabeths.
EZRA
It was quiet there after lights out. Here darkness brings the furies.
MARCELLA
Shall we deal with the mail?
EZRA (Brightening)
Lots today?
MARCELLA
Seven letters.
(Opening one)
T. S. Eliot.
EZRA (Grabbing it)
Quick answer to mine!
MARCELLA
I didn’t want to type that letter to him or send it. You questioned the value of everything you’ve written.
EZRA
(Ignoring this, reading letter)
“You are one of the immortals, and part at least of your work is sure to survive.”
(Suddenly revived, he cavorts and chortles.)
Good Old Possum—never could admit Old Ez the greater poet!
(Grabbing another letter)
This here is about the crazy British tax…. Threatens to wipe out my Brit royalties if I don’t maintain US residence.
MARCELLA
Why didn’t you switch?
EZRA
Switch?
MARCELLA
Get an Italian passport during the war? Then there would have been no question of treason.
EZRA
Because I’m proud to be a ’Mercun. Crazy country, but mine. Did the maple tree seedlings arrive yet?
MARCELLA
Mary brought them up this morning.
EZRA
Good Vermont maples. We’ll start a syrup industry—the Italians will have a new delicacy.
MARCELLA
They don’t eat pancakes.
EZRA
Lots of other uses for syrup. Cooking, gelati! Must get somebody to water my grapevines—five hundred of them. Mary’ll be able to sell white wine along with her red.
MARCELLA
If she’ll do it.
EZRA
Hey, hey.
MARCELLA
You know how stubborn she is about suggestions.
EZRA
She calls you my bodyguard.
MARCELLA
I’ve heard her.
EZRA
(Looking at letter.)
Here’s a missive from my lawyer. I asked him to help relieve me of my patient and long-suffering “Committee.”
(Reading)
“Dear Mr. Pound, Unfortunately, it is not possible formally to petition for Mrs. Pound’s removal.”
(Looking up)
Pride, jealousy, and possessiveness—the three torments of hell.
MARCELLA
I am not proud. I am not jealous. I am not possessive. But the situation here—
EZRA
We’ll take a little road trip.
MARCELLA
Oh yes—and breathe fresh air.
EZRA
I want you to see more of Italy.
MARCELLA
(After a pause for the penny to drop)
With Dorothy?
EZRA
’Fraid so. She’s legally responsible for me, I can’t move a foot without her … can’t even pay for a hotel room.
MARCELLA
Ezra …
EZRA
Come here.
(She gets up and goes to him. He sits her on his knee, kisses her forehead.)
“And to the garden, Marcella The long flank, the firm breast Sunlight and serenitas.”
(MARCELLA pulls herself off his lap.)
I’ll get a divorce.
MARCELLA
You’ve never understood …
(She starts to go quickly.)
EZRA
Marcella …
MARCELLA
You’re behaving … foolishly.
(MARCELLA exits quickly.)
EZRA
After all these years I’m beginning to realize I’m not a maniac. I’m a moron.
(He turns to an old chair, which he is repairing, and begins to hammer. MARY enters.)
MARY
Babbo, those grapevines.
EZRA
(He goes on hammering.)
What is it now?
MARY
They’re full of poison ivy.
EZRA
Impossible.
MARY
We’ve never had poison ivy in Italy.
EZRA
I introduced them to Vivaldi—so why not to poison ivy?
MARY
I’m afraid the vines will have to destroyed.
EZRA
But you told me yourself, there’s a market for white, and these are the best, from Californy …
MARY
All right, I’ll see what I can do, when I have time. Dorothy has taken to her bed, I have to carry her meals up on a tray. Can you speak to her?
EZRA
No.
MARY
I can’t do it all, Babbo. She won’t eat at the same table as Marcella.
EZRA
We’ll take a little road trip, relieve the tension. Dorothy, Marcella, and I.
MARY
Oh, Babbo, do you think that’s wise?
EZRA
You think I can escape my lawfully wedded wife? Can’t even sign a check.
MARY
The conditions of your release. I’m afraid you have to live with them.
EZRA
You’ve turned hard on me.
MARY
I admire you more than anyone I’ve ever known, but you seem blind to the fact that other people have lives to get on with as well. I have so much work here with the children, the repairs to the castle, the vineyards. And Boris is no help. He’s gone off again, says I have no time for him—
EZRA
Old man he tired. Just enough strength left for a road trip—to Sirmione.
(Brightening)
I want Marcella to see the lake, the little temple of Catullus.
MARY (Wearily)
What car do you plan to take?
EZRA
Yours. Marcella will drive. Sirmione—Ovid’s bit of paradise.
MARY
I can’t do without the car for more than two days, Babbo. I have to get to the market, and if one of the children falls sick—
EZRA
Fine, fine—two days. “How sharper than a serpent’s tooth …”
MARY
Hush, Babbo.
EZRA
Call Marcella—and Dorothy. They’ll have to pack light. Walking clothes, for the promenade around the lake.
“From under the rubble heap
m’elevasti—”
MARY
Babbo—are you sure?
Dorothy understands! She always has. Call them!
(MARY goes to the door, calls several times. Meanwhile…)
EZRA
(Chanting, ecstatic)
“Dark eyed,
O woman of my dreams,
Ivory sandaled,
There is none like thee among the dancers,
None with swift feet.”
MARCELLA
(Enters, carrying a tray)
Dorothy won’t answer. She’s locked the door of her room—left this outside.
MARY
Here—I’ll take it.
MARCELLA
Let me—
(MARY takes the tray from her, forcefully.)
MARY
In my house I do the work.
EZRA (Softly)
The victim is always—
MARY
Don’t say it, Babbo.
(To MARCELLA)
Of course Dorothy won’t come down. She’s an old woman, exhausted.
EZRA (Firmly)
She’ll come.
(He goes to the door, calls.)
Mao! Please!
(Pause. MARY begins to pick up coffee cups and glasses to add to the tray. She exits. MARCELLA busies herself with the manuscript.)
DOROTHY
(As she enters)
You called me, Mao?
EZRA
Come here.
(DOROTHY approaches. He sits her on his knee, runs his hands through her hair. MARCELLA quietly exits.)
I remember when this was the color of the eyes of a wood nymph on Mount Olympus.
DOROTHY
A long time ago, Mao.
EZRA
When I came back from the Languedoc in 1912, after Margaret Cravens died. You were at the train station with roses, white roses, dozens of them.
DOROTHY
I spent more than I should, my mother was furious for days. “He’s ruined you for any other man, with his attentions.”
EZRA
Ruined—so she finally allowed us to marry—on your two hundred pounds a year.
DOROTHY
After four years’ wait. I knew, at Sirmione, when I first touched your hair. Only the Objective—reality—could come between us!
Treason Page 23