Wittgenstein's Mistress (25 page)

But then to top it off there stands the man with a concubine in tow when he finally gets back too, no less.

And yet the way the plays are written, even Electra and Orestes somehow manage to get furious at Clytemnestra for finding the sum of this a bit much.

Again one may be foolhardy for criticizing famous writers, but certainly it does seem that somebody ought to draw the line someplace.

Daddy murdered our sister to raise wind for his silly ships, being what any person in her right mind must surely imagine that Electra and Orestes would have thought.

Mommy murdered our daddy, being all that they think in the plays instead.

Moreover in this case there are plays by Aeschylus and Sophocles as well, even before Euripides.

Nonetheless one is still categorically forced to believe that Electra and Orestes would have never felt that way in the least.

In fact what I have more than once suspected is that the
whole story about the two of them taking their own revenge on Clytemnestra was another lie altogether. More than likely all three of them together would have felt nothing except good riddance.

Or certainly once the bathroom had been cleaned up.

And then lived happily together ever after, even.

So that as a matter of fact what I have furthermore even suspected is that Clytemnestra would have hardly been that much upset about the notion of the concubine after all, or at least once she had gotten the more basic matters off her chest.

Well, or after she had also found out that the concubine happened to be only poor Cassandra, assuredly.

In one of the plays, Clytemnestra kills Cassandra at the same time that she kills Agamemnon.

Surely in real life she would have immediately understood that Cassandra was mad, however, and so would have doubtless had second thoughts on this basis alone.

How she would have immediately understood that would have been the minute Cassandra went into the house and started lurking at windows, naturally.

Although when I say house, I should really be saying palace, of course.

Oh, dear, the way in which that poor child keeps lurking at our palace windows, surely being what Clytemnestra would have had to think.

So that very possibly her next decision would have even been to allow Cassandra to stay on, as a sort of boarder, after the funeral.

Certainly the poor child has no more palace windows back home in what is left of Troy to go lurk at, being another thing she would have obviously had to realize.

For that matter Clytemnestra would have almost certainly learned that Cassandra had been raped, as well, which would unquestionably strengthen this entire probability.

As a matter of fact what I would now be perfectly willing to
wager is not only that Clytemnestra and Electra and Orestes lived happily together ever after, but that Cassandra eventually even came to be thought of as one of the family herself.

Moreover I can even further imagine all four of them happily traipsing off now and again to visit Helen, once all of this had been settled.

Surely Clytemnestra would have wished to see her own sister after that same ten years in any event. But what I am only now also remembering is that here is Cassandra being an old friend of Helen's on her own part.

Well, Cassandra having been Paris's sister, of course.

Which is to say that once Helen had gotten to Troy the two of them would have become sisters-in-law, practically.

One says practically because of Helen still having been rather more officially married to Menelaus, naturally.

But still, ten years being ten years in this case, too. So that undeniably Cassandra would have been delighted to renew the relationship.

Good morning, children and Cassandra. Guess what I have been thinking about. How would everybody like to take a little trip to Sparta, to visit Aunt Helen?

Oh let's, indeed! What an agreeable idea, Clytemnestra!

Will Uncle Menelaus be there too, Mommy?

Oops.

One had been forgetting that part, obviously.

Which is to say that after having fought an entire war to get his wife back, doubtless Menelaus would have been less than overjoyed at a sister of the man she had run off with turning up as a house guest.

When I say house, I should again be saying palace, of course.

Then again, what one next imagines is that doubtless Helen would have nagged a little, if necessary.

Oh, now darling, what possible harm can there be in letting her have a window or two, to lurk at?

Well, and most probably Cassandra would have brought
gifts also, to smooth things over.

Trojans having been known for bearing gifts whenever they went anyplace in either case.

Actually, a cat would have been thoughtful. Even if a cat would have perhaps been more appropriate as a gift for Helen, rather than for Menelaus.

I cannot remember if there is anything in the
Odyssey
about Helen having a cat, however.

I say the
Odyssey
rather than the
Iliad
because of the
Iliad
having been over before Cassandra would have brought the animal, naturally.

But which again incidentally verifies that Gustave Flaubert was wrong about a woman having written that book, since surely a woman writing it would have thought to put Helen's cat in.

In fact what does happen to be put in is a dog, belonging to Odysseus.

Actually, the part about the dog is sad, it being the dog who is the first to recognize Odysseus when he returns to Ithaca after having been gone for ten extra years after Troy but then dies.

Ah, me. At least it would appear to have been some pages since the last time I did that.

Or at least noticed that I did.

What I meant was hardly that it is Odysseus who dies after returning to Ithaca, obviously. Obviously it is the dog who dies after recognizing him.

On the other hand Penelope does not recognize Odysseus at all, incidentally.

And which is surely additional proof about a woman not having written that part, either.

Well, surely if a wife had been dutifully avoiding any number of suitors for twenty full years while waiting for her husband to come home she ought to have recognized the husband when he got there.

Although it is the reverse of that statement which is more likely true, actually.

Which is to say that if a woman had written that part one sincerely doubts that the wife would have been avoiding the suitors for all of the twenty years to begin with.

I believe I have voiced such doubts about Penelope before, as a matter of fact.

After all.

Although come to think about it Penelope may very well have not spent the entire twenty years at Ithaca in either case.

Or surely would have at least gone so far as to visit Helen in Sparta herself, being a cousin.

This again being once that everybody had gotten home, naturally.

So that her own visit would have been basically to pick up some news, really.

Yes, yes, it is agreeable to see you again, too, Cousin Helen. But what I am more truthfully curious about is if anybody has heard anything of that husband of mine?

In fact it is this identical visit that her son Telemachus makes in the
Odyssey
itself, come to think about it, asking about his father.

And which is moreover the very scene in which Helen is shown to have that splendid radiant dignity.

But be that as it may, and even if she had no news whatsoever about Odysseus, Helen would have nonetheless had all sorts of other interesting items to report, unquestionably.

Well, and with Ithaca being an island, especially, so that anybody coming from there would have frequently been out of touch altogether.

Heavens above, Penelope. Do you honestly mean to tell me you have not even heard about my brother-in-law and the bathtub, yet?

Then again, for all one knows Penelope's visit might very well have coincided with Clytemnestra's own. Or certainly if Helen had ever invited the whole family at once, say, for some holiday or other, this could have easily been the case.

And in which instance most likely it would have been Clytemnestra who told Penelope about all that herself, then.

Even if she would have doubtless been discreet enough to leave out certain parts until Electra and Orestes had left the table, one imagines.

You don't
mean
it? And with a
net,
first? Now three cheers for you, Cousin Cly.

Oops.

One had been forgetting something here too, obviously.

Which is to say that doubtless Clytemnestra would not have uttered one solitary word until Menelaus had left the table, likewise.

If for that matter Menelaus would have ever let her sit down to begin with.

Menelaus having been Agamemnon's brother, of course.

Certain of these connections do get complicated enough to slip one's mind like this, unfortunately.

But it does remain a fact that the two brothers had married the two sisters.

And which would now appear to indicate that poor Electra and Orestes would not have gotten to visit their aunt that often after all.

Now see here, Helen. Winter solstice or not, certainly it is pushing things a bit far to expect me to allow that woman to set foot into this palace.

Oh, but Menelaus, darling.

Don't oh darling me. Not about this, you won't.

Even if none of this would have precluded Penelope's own visit in any way whatsoever, on the other hand.

So that what one is now naturally forced to suspect is that very likely it was the latter who gave Helen the cat, rather than Cassandra who did.

Well, and doubtless it would have been exactly like Penelope to think of an animal in any event, what with being so accustomed to a dog at home.

Although in fact she had a cat, too. Even if what I had almost been about to forget next is that there is actually a painting showing this, by somebody named Pintoricchio.

I am fairly certain I have mentioned the painting by Pintoricchio showing Penelope's cat.

I am even fairly certain I have mentioned that the cat in the painting is russet.

Even if as I have long since indicated russet is not a name one gives to a color.

I believe it may have been Rembrandt who first established this rule, actually, although in more recent years it was Willem de Kooning who most strongly insisted upon it.

Then again I may have also spoken about a cat of my own as having been russet in spite of this, now that I think back.

That would have only been carelessness, however.

And at any rate none of these cats is by any means to be confused with Rembrandt's own cat, which I bring up only because one might understandably think of Rembrandt's cat as having been russet as well, if for no other reason than russet being a color one automatically associates with Rembrandt.

Rembrandt's cat was actually gray. And had only one eye.

Which may very well be an explanation for why it always strolled right past those gold coins on the floor of his studio without so much as a glance, as a matter of fact, even though I had never stopped to think about that before.

Which is to say that doubtless it had generally passed the coins on the wrong side and so had not noticed them at all.

A good number of people also happened to disapprove of that same cat's name, by the way, which was Argus.

There was an explanation for this, too, of course.

The explanation being that the original Argus had been a dog.

In fact the original Argus was the very dog I have just been talking about, and which is therefore even something of a small coincidence, when one comes down to it.

After all, how often does one happen to be talking about the dog who recognizes Odysseus when he finally returns to Ithaca after having been gone for so many years but then dies?

Or which Penelope becomes so accustomed to that it reminds her to bring other animals as gifts, whenever she visits anybody?

Still, people did voice disapproval over Rembrandt having named his cat the way he did.

Now how could anybody be so foolish as to name a cat after a dog? This basically having been the manner in which such disapproval was voiced.

And which brings up Carel Fabritius once again, also, if only insofar as there would appear to be no record as to whether Carel Fabritius was one of the people involved in this or not.

One guesses that in having still been a pupil at the time he would have very likely kept his opinion to himself, however.

Although doubtless many local merchants would have handled the situation in much this same manner, as well.

Well, tradesmen generally being less apt than most people to express disapproval in any event, so as not to lose patronage.

Have you heard? Rembrandt has gotten a cat that he has named after a dog. Most probably this is approximately the manner in which the local pharmacist would have put it, say, insofar as such a simple statement does not necessarily have to be interpreted as showing disapproval at all, really.

Most probably the pharmacist would have put it in just this manner to Spinoza, in fact, on the next occasion when Spinoza had a prescription to be filled.

Or needed cigarettes.

Then again it is equally possible that Spinoza may have heard about the name from Rembrandt himself.

Well, as when waiting on line in the same shop, for instance, which the two of them were frequently known to do. Certainly as no more than casual acquaintances they would have found this a perfectly harmless subject with which to pass the time.

So. And have you thought up a name for your new cat yet, Rembrandt?

As a matter of fact I am naming him Argus, Spinoza.

Ah, so you are naming your cat after the dog in the
Odyssey,
are you?

One assumes that Spinoza would have answered in something like this fashion, all of this again being merely polite. Assuredly he would have looked at the matter in a different light later on, however.

Now how could anybody be so foolish as to name a cat after a dog? Assuredly it would have been more in this sort of a light that he looked at it then.