*One doesn't often see the tragic classical prophetess Cassandra being lampooned, but 19th-century British humorist "F. Anstey" does a swell job of it here.
And bustling up to the chariot, he assisted from it a maiden with a pale
face, great, wild, roving eyes, and hair of tawny gold, and led her back
to his wife.'The Princess Cassandra of Troy–my wife, Queen Clytemnestra. They tell
me this young lady can prophesy very prettily, my dear,' he remarked.Clytemnestra bowed coldly, and said she was sure it would be vastly
amusing. Did the Princess intend giving any public entertainments?'She is our visitor,' Agamemnon put in warningly; while Cassandra smiled
satirically, and said nothing at all.Clytemnestra hoped she might be able to induce her to stay longer, a
week was such a _very_ short time.'She has kindly consented to stay on a little longer, my love,' said
Agamemnon–'all her life,' in fact.'The Queen was charmed to hear it; it was so very nice and kind of her,
particularly as strangers were apt to find the neighbourhood an
unhealthy one.And as ∆gisthus joined them just then, she presented him to the King,
with the remark that he had been the most faithful and devoted of
courtiers during the whole period of the King's absence; to which
Agamemnon replied, with the slightest of scowls, that he was delighted
to make the acquaintance of Mr. ∆gisthus; and after that no one seemed
to know exactly what to say for a minute or two.* * * * *
∆gisthus had strolled away under the colonnade, and Cassandra was left
alone with the Chorus. She stood apart, mystic, moody, and impenetrable,
letting down her flowing back hair.'You prophesy, do you not?' said the kind old men at length, wishing to
make her feel at home; 'might we beg you to favour us with a
prediction–just a little one?'Cassandra made excuses at first, as was proper; she had a cold, and was
feeling the effects of the journey. She was really not inspired just
then, she protested, and besides, she had not touched a tripod for ages.But, upon being pressed, she gave way at last, after declaring with a
little giggle that she was perfectly certain nobody would believe a
single word she said.'I see before me,' she began, in a weird, sepulchral tone which she
found it impossible to keep up for many sentences, 'a proud and stately
pile–but enter not. See ye yon ghoul among the chimney-pots, yon
amphisboena in the back garden? And the scent of gore pervades it!''It is no happy home that is thus described!' the Chorus threw in
profesionally.'But the Finger of Fate is slowly unwound, and the Hand of Destiny steps
in to pace the marble halls with heavy tramp. And know, old men, that
the Inevitable is not wholly unconnected with the Probable!'At this even their politeness could not restrain a gesture of
incredulity, but she heeded it not, and continued:'Who is this that I see next–this regal warrior bounding over the
blazing battlements in brazen panoply?'('That must be Agamemnon,' cried the Chorus; 'the despatches mentioned
him bounding like that. Wonderful!')'I see him,' she resumed, 'pale and prostrate–a prey to the pangs
within him, scanning the billows from his storm-tossed ship. Now he has
reached his native city. Hark! how they greet him! And, behold, a
stately matron meets him with a honeyed smile, inviting him to enter. He
yields. And then—-'Here Cassandra stopped, with the remark that that was all–as there were
limits even to the marvellous faculty of second-sight.The Chorus were not unimpressed, for they had never seen a prediction
and its literal fulfilment in quite such close conjunction before, and
their own attempts always came wrong; but although they were agreed that
the prophecy was charming as far as it went, they began to feel slightly
afraid of the prophetess, and were secretly relieved when ∆gisthus
happened to come up shortly afterwards with an offer to show her such
places of interest as Argos boasted….
