Tusculan Disputations 1 ¶133 — Cicero (on the Stoics)

Cicero (on the Stoics), Tusculan Disputations 1 ¶133

But all things are full of errors. Achilles drags Hector, tied to his chariot. He thinks, I suppose, he tears his flesh, and that Hector feels the pain of it; therefore he avenges himself on him, as he imagines. But Hecuba bewails this as a sore misfortune: I saw (a dreadful sight) great Hector slain, Dragg’d at Achilles’ car along the plain. What Hector? or how long will he be Hector? Accius is better in this, and Achilles, too, is sometimes reasonable: I Hector’s body to his sire convey’d, Hector I sent to the infernal shade. It was not Hector that you dragged along, but a body that had been Hector’s. Here another starts from underground, and will not suffer his mother to sleep: To thee I call, my once-loved parent, hear, Nor longer with thy sleep relieve thy care; Thine eye which pities not is closed—arise; Ling’ring I wait the unpaid obsequies. When these verses are sung with a slow and melancholy tune, so as to affect the whole theatre with sadness, one can scarce help thinking those unhappy that are unburied: Ere the devouring dogs and hungry vultures… He is afraid he shall not have the use of his limbs so well if they are torn to pieces, but is under no such apprehensions if they are burned: Nor leave my naked bones, my poor remains, To shameful violence and bloody stains. I do not understand what he could fear who could pour forth such excellent verses to the sound of the flute. We must, therefore, adhere to this: that nothing is to be regarded after we are dead, though many people revenge themselves on their dead enemies. Thyestes pours forth several curses in some good lines of Ennius, praying, first of all, that Atreus may perish by a shipwreck, which is certainly a very terrible thing, for such a death is not free from very grievous sensations. Then follow these unmeaning expressions: —May On the sharp rock his mangled carcass lie, His entrails torn, to hungry birds a prey! May he convulsive writhe his bleeding side, And with his clotted gore the stones be dyed! The rocks themselves were not more destitute of feeling than he who was hanging to them by his side, though Thyestes imagines he is wishing him the greatest torture. It would be torture, indeed, if he were sensible, but as he is not, it can be none; then how very unmeaning is this! Let him, still hovering o’er the Stygian wave, Ne’er reach the body’s peaceful port, the grave! You see under what mistaken notions all this is said. He imagines the body has its haven, and that the dead are at rest in their graves. Pelops was greatly to blame in not having informed and taught his son what regard was due to everything.