Niobe

Niobe, Queen of Thebes, was proud of many things. Her husband, Amphion, had received a wonderful lyre from the Muses, and to its music the stones of the royal palace had moved into place by themselves. Her father was Tantalus, who had once dined with the gods, and she herself ruled a powerful kingdom. She was a woman of great spirit and majestic beauty. But above all, she was proud of her fourteen beautiful children—seven sons and seven daughters.

Indeed, Niobe was the happiest of mothers, and she would have remained so had she not believed herself so specially blessed. Her very awareness of her good fortune became her downfall.

One day, the prophetess Manto, daughter of the soothsayer Tiresias, was instructed by the gods to call the women of Thebes together to honor the goddess Latona and her two children, Apollo and Diana. "Place laurel wreaths upon your heads," she commanded, "and bring sacrifices with pious prayers."

As the women gathered, Niobe came forth, dressed in a gold-embroidered garment, surrounded by a crowd of followers. She was radiant in her beauty, though angry, with her hair flowing about her shoulders. She stopped in the midst of the busy women and raised her voice.

"Are you not foolish to worship gods of whom only stories are told, when more favored beings live here among you? While you make sacrifices at the altar of Latona, why does my divine name remain unknown? My father Tantalus is the only mortal who has ever sat at the table of the gods; my mother Dione is the sister of the Pleiades, who shine as bright stars in the night sky. One of my uncles is the giant Atlas, who holds the heavens on his shoulders; my grandfather is Jupiter, the father of the gods. The people of Phrygia obey me, and to me and my husband belongs the city of Cadmus, whose walls were raised by the music my husband played. Every corner of my palace is filled with priceless treasures, and there are other treasures—children such as no other mother can show: seven beautiful daughters, seven sturdy sons, and just as many sons- and daughters-in-law. Ask now whether I have ground for pride.

Think again before you honor Latona, that unknown daughter of the Titans, who could find no place on earth to rest and give birth until the island of Delos, out of pity, offered her a humble shelter. There she had two children—the poor creature! That is only a seventh of my joy! Who can deny that I am fortunate? Who will doubt that I shall remain happy? Fortune would have a hard time indeed if she tried to shatter my happiness. Take this or that one from my treasured children; but when would my number ever dwindle to the sickly two of Latona? Away with your sacrifices! Take the laurel out of your hair. Go back to your homes and never let me see such foolishness again!"

Frightened by her outburst, the women removed their wreaths, left their sacrifices, and crept home, silently still honoring Latona.

On the summit of Mount Cynthus in Delos, Latona stood with her two children, watching what was happening in distant Thebes. "See, my children," she said, "I, your mother, who am so proud of your birth, who yield to no goddess except Juno—I am ridiculed by an upstart mortal. If you do not defend me, my children, I shall be driven away from the ancient and holy altars. Yes, you too are insulted by Niobe, and she would like to set you aside for her own children!"

Latona was about to continue, but Apollo interrupted: "Cease your lamentations, mother; you only delay the punishment."

Then he and his sister wrapped themselves in a magic cloud cloak that made them invisible and flew swiftly through the air until they reached the town and castle of Cadmus.

Just outside the city walls lay an open field used as a racecourse and practice ground for horses. Here the seven sons of Amphion were amusing themselves when suddenly the oldest dropped his reins with a cry and fell from his horse, pierced through the heart by an arrow. One after another, all seven were struck down.

The news spread quickly through the city. When Amphion heard that all his sons had perished, he fell on his own sword. Then the loud cries of his servants penetrated to the women's quarters.

For a long time Niobe could not believe that the gods had brought such vengeance. When she finally did, how different she was from the Niobe who had driven the people from the altars and stridden through the city with haughty mien! Crazed with grief, she rushed to the field where her sons had died, threw herself on their bodies, kissing now one, now another. Then, raising her arms to heaven, she cried, "Look now upon my distress, cruel Latona! For the death of these seven bows me to the earth. Triumph now, O my victorious enemy!"

Then her seven daughters, dressed in mourning, drew near with loosened hair and stood around their brothers. The sight of them brought a ray of joy to Niobe's pale face. For a moment she forgot her grief and, casting a scornful look to heaven, said, "Victor! No, for even in my loss I have more than you in your happiness!"

Hardly had she spoken when there was the sound of a drawn bow. The bystanders grew cold with fear, but Niobe was not frightened, for misfortune had made her strong.

Suddenly one of the sisters put her hand to her breast and pulled out an arrow that had pierced her; then, unconscious, she sank to the ground. Another daughter hastened to her mother for comfort, but before she could reach her, she was struck down by a hidden wound. One after another the rest fell, until only the youngest was left. She had fled to Niobe's lap and, like a child, was hiding her face in her mother's garments.

"Leave me only this one," cried Niobe, "just the youngest of so many!"

But even while she prayed, the child fell lifeless from her lap, and Niobe sat alone among the dead bodies of her husband, her sons, and her daughters. She was speechless with grief. No breath of air stirred her hair; the blood left her face; her eyes remained fixed on the grief-stricken scene. In her whole body there was no longer any sign of life. Her veins ceased to carry blood; her neck stiffened; her arms and feet grew rigid; her entire body was transformed into cold, lifeless stone. Nothing living remained except her tears, which continued to flow from her stony eyes.

Then a mighty wind lifted the stone image, carried it over the sea, and set it down in Lydia, the old home of Niobe, in the barren mountains under the stony cliffs of Sipylus. There Niobe remained fixed as a marble statue on the mountain's summit, and to this very day you can see the grief-stricken mother in tears.