Amphion, who married a godlike maiden named Niobe, ruled over Thebes. She became the mother of seven stately sons and seven blooming daughters.She would have been esteemed the most blessed of mothers if she could have borne her happiness with moderation. Her husband Amphion was well-nigh equal to the divine singer Orpheus in song and lute playing, while in possessions and power she surpassed most princesses of her time. But more than all else she prided herself upon her children.
The prophetess Manto went through the streets and ordered the Theban women to the altars of Latona. “Arise, you women,” she cried; “twine your tresses with fresh laurel and bring fragrant incense for the mother of Apollo and Diane.”
The women immediately assembled at the altar of the goddess and supplicatingly scattered incense in the sacred flames. Hardly had they begun the offering song when Niobe appeared, proudly advancing. She wore a gold-embroidered cloak and on her brow gleamed a diadem. Standing before the altar, she raised her head proudly and said: “Foolish ones, would you honor Latona and refuse incense at my altar? Was not my father, Tantalus, a guest at the tables of the gods? Atlas, who carries the world’s axle on his shoulders, is my ancestor. Zeus is another. My power extends even in far-off Phrygia. The stones with which Cadmus built this city and its castle dance to the music of my husband’s lute. Wherever you look in my palace you find inexhaustible treasures. But it is my richest fortune to be the mother of seven stately sons and as many blooming daughters. And yet you offer to Latona, who has borne but two, Apollo and Artemis (Diane)! Do you not know, foolish ones, how she was persecuted by Juno when the hour of her delivery approached? She could find refuge neither in heaven nor on earth, so contemptuously was she regarded! At last the island of Delos pitied the fugitive and said to her: ‘Thou wanderest about restless, like myself, and so I have compassion for thee and offer thee refuge.’ She remained at Delos and bore the Twins who are so highly esteemed by mortals—Apollo and Diane. But am not I with my fourteen children more blest than she with two? She is almost childless, but I am rich in children. So take the laurels from your brows and leave the altar of the goddess who is far less fortunate than I.”
The Theban women reluctantly acceded to her request. Holding their wreaths in their hands, they stole away, but did not forget to supplicate their goddess in light murmurs.
Latona was angry at the insult which Niobe offered her. She called her children, Apollo and Artemis, and said to them: “Behold, my children, how that woman has dishonored me and how the Theban women have forsaken my altar!”
While the goddess was requesting them to avenge her shameful treatment, Apollo interposed and said: “Say no more, divine mother, your wrongs shall be speedily righted.” Artemis said the same. Thereupon they betook themselves to the castle built by Cadmus. Nearby they found the fields covered with the tracks of horses which Niobe’s sons were driving about. Suddenly Ismenos, the eldest, cried out in agony. Behold, his heart was pierced with a silver arrow shot by Apollo from a cloud with his unerring bow. The youth paled at the sight and his gold-mounted bridle dropped from his hands. He raised his head again and fell, dying, from his horse.
When Sipylus saw this, terror seized him and he sought to escape. But his fate overtook him. The arrow was shot at him with such skill that it pierced his throat. Plunging forward, his blood ran down his steed’s white neck and a moment after he fell lifeless to the earth.
Two sons skilled in the ring stood breast to breast and the same fatal arrow pierced both. Alphenor, seeing them fall, threw himself upon them with loud lamentation. His death came quickly, for his body was also pierced by an arrow. His moans had hardly ceased when Damasichthos fell wounded in the knee. While trying to stanch the wound, a second arrow pierced him and he sank dead to the earth. The youngest of the sons, Ilioneus, alone remained. The beautiful boy fell upon his knees and thus implored: “All ye gods, spare me!” Apollo was touched, but it was too late, for the fatal arrow was already on its way and reached its mark—the heart of the supplicating one.
A cry of anguish ran through the city. When the king learned what had happened, despair seized him and he ran his sword through his body. Niobe also heard of the horror, but could not believe it. She hurried to the field and found the bleeding bodies. How everything had changed for her who but a short time before had been so boastful! Her face was pitiful to look upon. Even her enemies felt compassion.
She threw herself down, now upon this body, now upon that, and covered them with kisses and tears. Her hair hung down and the blood of her sons stained it and her garments. She raised her arms and wildly cried: “Revengeful Latona, now satisfy your delight in my sufferings. My sons’ death is my death. Triumph, dreadful one, for thou hast overcome me. But no, for I am still richer than thou.”
Hardly had these words escaped her lips before the dismal twang of the bow was heard anew. Horror seized upon the people and the seven daughters who were rushing to the spot. Niobe did not quail. Misfortune had stupefied her. One of the daughters, while seeking to draw the arrow from the heart of Ilioneus, was pierced and fell upon his body. Another, while consoling her mother, fell dead. Thus one after the other was killed until only the youngest was left. She fled to the lap of her mother, who covered her with her cloak. “Only this one is left to me, Implacable One, only this one,” exclaimed Niobe in despair. The death cry was heard, and she held in her arms a bleeding body.
The mother sat amidst her murdered children, rigid with sorrow. Her face was like white marble. Her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. The blood stood still in her veins. Her whole body turned to stone. A storm swept past with a frightful roar. Lo, tears of stone fell from her eyes. Suddenly the hurricane carried her upon its wings and left her among the rocky crags of Sipylus.
A marble block is there to-day and every morning the cold marble weeps.