All Lydia is in an uproar, and the rumor of the fact goes through the town of Phrygia, and fills the wide world with discourse {thereon}. Before her own marriage Niobe had known her, at the time, when still single, she was inhabiting Mæonia and Sipylus. And yet by the punishment of her countrywoman, Arachne, she was not warned to yield to the inhabitants of Heaven, and to use less boastful words. Many things augmented her pride; but yet, neither the skill of her husband, nor the descent of them both, nor the sovereignty of a mighty kingdom, pleased her so much (although all of them did please her) as her own progeny; and Niobe might have been pronounced the happiest of mothers, if she had not so seemed to herself.
For Manto, the daughter of Tiresias, foreknowing the future, urged by a divine impulse, had proclaimed through the middle of the streets, “Ye women of Ismenus, go all of you, and give to Latona, and the two
children of Latona, the pious frankincense, together with prayers, and wreathe your hair with laurel; by my mouth does Latona command {this}.” Obedience is paid; and all the Theban women adorn their temples with leaves {of laurel}, as commanded, and offer frankincense on the sacred fires, and words of supplication. Lo! Niobe comes, surrounded with a crowd of attendants, conspicuous for the gold interwoven in her Phrygian garments, and beautiful, so far as anger will allow; and tossing her hair, hanging down on both shoulders, with her graceful head, she stands still; and as she loftily casts around her haughty eyes, she says, “What madness is this to prefer the inhabitants of Heaven, that you have {only} heard of, to those who are seen? or why is Latona worshipped at the altars, {and} my Godhead is still without its {due} frankincense? Tantalus was my father, who alone was allowed to approach the tables of the Gods above. The sister of the Pleiades is my mother; the most mighty Atlas is my grandsire, who bears the æthereal skies upon his neck. Jupiter is my other grandsire; of him, too, I boast as my father-in-law. The Phrygian nations dread me; the palace of Cadmus is subject to me as its mistress; and the walls that were formed by the strings of my husband’s {lyre}, together with their people, are governed by me and my husband; to whatever part of the house I turn my eyes, immense wealth is seen. To this is added a face worthy of a Goddess. Add to this my seven daughters, and as many sons, and, at a future day, sons-in-law and daughters-in-law. Now inquire what ground my pride has {for its existence}; and presume to prefer Latona the Titaness, the daughter of some obscure Cæus, to whom, when in travail, the great earth once refused a little spot, to myself. Neither by heaven, nor by earth, nor by water, was your Goddess received; she was banished the world, till Delos, pitying the wanderer, said, “Thou dost roam a stranger on the land, I in the waves;” and gave her an unstable place {of rest}. She was made the mother of two children, that is {but} the seventh part of my issue. I am fortunate, and who shall deny it? and fortunate I shall remain; who, too, can doubt of that? Plenty has made me secure; I am too great for Fortune possibly to hurt; and, though she should take away many things from me, {even then} much more will she leave me: my {many} blessings have now risen superior to apprehensions. Suppose it possible for some part of this multitude of my children to be taken away {from me}; still, thus stripped, I shall not be reduced to two, the number of Latona; an amount, by the number of which, how far, {I pray}, is she removed from one that is childless? Go from the sacrifice; hasten away from the sacrifice, and remove the laurel from your hair!”
They remove it, and the sacrifice they leave unperformed; and what they can do, they adore the Divinity in gentle murmurs. The Goddess was indignant; and on the highest top of {Mount} Cynthus, she spoke to her two children in such words as these: “Behold! I, your mother, proud of having borne you, and who shall yield to no one of the Goddesses, except to Juno {alone}, am called in question whether I am a Goddess, and, for all future ages, I am driven from the altars devoted {to me}, unless you give me aid. Nor is this my only grief; the daughter of Tantalus has added abusive language to her shocking deeds, and has dared to postpone you to her own children, and (what {I wish} may fall upon herself), she has called me childless; and the profane {wretch} has discovered a tongue like her father’s.” To this relation Latona was going to add entreaties, when Phœbus said, “Cease thy complaints, ’tis prolonging the delay of her punishment.” Phœbe said the same; and, by a speedy descent through the air, they arrived, covered with clouds, at the citadel of Cadmus.
There was near the walls a plain, level, and extending far and wide, trampled continually by horses, where multitudes of wheels and hard hoofs had softened the clods placed beneath them. There, part of the seven sons of Amphion are mounting upon their spirited steeds, and press their backs, red with the Tyrian dye, and wield the reins heavy with gold; of these, Ismenus, who had formerly been the first burden of his mother, while he is guiding the steps of the horses in a perfect circle, and is curbing their foaming mouths, cries aloud, “Ah, wretched me!” and, pierced through the middle of his breast, bears a dart {therein}; and the reins dropping from his dying hand, by degrees he falls on his side, over {the horse’s} shoulder. The next {to him}, Sipylus, on hearing the sound of a quiver in the air, gives rein {to his horse}; as when the pilot, sensible of the storm {approaching}, flies on seeing a cloud, and unfurls the hanging sails on every side, that the light breeze may by no means escape them. He gives rein, {I said}; while thus giving it, the unerring dart overtakes him, and an arrow sticks quivering in the top of his neck, and the bare steel protrudes from his throat. He, as he is bending forward, rolls over the neck, {now} let loose, and {over} the mane, and stains the ground with his warm blood. The unhappy Phædimus, and Tantalus, the heir to the name of his grandsire, when they had put an end to their wonted exercise {of riding}, had turned to the youthful exercises of the palæstra, glowing with oil; and now had they brought breast to breast, struggling in a close grapple, when an arrow, sped onward from the stretched bow, pierced them both, just as they were united together. At the same instant they groaned aloud, and together they laid their limbs on the ground, writhing with pain; together as they lay, for the last time, they rolled their eyeballs, and together they breathed forth their life.
Alphenor sees this, and, beating his torn breast, flies to them, to lift up their cold limbs in his embrace, and falls in this affectionate duty. For the Delian God pierces the inner part of his midriff with the fatal steel. Soon as it is pulled out, a part of his lungs is dragged forth on the barbs, and his blood is poured forth, with his life, into the air; but no single wound reaches the unshaven Damasicthon. He is struck where the leg commences, and where the sinewy ham makes the space between the joints soft; and while he is trying with his hand to draw out the fatal weapon, another arrow is driven through his neck, up to the feathers. The blood drives this out, and itself starting forth, springs up on high, and, piercing the air, spouts forth afar. The last {of them}, Ilioneus, had raised his unavailing arms in prayer, and had said, “O, all ye Gods, in common, (not knowing that all were not to be addressed) spare me!” The {God}, the bearer of the bow, was moved, when now his arrow could not be recalled; yet he died with the slightest wound {of all}, his heart not being struck deep by the arrow.
The report of this calamity, and the grief of the people, and the tears of her family, made the mother acquainted with a calamity so sudden, wondering that it could have happened, and enraged that the Gods above had dared this, {and} that they enjoyed a privilege so great. For Amphion the father, thrusting his sword through his breast, dying, had ended his grief together with his life. Alas! how different is this Niobe from that Niobe who had lately driven the people from the altars of Latona, and, with lofty head, had directed her steps through the midst of the city, envied by her own people, but now to be pitied even by an enemy! She falls down upon the cold bodies, and with no distinction she distributes her last kisses among all her sons. Raising her livid arms from these towards heaven, she says, “Glut thyself, cruel Latona, with my sorrow; glut thyself, and satiate thy breast with my mourning; satiate, too, thy relentless heart with seven deaths. I have received my death-blow; exult and triumph, my victorious enemy. But why victorious? More remains to me, in my misery, than to thee, in thy happiness. Even after so many deaths, I am the conqueror.” {Thus} she spoke; {when} the string twanged from the bent bow, which affrighted all but Niobe alone; she {became} bold by her misfortunes.
The sisters were standing in black array, with their hair dishevelled, before the biers of their brothers. One of these, drawing out the weapon sticking in her entrails, about to die, swooned away, with her face placed upon her brother. Another, endeavoring to console her wretched parent, was suddenly silent, and was doubled together with an invisible wound; and did not close her mouth, until after the breath had departed. Another, vainly flying, falls down; another dies upon her sister; another lies hid; another you might see trembling. And {now} six being put to death, and having received different wounds, the last {only} remains; her mother covering her with all her body, {and} with all her garments, cries, “Leave me but one, and that the youngest; the youngest only do I ask out of so many, and {that but} one.” And while she was entreating, she, for whom she was entreating, was slain. Childless, she sat down among her dead sons and daughters and husband, and became hardened by her woes. The breeze moves no hair {of hers}; in her features is a color without blood; her eyes stand unmoved in her sad cheeks; in her form there is no {appearance} of life. Her tongue itself, too, congeals within, together with her hardened palate, and the veins cease to be able to be moved. Her neck can neither be bent, nor can her arms give any motion, nor her feet move. Within her entrails, too, it is stone.
Still did she weep on; and, enveloped in a hurricane of mighty wind, she was borne away to her native land. There, fixed on the top of a mountain, she dissolves; and even yet does the marble distil tears.
TL:DR:
Niobe: Why are all you dirty poor people celebrating Leto? She only has two kids, and I have fourteen. I'm like a TLC show.
Poor people: Oh, um, sorry?
Leto: [overhearing] You absolute bitch. Hey kids!
The kids: Yeah?
Leto: Go fuck her shit up.
The kids: Sure. [Her son, who is totally Apollo (yes, that Apollo) shoots and kills all seven of Niobe's sons. Her daughter, who is totally Artemis (yes, that Artemis) shoots and kills all seven of Niobe's daughters.]
Poor people: Looks like we're celebrating her because her kids will straight up murder us.
Niobe: [turns into a rock]
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