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(Apollo Destroying the Children of Niobe by Richard Wilson)

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The Characters

 

Amphion, king of Thebes

Apollo, son of Leto

Artemis, daughter of Leto

Chorus

A Forestman

Ismenus, a son of Niobe

Leto, a Titaness

Manto, daughter of Tiresias

Meliboea, the youngest daughter of Niobe

Niobe, queen of Thebes

Sipylus, a son of Niobe

Tiresias, a blind prophet

A Town Elder of Thebes

 

The five other sons and six other daughters of Niobe and Amphion

Townspeople of Thebes

Attendants of Amphion

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Prologue

 

[lights up on Chorus]

 

Chorus:

This theater, which liveth not in life

Of true performance, speaketh not aloud,

But silent, in that ear alone which lists

By virtue of the eye, and hears what’s said

In various voices, as the mind directs.

Thus boots it nought whether we shout or squeak –

Thou’lt hear us as thou wilt, while no one else

Hears slightest word. 

 

                                             Yet, still we feel compelled

To hush to faintest susurration whilst

We speak this next: how vengeful are the gods,

How stern, how jealous! Forthwith we unfold

This tale of fruitful queen, much blessed with babes,

Weening herself as high – no, higher than –

Daughter of Titans’ race; for issues’ count

Weighed in her scale the greater. Whisp’ring thus,

We fault cruel goddess for her jealousies

And vast revenge against such smallish crime 

As mortal arrogance, touching no being

Secure in heaven’s fastness. Witness then

This tragic act, not slow or overlong,

Declaimed in louder voices than we dare:

The overweening of the queen of Thebes,

And what befell her, hard’ning pride to grief.

 

[lights down]

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Act I

 

Scene I

 

[lights up on Niobe and her seven sons and seven daughters – the scene is the porch of an ethereal, columned palace bathed in pink and gold light, as amidst a gorgeous dawn or dusk, the sky of which darkens to deep blue towards the zenith]

 

Niobe:

My children, look about ye, breathe this air –

This rare breath halfway ’twixt man’s dusty toil 

And crystalline unknown. Thy father built 

This castle as he built the walls of Thebes:

Plucking his seven strings of Lydian mode

To cause these bricks t’assemble. Summit-high

Our lowest cellar sits, and attic rooms

I deem some lazy clouds might doze upon

When weary they in journeys.

 

                                                              Ye must know,

As heirs to this – this power and this pride

Of royal exaltation – whence ye come

Unto this earth, a stool beneath your feet –

Your forty and one-hundred precious toes –

Whence come ye, say I: from what womb and seed

Your cherub-forms derived. Know first, both bloods

Congealed to make ye, own Olympian fire

In no faint measure: Tantalus, my sire,

Who once dined with the gods, was Zeus’s son;

And father yours, too, owneth such divine

Inheritance: his twin, your uncle, true,

Is all a mortal – yet a different seed

Amphion’s noble self engenderèd:

That very same vast power whom Rhea hid, 

Whose blood reaches your own through double font

And makes ye shining worthies. 

 

                                                                  Not just this,

Our palace and demesne, your father’s crown 

And my bright diadem, but greater things

And loftier, ye fourteen stand to gain

In certain course of years – as much your own

As form and soul. I tell this that ye may,

Those sure-deservèd things, once they are found,

Not let fall by loose clutch, and when they’re held,

Not forfeit by slack heart or feeble claim,

A right but half-convinced… 

 

[pause]                                            An age comes round

To cause the skies to shiver.

 

[Meliboea looks upward]

 

Meliboea:

[aside]                                             What is this

Across the heaven’s face? A twitch, a sneer,

A darkening, a scowling in yon blue?

Something so blank as cloudlessness, it seemed

For’n instant to turn wroth.

 

Niobe:

[to Meliboea]                              My youngest one,

Thou look’st distracted.

 

Meliboea:

[innocently]                          Do I, mother?

 

Niobe:

                                                                                Aye.

Thou gazest through the yonder, ’cross the clouds.

 

Meliboea:

I surely listen, too.

 

Niobe:

                                        Listen to her

Who from her love hath spoken?

 

Meliboea:

                                                                    Mother, oh,

Thy words I’ve stowed with care inside my heart.

 

Niobe:

Thou art my last born, and I’ve waited ’til

Thou hast formed wit to gain the drift of words

To tell ye fourteen of your lineage

And how great-born ye are, that all might learn

In one solemn assembly. [to Meliboea] Daughter, come.

 

[Meliboea goes to her]

 

What sawst thou in the yonder?

 

Meliboea:

                                                                   Mother, I

Saw nothing. I was dreaming. 

 

Niobe:

                                                              Thou didst pale

And momently look ghastly.

 

Meliboea:

                                                             ’Twas a dream

To make one fear.

 

Niobe:

                                      What was it?

 

Meliboea:

                                                                  I… can’t say.

’Twas such a thing more fearful for that fact.

 

Niobe:

A person? Or a being?

 

Meliboea:

                                                Mother, no.

I wit not what it was.

 

[enter the townspeople of Thebes, led by the town elder – they bow]

 

Town Elder:

[to Niobe]                          We folk have come

To do thee rev’rence, thank thee and thy king

For guardianship which brings our flourishing

Amidst this world’s grim arms and bloody acts.

Hail, shield of Thebes, this royal house, offspring

Of Titans, deities! Our wall, most sure

And fitted firm by virtue of that spell

Which summoned bricks, casts shadow o’er aught heart

Would scheme to pillage us. 

 

[enter Amphion, attended – the townspeople bow again]

 

Amphion:

                                                       Grateful words did reach

Deep in my palace… Folk, unbend your knees.

Accept my love, as I accept what sweet

And hon’rable speech ye give.

 

Town Elder:

                                                              We pledge our wills

To serve thee and thy family, Theban king,

And rank ye ’mongst all those we most revere

By festivals and rites the seasons through.

Ye too shall worship have within our thoughts 

Whilst deities we honor.

 

Amphion:

                                                   In two days,

I know, ye banquet and give prayer to her

Who birthed sweet twins on Delos.

 

Town Elder:

                                                                        Aye, we do.

It is occasion which all families love,

To crown her statue, incense burn for her,

Cast wreaths and nosegays ’pon her marble toes

While table stints not, music knows no cease,

And women great with child are honored most.

We ask that ye and yours these rites shall join,

And greater honor thus the Titaness,

Yourselves, and all us people.

 

Amphion:

                                                              Worthy friend,

Good delegation: this thing which ye ask,

Which only ought have been longstanding use

And sign of amity ’twist trunk and head –

Integrity of Thebes – we’ll gladly do:

Inmixed with ye, we shall throw flow’rs to her

Who was denied firm land to birth her twins;

And may my children mingle with your own, 

For games and play reck not degree nor rank

In how they show’r their joys.

 

Town Elder:

                                                             The town gives thanks.

It shall delight in presence of its lord;

And that delight the more shall Leto serve

Such gift to make her smile on Theban life –

On folk far low, on palace high and fine.

 

[exeunt townspeople, bowing]

 

Amphion:

Hear, children? We shall go to festival

And see the rites accorded Leto’s power:

What oxen-slaughter and what revelry.

You’re glad for it? 

 

Children:

                                     Yes, father. 

 

Amphion:

                                                            It shall be

Your first day in the town – indeed, your first

Outside this high-set place! I ought have ta’en

Ye more to see the world… but kingship asks

All hours and thoughts. In time, you might explore,

As years do graduate ye, far afield

To learn what things are men, society,

And how one honors heaven. 

 

                                                             Meet me, then –

And you of course, dear queen – day after next,

As sun is peaking, here. We’ll all go down

The long bright way to Thebes.

 

Children:

                                                                   Father, we shall.

 

Amphion:

Bring bouquets for the goddess. Now I leave

To treat some graver matters, as I must –

But happy still, for thought of holiday.

Family, adieu.

 

Children:

                              Good-bye, dear father.

 

[exeunt Amphion and attendants]

 

Niobe:

                                                                             Now

You may run as you please. Practice your arts

And sports and exercises. Heed what said

Your father: when to meet, and what to bring.

 

[exeunt all children except Meliboea, who lingers]

 

[aside, not noticing her] Whom married I? Is he a different man

Than when we joined? Or is Niobe changed?

His pride hath dipped, ’tis sure: where once he held

Himself above all men, now deigns he so

To mix and condescend, that he forgets

How high his blood might soar him… Jupiter

Is half of him, one-quarter of myself;

And we have held aloof most rightfully,

So far, from subjects’ worship. What has changed?

Doth he grow mellow – overripe, like fruit

Which sags low on the branch? Am I made firm

By fourteen births, he soft by statesmanship?

Who’s Leto next to me? Why ought I share

My children’s adoration ’cause some fool

From town speaks up? But two bairns Leto hath –

Myself, two plus a dozen: why no fête

Or sacrifice for me? The custom moves

Not with the shift of things… I have a mind

To shove it suddenly: I’ll dwell on this

More throughly in my chamber.

 

[exit]

 

[Meliboea gazes at the sky]

 

Meliboea:

                                                                   And again

A vision in the heavens… in my head?

My grandsire Tantalus! – not down below

In Erebus, but far high in the clouds:

A faint flash, then was gone! He strained for fruit,

Could grasp it not; and water just as swift

Retreated from his hands. So is he scourged,

Poor ancestor, as mother hath us told,

For theft of nectar, bringing it to men

From board where gods unwisely let him feast.

He must have hid his cup, left deftly when

Most all that house had halfway fall’n to sleep

For swilling wine… brought vessel down steep paths,

Careful to cup the goblet, not to slosh,

With guilty heart – or not? – from peak to plains,

As when Prometheus, in an age long gone,

Filched flame for mortal folk. And eyes did ope 

For all who sipped sweet treasure: something more 

Than common heart’s push-pull, than common sigh

Ravished their notions. 

 

                                                 Surely ’twas too much,

Once they found out, the gods to overlook

How heaven’s vision spilt from tabletop

Upon base floor, tipped o’er by ingrate hand.

Now suffers grandsire for brash deed he did,

Frustrated head and foot… And I have viewed

His punishment flashed as a sign on high

After my mother’s words.

 

                                                    I know there lives

Somewhere not far from town, at edge of woods,

A man who’s held a prophet: such have said

My brothers and my sisters. Morrow comes, 

I’ll sneak from palace, ask my way to him,

Tell what my mother spake so vainly strong,

Tell what I saw… 

 

                                     A dream alone, that sight,

Portending nothing? I shall ask he look

Within his art to learn if heavens breathed

Some warning – or if brain of mine’s just bent

On throwing horror’s scenes upon the clouds.

 

[exit – lights down]

*

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Scene II

 

[lights up on Tiresias drawing water from a well at the edge of a forest]

 

Tiresias:

[nervously] My mind’s too busy. Every bird who squawks

Makes sense to me – I hear what’s in their heads

And must be chirped; and premonitions all 

Intuited by beasts, and vocalized,

Become my own if I’m in hearing’s range.

This chatt’ring all around I can’t tune out

Turns life to apprehension, fateful gloom

O’er how so may piteous things must pass.

When speaks some gladsome news from creatures’ mouths? 

Or prophecies with sense in ’em towards what

A wise man might inquire? Beeswax blocks

Hard chatter of the world from vexing me –

I should go mad elsewise… Still, I’ll unplug

My ears a bit – ah, there.

 

[he takes out the beeswax – enter Meliboea, unseen]

 

Meliboea:

[aside]                                     ’Tis he – and looks 

Most wild. No razor’s touched his cheek in years;

His mouth keeps mumbling. Name’s Tiresias,

The townsfolk said, and warned me was most odd:

Speaks with all souls, save people. Down he sends

His bucket… pulls it up – drinks deep from pail! –

Sends it back down with splash. Keep mumbling,

Thou strange old man – I’ll edge a bit more near

To learn what thou art like.

 

[she moves closer, hiding]

 

Tiresias:

                                                          This nightjar sings

Of how one king shall keep Thebes’ walls against

The arms of seven. 

 

Meliboea:

[aside]                          In my older age,

Could be, I’ll know such things.

 

Tiresias:

                                                                 And little dove,

Eating the grain I scatter, thou inform’st

Nearby’s a guest?

 

Meliboea:

[aside]                      Oh! I am found.

 

Tiresias:

[takes up his staff and searches]     Where art,

Where art, oh visitor?

 

Meliboea:

[aside]                               He hath no eyes.

 

Tiresias:

I’ll let thee drink my water.

 

Meliboea:

[aside]                                          Shall I speak

And let this odd one find me?

 

Tiresias:

                                                              All these chirps

Say she’s not far – in orchard.

 

Meliboea:

[aside]                                                Here he comes.

 

Tiresias:

[draws near her] I hear thy breath. Thou art a little girl,

And crouch ’hind tree before me. Pick this fruit

And eat, if thou art hungry; or if wish’st

Some water, pull the pail. 

 

Meliboea:

 [rising]                            Oh sage, I’m here.

 

Tiresias:

What is thy name? What wouldst thou?

 

Meliboea:

                                                                                 I am called 

Meliboea.

 

Tiresias:

                    And of what family art?

 

Meliboea:

Were I to lie, thy birds would catch me out…

I am the daughter of the king and queen,

The youngest of the bairns Niobe birthed.

 

Tiresias:

Thou’rt all alone?

 

Meliboea:

                                      None knows I’m gone from home,

Snuck off from royal grounds. They must believe

I’m still a-bed. 

 

Tiresias:

[pause, listening] Hast Manto seen, or heard?

That is my daughter.

 

Meliboea:

                                           No, sir.

 

Tiresias:

                                                           She hath been

Much out of earshot lately, wand’ring oft

To speak with far-off chirpers. 

 

Meliboea:

                                                                She might hear

What thou hear’st?

 

Tiresias:

                                        She hath all the gifts I gained

When gods tapped on my ears and rubbed mine eyes

The first hour I drew breath… Why didst thou sneak

From lofty castle?

 

Meliboea:

                                      Wise and eyeless man:

Wouldst thou have sight to tell me what unfolds

In future for my mother?

 

Tiresias:

                                                    What – the queen?

 

Meliboea:

I’ve reason ’nough to fear: she is not meek

Or humble.

 

Tiresias:

                        And thou worriest the gods

Gather their anger.

 

Meliboea:

                                       Saw I in the sky –

 

Tiresias:

Oh, hush, hush –  I hear Manto!

 

Meliboea:

                                                                 Ha?

 

Tiresias:

                                                                         She comes –

And heart’s most delicate: lists she to all

Her little winged ones, and laments if voice

Of man or woman drown out prophecies

From such sweet throats – so speak not while she’s by.

 

[enter Manto, searching the trees and speaking to a bird]

 

Manto:

Flutt’rest so much, my light one. Art thou ill

With anxiousness? What sets thee so a-wing,

Bounding from branch to branch? Dost see some storm,

A quiv’ring in the heavens? How I love

Thy fateful music.

 

Tiresias:

[whispering to Meliboea] When a babe, she first

Spoke to the woods, not parents.

 

Manto:

[still to the bird]                                     What sayst? Rays

Wilt flowers they ought nurture?

 

Meliboea:

[whispering to Tiresias]                    Are these words

The daw speaks, or she hears only betwixt

Her temples?

 

Manto:

                            Stone seeps water? Whirlwinds place

A rock upon a mount?

 

Tiresias:

[to Meliboea]                   If ’tis all dreamt,

I’ve dreamt truth, ere my daughter, and through years,

Inspired by birdsong. 

 

Manto:

                                             Crashes? Clam’ring voice?

Vast swirl of clouds? Who seeks the forest dark?

Who, sayst thou?… But thou leav’st! Oh, stay by me.

Alack! Oh speak again!

 

[exit Manto frantically]

 

Tiresias:

                                                Such flightiness,

Chasing what things e’er warble in the wild,

Hath been her way since I gave birth to her.

 

Meliboea:

Gave birth to her?

 

Tiresias:

                                      Thou know’st my story not –

I had forgotten. Every soul in town

Hath heard what change I suffered.

 

Meliboea:

                                                                         Tell it me,

I know not what thou mean’st. 

 

Tiresias:

                                                                Hear this thing first:

For seven years, my form was woman’s shape.

 

Meliboea:

A magic spell?

 

Tiresias:

                               The work of Hera, child.

Thou know’st how wroth the gods turn readily.

 

Meliboea:

Little I know beyond the palace bourne,

Little save music, dance, and watching sport

My brothers play: my mother keeps us locked

Within a pleasant cage. 

 

                                                 Only within 

My heart I’ve flown ere now, and plains and tracts

Seen ’neath my floating mind, which may be true

Or not – though all such stretch ’cross boundless earth,

O’er caves candied with gems, and sun-swoll’n fields,

The dew and fleshy rose, suggest there lives

In me this world’s same wellspring: common fount

And source, and that I live already far

From here – unglimpsed, unkenned. 

 

                                                                     She shall be vexed

I crossed her limit. But, say on.

 

Tiresias:

                                                                  Wouldst know

How dreadful it’s to be a prophet?

 

Meliboea:

                                                                       Aye,

I’d know.

 

Tiresias:

                   We see the horrid things most oft,

And rare the prosp’rous.

 

Meliboea:

                                                    Has’t been always so

For thee, list’ning to what the birds might hint,

Reading the jumping flame of oracle

While thou couldst see: more horrid things than good?

 

Tiresias:

Not always so… But, let me tell thee how

I first turned Hera ’gainst me. 

 

Meliboea:

                                                             I shall hear,

For much gods’ rage concerns me.

 

Tiresias:

                                                                       Back when I

Could see (how I lost sight, I’ll tell anon),

Upon the mount Cyllene once I roamed,

Seeking somewhere to pitch my modest life

Away from most of men, when came I ’cross

Two snakes which twined and twisted in the dust,

Female and male; and when they hissed, I heard

What said they: “Let us breed a swarming race

To venom men at ankles – children ours

Shall cause them drop in dozens!” Hearing this,

Incensed (not knowing then ’tis serpents’ way

Such cruel ideas to utter with their hiss)

I smashed them with my staff, and caused them die

All shudd’ring down their lengths.

 

                                                                   Not long, and she,

The queen of heaven, came to me in sleep,

And asked: “Who art thou, man, thus to appoint

Thyself the judge and executioner

Of such small things, which only speak and act

As Nature them impels? When thou awak’st,

Thou shalt behold thy punishment!” And true,

When I awoke, I saw what had been changed 

To make me grieve: now little strength I owned

To save me from this world. I husband took,

And soon a daughter bore. 

 

                                                        She clung to me, 

Much loved me, and I saw she grasped my gift

In how she watched fire-smoke and chatted with

The feathered things of groves. No other child

Who came from me could hear the things she heard,

Glimpse what she viewed… Those rest I know not where

Have made their lives; but Manto with me stays,

And serves as kind support – at least while not

Wand’ring inside the woods.

 

                                                             Thou wond’rest how

I came a man again? The goddess must 

Have sent this chance t’atone: in garden rows

Of fruits I grew, some seven years gone by

After my change, another twining pair

Hissing their curses found I – but this time

I left them to their deed. That minute same,

I saw my parts restored to what they’d been;

And so I blessed and thanked sweet heaven’s pow’r,

Took Manto up, avoided husband’s eye,

And fled. To Thebes, in time, I came. 

 

                                                                            I try

These days, not much the form of what’s to come

To ascertain, save when I am compelled

Or cannot help but overhear what things 

The chatt’ring beasts might know.

 

Meliboea:

                                                        Thou saidst thou wouldst

Tell how thy sight went out.

 

Tiresias:

                                                           By that same cause

As first misfortune’s: foolishly, I crossed

Once more my foe. She and her husband once

Began debate (how idle are the gods!)

Whether the woman or the man, when love

Is all fulfilled, holds more enjoyment in

Their half of scales. The queen maintained the man,

But Zeus the opposite – they asked me then,

For knowledge held I to settle dispute;

And I did answer as I thought I ought,

With honesty: “The man,” I said, “hath not

One-tenth of what is woman’s.” 

 

                                                                  For this, she

Of spite and choler ripped mine eyes from head,

Leaving me pity’s object. Zeus was wroth,

And I believe that Hera too took shock

From what she’d done. No more I heard her say –

I think she fled. Soon, kindly words of Zeus

Addressed me in my grief, telling that while

No god could undo what another’d done,

He’d grant me compensation: I should live

For seven times the common span of life.

Thus was I satisfied.

 

Meliboea:

                                          Thou’st suffered much,

But hast what much men dream of.

 

Tiresias:

                                                                          I might live

To hear of strange and monumental things,

But never view them.

 

Meliboea:

                                              Thou mightst hear of them

Right now, through birdsong.

 

Tiresias:

                                                              Once, I loved to learn

All that I could… Each thing that is, contains

Somehow the All and Everywhere; and some 

Have voices for to speak with, and can’t help

But tell that Everywhere – and Everywhen.

And things most grim, somehow, have crowded thick

In these my ears the older I have got…

How shall it be when centuries have lapsed?

What should I hear? Shall birds e’en sing by then?

The world fats in its evil – here I hide,

A burrowed mole, hunkered ’gainst winter’s shock… 

Wouldst still ask what thou hast?

 

Meliboea:

                                                                    Yes, sir.

 

Tiresias:

                                                                                   Say, then.

 

Meliboea:

It is the chance that doom waits like a stone

Dangling to fall, which prompts my desp’rate heart.

My mother’s proud, and vain, and loose of tongue,

Unfrightened of the gods: one day ago

She held herself o’er Leto as more ripe 

And full in children, and she thinks she owes

No reverence to aught godhead – such she said 

While thought she was alone. Were it not for

My father’s rev’rence, worship he displays

And greater sway o’er household, I’d much fear

Some hard reprisal on her crown and head. 

Despises she how king makes family join

The common folk in worship in two days,

Wanting us children only her to love;

And what alarms me most, is what I viewed

Flash in the heavens after she had spoke

Defiance toward the goddess: Tantalus

Tortured with thirst and hunger! ’Tis her sire,

My grandfather – thou know’st how he is pained

And for what cause. 

 

                                          Good man, canst answer me,

Shall Leto be offended? Is she now?

Shall queen mar goddess’ worship? What shall fall

On feast two days from now?

 

Tiresias:

                                                               I can inquire –

Though what is answered often seems nowise

Touching what’s queried: thus are oracles.

I’ll find a sparrow, jay, or robin who

Sounds willing to converse. 

 

[he wanders among the trees, Meliboea following, until by hearing he finds a bird]

 

                                                         Ah! Hello, sir.

Canst understand me? Good, good. And thou heard’st

What was the question? Yes, we two spoke loud…

What sayst thou then?

 

[the bird twitters, Tiresias listening intently]

 

                                               So, so? Nothing, no thought,

No vision? Tell her what?… ’Tis all thou heard’st

From out of darkness? Fine then, thankee, fly,

And may ye e’er find kernels.

 

[the birds flies off]

 

                                                            It only said

Two things not to thy purpose.

 

Meliboea:

                                                               Yes?

 

Tiresias:

                                                                         First, thou 

Shalt go to forest’s heart.

 

Meliboea:

[pause]                                     ’Tis strange.

 

Tiresias:

                                                                             Then bird

Said thou shalt change thy name.

 

Meliboea:

                                                                        I should not wish

To do so.

 

Tiresias:

                   Thus it said. ’Tis all the help

I might provide.

 

Meliboea:

                                  There are no other birds

To ask?

 

Tiresias:

                 They’ll tell the same – or shall not speak.

Wouldst eat, inside?   

 

Meliboea:

[distracted, uneasy] I’ll have a sip from pail,

Then go.

 

Tiresias:

                   I’ll send the bucket down again.

 

Meliboea:

I thank thee, sir, for water and thy help.

 

[he draws water – Meliboea drinks, then departs]

 

Tiresias:

Sometimes Agave’s son I recollect:

By mother brought down from Cithaeron’s heights –

Only the head – while Cadmus all the rest

From deep woods gathered, that the king in whole

Might find his rest, ere exiled was his clan.

 

When highest will plants in the hearts of men

The cause of evil, then are souls undone –

The city, heart, and family fall’n as one –

And sweeping ruin blows all things along

To secret nooks, where life might sleep a space.

 

[lights down]

*

*

*

Act II

 

Scene I

 

[lights up on Niobe in her chamber, looking in a mirror and fussing over her appearance – Ismenus and Sipylus, her two eldest sons, bring Meliboea into the room like guards bringing in an escaped captive]

 

Ismenus:

Mother, attend.

 

Niobe:

                               What is’t?

 

Ismenus:

                                                     Unhappy thing

To tell thee.

 

Niobe:

                         What’s the matter?

 

Sipylus:

                                                                Sister here

We saw sneak in through gate: she must have left,

And hoped no one would know.

 

Niobe:

[to Meliboea]                              Thou left’st these grounds?

Is’t true?  

 

Meliboea:

                  ’Tis true, oh queen.        

 

Niobe:

[to her sons]                                  Leave us alone.

I thank ye.

 

[exeunt sons]

 

                     Thou know’st well thou mayst not leave

’Til thou’rt much older.

 

Meliboea:

                                                ’Tis for love of thee

I broke thy bourne.

 

Niobe:

                                        How’s that? Speak’st emptiness!

No disregard is love. Thou’st world for thee

Sufficient here ’til all thy faculties

And sense have grown enow.

 

Meliboea:

                                                            Mother, I saw

A vision in the heavens – 

 

Niobe:

                                                     When? 

 

Meliboea:

                                                                   Just when

Thou hadst made all us leave, and thou didst speak

When thought’st wert solitary. I was hid

While spok’st – 

 

Niobe:

                                A breach again!… Why didst thou leave

The palace?

 

Meliboea:

                          I sought out a prophet’s words

To know –

 

Niobe:

                      Know what?

 

Meliboea:

                                            Mother… I saw ’mongst clouds

Thy father suff’ring. 

 

Niobe:

                                          How?

 

Meliboea:

                                                      Not he himself,

But image thrown on high.

 

Niobe:

                                                        A dream – a crack

In silly brain of thine.

 

Meliboea:

                                            What could it mean

But warning ’gainst thy words –

 

Niobe:

                                                                 No more! Retire

And silent be.

 

Meliboea:

                             Thou thinkest thou shouldst stand

If gods resolve to curse thee? They could make

Thee hell-dweller too. I speak because I fear,

And see a dire thing hov’ring –

 

Niobe:

                                                               Dost thou wish

To be my daughter?

 

Meliboea:

[pause]                          Soft now – speak no more.

I’ll go… I’ll go.

 

[exit]

 

Niobe:

                              Leto, dost thou attempt

To turn this one against me? What is this,

Her sudden disobedience? Always she

Heeded me full, was perfect in her love…

And now she speaks I am too proud in heart:

A girl of fourteen, she, and doth impugn

What wisdom bids me know, and I did speak

When thought I was alone! 

 

[calming]                                    I was too harsh,

I was too raging. Still, it rankles me:

My youngest, most naive, tampered in heart –

With treason smutched, a stain that means to spread.

I have a foe: she must have thrown that sight

Inside my daughter’s eyes, prompted her go

In search of blind fool’s prattle. 

 

                                                                 Dost thou see,

Oh Leto, how I pass thee? Sure thou dost,

And vicious art for’t. Hearest thou my steps

Into thy chamber – those of one who’ll stab

And take what hast, thy perch o’er sky and earth,

O’er glorious fruitfulness; and therefore plott’st

To trip my pace… Thou canst send sights and scenes,

Send cloudy visions – but I’m here in flesh,

Can speak and act so, constantly persuade

All those who’ve ears and eyes to grasp my cause

And topple what is fading. I shall bleed

Thy life from thee: my seven sons shall take

The station of thy son, and daughters mine

Thy virgin daughter’s throne – turn chaste no more

Such awful fane of pow’r… So then, observe

How I shall end thy worship. 

 

                                                            Tantalus,

Ye wait not long in cell… Two days, and comes

Such scene to ’gin wild wail and overthrow,

Sending me high, while others grieve below.

 

[lights down]

*

*

Scene II

 

[lights up on Apollo and Artemis in the heavens, placid and seated on clouds, a shining temple some distance behind them, happily golden like the goldenness of youngest memories – they look grave and speak softly]

 

Apollo:

Hear’st thou, sister, how she gnarrs below,

The queen of Thebes?

 

Artemis:

                                                She means to do us death…

As though she might. 

 

Apollo:

                                              The festival which looms

Up-stirs her envy.

 

Artemis:

                                      Where is mother?

 

Apollo:

                                                                           I’ve

Not seen her.

 

Artemis:

                            Often Delos is her haunt

When not with us.

 

Apollo:

                                       How doth she? Hast thou heard

From any creature?

 

Artemis:

                                          For two days, no sign

Nor word I’ve gleaned.

 

Apollo:

                                                Could be, the vicious one

Upsets her soul.

 

Artemis:

                                   On isle which took her in

While swoll she big with us, perhaps she hides

Amidst the swans, or in a grotto’s shade,

Glad for that stable surface which four props

Arrested in its float.

 

Apollo:

                                         We might descend

And search for her.

 

[a flash of light] 

 

Artemis:

                                      I see a comet fling

And bury in low dawn.

 

Apollo:

                                                I trow she comes, 

Our mother.

 

[the atmosphere darkens slightly – Leto fades in between her twins]

 

Artemis:

                          Oh sweet one we rev’rence most,

How dost thou? Where hast been?

 

Leto:

                                                                       In farthest nook

Between the layers of sky.

 

Apollo:

                                                       Why hast thou been

Away from us?

 

Leto:

                              The words of one who once

Gave prayer to me, now change.

 

Apollo:

                                                         Thou mean’st the queen

Amphion wedded.

 

Leto:

                                       Fates did counsel me

In my far corner.

 

Artemis:

                                   Came unbidden?

 

Leto:

                                                                        Aye.

 

Artemis:

And what’s their word?

 

Leto:

                                        That death hath been pronounced

’Pon queen, and ’pon her children.

 

Artemis:

[pause]                                                          Can be so?

Those beings deem it?

 

Leto:

                                                Said they, they are bound

By some pow’r past themselves.

 

Artemis:

                                                                   Surely she’s not

So gone in pride, so threat’ning – less so bairns! 

They all must die?

 

Apollo:

[to Leto]                      The pain of Tantalus,

How long it lasts, provokes the raging queen;

And children, for their part, are innocent.

 

Leto:

The Fates care not – nor doth that force beyond

They claim compels them. 

 

Artemis:

                                                        I shall weep for queen

And for her scions.

 

Apollo:

                                        I as well.

 

Artemis:

                                                           I’ll not

Observe their downfall.

 

Leto:

                                                  Daughter, oh forgive

What speak I next – and son, forgive me too.

 

Apollo:

I tremble now – what is’t?

 

Leto:

                                                      These are the words

Pronounced to me by messengers of that

Impels the onward rush of universe:

“This punishment and slaughter must have act

By twins of her Niobe hath dismayed

With impious words and vile revolt in heart:

By daughter’s bow shall seven who are girls

Fall to an earth shall wrap them in its folds

After the god hath shot the seven sons;

And at such grievous sight, the queen shall die –

Though yet live on.”

 

Artemis:

                                           We? We must carry out

Fates’ retribution?

 

Leto:

                                       Told was I, I ought

Fear threats to prayer I’m owed: this avid queen

Displaces me – or means to. Those who step

Upon first stairs of that long winding flight

Ascending to the stars, they may well push

Bodies who stand athwart: shove them to dash

Those lords ’pon earth below. If once doth set

Aspiring being ’pon some rising course,

He must be knocked down, else some fragile god’s

Pushed o’er and crashes: Thus Bellerophon

In mid-flight, scaling peak by flapping horse,

Must needs have tasted lightning’s stinging sip,

Else had some true god perished.

 

Artemis:

                                                                     My hands shan’t

Respond to what they’re bidden.

 

Leto:

                                                                    But they shall,

’Tis sure as morning.

 

Apollo:

                                            I shall shut my eyes

Whilst aiming.

 

Leto:

                               And thou still shalt hit thy marks:

No glancing wounds, but arrows straight through chests.

 

Artemis:

What if we twins fly to the world’s edge,

Then pass beyond, our heads by cowls cloaked,

And hide as thou didst?

 

Leto:

                                                  Even in such spot

By most forgotten, Fates still found me out

And ordered what shall pass.

 

Artemis:

                                                             I wish this day

Were stretched beyond all ken, so eve came not,

Nor morrow.

 

Leto:

                           Rest content ye do no wrong.

Let morrow’s acts be banished from your hearts,

Stain not your happiness.

 

Apollo:

                                                      I shan’t forget

E’en what I close mine eyes so fast against.

 

[lights down]

*

*

Scene III

 

[lights up on a bright morning scene: the people of Thebes dancing to music and celebrating the fertility cult of Leto – the focus of the revelry is a tall, wreath-adorned statue of the goddess – many animals to be sacrificed, and all the people, are decorated with flowers and ribbons – enter the Town Elder carrying a crown]

 

Town Elder:

[to the statue] In ancient age, the king of gods thee took,

Oh Titaness, and seeded twins divine:

Seeded that grace and poetry and light

Unfolding its fair limbs, and seeded her

Of moon and wilderness and hunting bow:

A shining sun-thing, and a silver maid.

And that bright pair had waxed full in the womb

When Hera turned her jealous eyes – forbade

Each region of firm earth from taking in

The gravid goddess: such was how she raged

Against her rival.

 

                                    Rhythm blue and green

Broadly, constantly flowing, washing strands,

Bearing each ship, one other thing did bear

Atop its wave-curls: floating Delos isle,

A fixed thing not; and Leto it addressed

Amidst her pressing pangs: “If thou me let’st

Give birth atop thy back, a temple men

Will build on thee to worship what emerged;

And hecatombs they’ll bring, and thy fame shall

Well pass all other isles’ – isles which ne’er flowed,

But made seas part around them.” And that place

Amid its drift agreed; and prophecy

And promise came fulfilled, while Zeus fixed firm

That island with four pillars ’neath its base.

 

[enter Manto amidst the white-robed revelers, darkly clad]

 

We crown thee, Leto, fructifying queen,

Mother who found the spot to bear her young

’Midst persecution hard. May all our life

In Theban land prove strong as thy resolve.

 

[enter Niobe, Amphion, and their fourteen children]

 

Ismenus:

[to family] What long way down through orchards… I’d not thought

The world down here so wide. 

 

Sipylus:

[to same]                                            A dusty wind

And too-hot sun are here.

 

Amphion:

                                                      Peace, children.

 

Meliboea:

[aside]                                                                          Oh,

I peek Tiresias’ daughter.

 

Town Elder:

                                                     Welcome king, 

Fine queen, and all your brood! This festival

Now overplus of love hath in the eyes

Of her we worship! Chaplets crown them with,

Oh people, and give flower-bunches too.

 

[the revelers adorn the family]

 

Niobe:

[aside] How long shall I endure this?

 

Town Elder:

                                                                           And perform

The dancing we prepared.

 

[musicians play and the people dance]

 

Meliboea:

[aside]                                        I scan the skies

And watch my mother. Looks she out of sorts –

Narrow of eyes and restless.

 

Manto:

[aside]                                            Clouds pass by…

Not one seems wrathful yet.

 

Meliboea:

[aside]                                             The bird pronounced

I should seek heart of forest, change my name.

 

Manto:

[aside] The stone keeps seeping, sobbing water out

As though all fountains drew unto its base

And squeezed up through its pores, and then welled out,

Ever displaced.

 

Town Elder:

                                Oh royal children, come,

Dance with the rest!

 

[the royal children, except Meliboea, join the dance]

 

Meliboea:               

[aside]                           I hear my heart in head,

Still watch the world above me.

 

Manto:

[aside]                                                   See, they join,

The children with the dance… save that young one

Who to her mother clings.

 

Meliboea:

[aside]                                       She looks at me;

She’s seen me not before.

 

Manto:

[aside]                                        Somehow she kens

What bides above us.

 

[music and dancing cease]

 

Town Elder:

                                            King, accept this crown

To place on effigy of her most loved –

Who watches over women full with child,

Midwifes them in travail, deformities

Wards off, and kine and crop blesses as well,

Ensuring weal of Thebes and cousin-states –

Wide-hearted benefactress!

 

Amphion:

                                                          Joyed am I

To place this symbol speaking of our love

For loving face of Nature, high on brow,

Appointing loving-kindness as our queen…

Yet I’ll not place it – rather, let me set

It first in daughter’s hands, and then she’ll cap

The worshipped mother.

 

[he approaches Meliboea and offers the crown]

 

                                                   I shall lift thee up –

Thou’lt have the honor.

 

Niobe:

[aside]                                   What is this he does?

Makes littl’st daughter ceremony’s act

And emblem?

 

Meliboea:

                             Oh my father… I should not.

The town ought do it.

 

Amphion:

                                             Why?

 

Meliboea:

[uncertainly]                               They are most close

To Titaness… and how she touches life

Upon this growing earth.

 

Amphion:

                                                     But thee I wish

To show devotion of our house by this.

’Twill do me well.

 

Niobe:

[aside]                      I’ll burst soon, this I vow.

 

Meliboea:

[aside] Is this what Fates have bidden?

 

Manto:

[aside]                                                                  She’ll accept, 

I know it.

 

Meliboea:

[taking the crown] Lift me, father.

 

[Amphion bring his daughter to the statue – she is about to place the crown]

 

Niobe:

                                                                     Hold! No, no,

I’ll bear it not!

 

Amphion:

                              What’s this?

 

Niobe:

                                                        I shall not let

A deity who’s in her autumn breathe

Rejuvenation.

 

Amphion:

[placing Meliboea down] Queen, thou upset’st all.

 

Niobe:

Why take we not our place, husband, above

The gods of former time? It is the age

Old fruit should drop. 

 

Amphion:

                                             Thou’rt mad in speech.

 

Niobe:

                                                                                         Art not

The son of Jove? And is he not one-fourth

Of my great being? Do we pair not bless

And keep Thebes more than Leto? Is for aye

This dummy-goddess, effigy inert

To fix us in its shadow? 

 

Amphion:

                                                Thou prepar’st

Sure way to suff’ring.

 

Niobe:

                                             I have suffered all

In seeing ye lift youngest daughter up

To crown an empty idol.

 

Manto:

[aside]                                      Now begin

The fearful clouds slow movement.

 

Amphion:

                                                                         Let us act

The custom; thou dishonorest our house.

 

Niobe:

I’ve seven times the children Leto hath:

How is’t dishonor, at long last to claim

My station o’er her head? Thy site as well,

If wouldst but take it. 

 

Manto:

[aside]                               Visions, leave my head!

If not, this place I’ll quit.

 

Niobe:

[to Amphion]                         A coward base

Thou art, if thou’lt not recognize what art.

 

Amphion:

I bid thee, go to palace. Shut thyself

And wait thy family’s coming.

 

Niobe:

                                                              Tantalus

Cheers me to dare defy thee: agony

That’s his shall we o’erturn! The old things die,

The new ascend: what else?

 

[the Town Elder begins herding the revelers away: exeunt all but Manto and the royal house]

 

Manto:

[aside]                                            How grief and angst

Of tortured souls groan loud!

 

Amphion:

[to Niobe]                                         For sake of all

Thou hast, transgress no further. I shall burn

Great sacrifice to cleanse us.

 

[the atmosphere begins to darken and the sound of wind to rise]

 

Niobe:

                                                            Cleanse thy head

Of what inhibits thee. 

 

Meliboea:

                                              My mother, heed

Our lord and king.

 

Niobe:

                                      Leto, dost thou observe?

Thy idol shall I shatter! If thou hast 

Aught power, stay me! Fourteen children shame

Thy paltry two! 

 

Amphion:

                                 Children, start home. 

 

Niobe:

                                                                             Has come, 

The full turn of the wheel.

 

[the children make to leave, but are fixated by the scene]

 

Manto:

[aside]                                        Now shall I go,

Or e’er regret I’ve eyes.

 

[exit]

 

Meliboea:

[to Niobe]                             Dost see how dim

The earth and heavens?

 

Niobe:

[to Amphion]                          Stand not ’thwart me.

 

Amphion:

                                                                                          Queen,

Give o’er, before’s too late.

 

Niobe:

                                                       I shall be rid,

At last, of what incenses me, and keeps

A greater being from rising.

 

Meliboea:

                                                        Mother look –

The sky, the sky!

 

[Niobe forces her way past her husband and topples the statue with a hard shove – it falls and shatters]

 

                                  Now, oh… the dread event.

 

[the wind rises higher – lights down]

*

*

 *

Act III

 

Scene I

 

[lights up on a forester chopping wood in the wilderness– enter Meliboea, bedraggled and lost]

 

Forester:

[not noticing her at first] Must chop fair ’mount ere dinner – check my traps,

Then mend the hut ’til evening… Huff, huff, huff!

Splinters are useful, too – for kindling fire.

Thick branches shall I lay across my roof

Where rain drips in… 

 

                                              Ah me! Why girl, thou look’st

Most frightful of wood’s creatures. Thou art green!

I saw thee not ’til thou wert close.

 

Meliboea:

                                                                       What sayst?

My color’s green?

 

[she looks at her hands and arms]

 

Forester:

                                   Pale-green – ye blended close

With leaf and fern.

 

Meliboea:

                                       As much my skin hath changed,

My soul hath also.

 

Forester:

                                      Child, sit ye down.

[she sits]

 

Tell what hath mauled thee so.

 

Meliboea:

                                                                How can I tell

The very loss of me?

 

Forester:

                                           Take comfort that

Thou’rt speaking – hence alive.

 

Meliboea:

                                                                I am from Thebes…

Dost know who once reigned there?

 

Forester:

                                                                 And reigns not now?

I only know Amphion is the king,

Niobe queen.

 

Meliboea:

                            Thou know’st the yesterday,

But not this morn.

 

Forester:

                                      Tell me what mean’st. 

 

Meliboea:

                                                                                   I am –

I was – their daughter, but I’m nothing now. 

Outside this forest lay a scene to draw

Hard tears from world’s nooks.

 

Forester:

                                                                 Are they no more,

Thy parents? 

 

Meliboea:

                            Aye, no more – and my thirteen 

Brothers and sisters too.

 

Forester:

                                                   If canst, tell what

Transpir’d.

 

Meliboea:

                      Its cause was pride in mother’s heart,

This cruel event… I saw the pair who slew:

On panels of the sky they knelt or sat,

With shut eyes, tracing where we children fled

As sought we door or cave-mouth. Brothers first

Fell ’neath the shafts – Phoebus was he who dealt

The first half of the slaughter: eldest, then

Down line of how were born. In breast or back 

Of sudden stuck an arrow – limbs went stiff;

Each poor boy dropped. My sisters screamed and bawled

Whilst king ran ’gainst the gods upon the clouds,

More swift than in a dream. 

 

                                                         My mother knelt

Above Ismenus, first who had been reaved

Of his sweet life, a white corpse ’pon the herb –

She made fists, trembled hard, raised face to sky

Where wide commotion raged, where black and light

Displaced the blue dimensions, and she railed:

“As many as thou’st ta’en, I still have more!

And if thou tak’st the rest, and e’en take me,

I’ll still have more of rage, this climbing fire

Which floods up ’gainst yon cope and burns thy home,

Which shall not e’er be yours!”

 

                                                                The huntress then,

Her eyelids shut like brothers’, took her aim,

And like him missed not once – bright golden darts

Stole six girls’ souls: same order, old to young;

And all this glimpsed I ’fore my welling eyes,

Rolling with ease for tears which slick’d their glance.

In distance spied I father charge vast fane

Where lives Apollo – but the barb him too

Lost not; and as my sisters each spilt down

So pitifully, I thought I soon should fall.

Amidst a ground of corpses mother wept;

And in my panic hid I ’neath a crag,

Not daring her to comfort, hence expose

My mortal flesh.

 

                                   For hours wept she still,

And wept I too, though silent… If I’d come

To be with her, perhaps some little bit 

Her heart would have ta’en comfort – but I sat,

Hunched low, and would not move.

 

                                                              Well towards the night

The winds rose fiercely strong. In time, a storm

The bodies blew and tumbled. Gripped I tight

My hiding spot, pressed stomach ’gainst the rock,

Saw nothing. When the moon arose, all forms

Of family’d disappeared. The wind was still,

The dark a beauteous secret… My sole wish

Was to no more be seen, see anyone,

Have aught to do with life – though I was glad,

Exceedingly, I lived. I stumbled in

These woods, and slept.

 

                                                   In dreams I heard a voice

I could not recognize: “Weep thou,” it said,

“But not for thought thy family lies exposed,

Corruption suff’ring: all’ve been blown away

By tender winds to corners of the world

Where gentle things them bathe, anoint, inter –

Except thy mother. She a whirlwind bore

While yet she lived, far off: In Phrygia,

Her native region, there she sits, a stone

Perched ’top a scaur, in wilderness. There weeps

She ever, trickling water down that cliff,

Alive, but not – mourning, but comforted

By vent she hath for tears.

 

                                                      “Go further in,”

The voice told, “where thou walk’st.” That was the last

I dreamt, and most distinct. From morn to noon

The sun hath seen a lost girl tread through woods,

Seeking the forest’s heart. And all this happed –

I did not tell thee – since my mother weened 

Herself more great than Titaness who bore

The twins which slew us: blessed with children more,

And sought to end her worship, take her place

In love and adoration folks might give.

Now all I’ve told.

 

Forester:

                                   I weep for thee, princess.

 

Meliboea:

No more, that title… How a different life

Lies ’fore me now.

 

Forester:

                                       Where wilt thou go?

 

Meliboea:

                                                                                 I think

Some even wilder region. I shall make

Four walls of world’s four elements. 

 

Forester:

                                                                          How wilt

Thou live, find fare?

 

Meliboea:

                                         The gods will show it me –

Or I am meant to die.

 

Forester:

                                            Thou must not let

Winds blow thee so.

 

Meliboea:

                                           They blew my family, p’raps

They mean to take me too.

 

Forester:

                                                        Thou mayst live with

My wife and children. 

 

Meliboea:

[pause]                              Shall I be thy child?

 

Forester:

Thou mayst be, if thou wish’st – or only guest

Who liv’st and laborest beside thy host.

 

Meliboea:

I might be… Yes, I might.

 

Forester:

                                                     I should be glad

Thou’rt not in wilderness.

 

Meliboea:

                                                      I’ll be thy child,

Live with thy kin.

 

Forester:

                                    Come near, and we shall go

Back to my hut for dinner.    

 

Meliboea:

                                                       Ere we walk,

I’ll need a new name.

 

Forester:

                                             Ha? New name?

 

Meliboea:

                                                                              I am

Called Meliboea… but ’twas told to me

By one who spoke though prophet, name should change.

I shall be Chloris called, for now I’m green.

 

Forester:

Thy hue will alter.

 

Meliboea:

                                     If it should or no,

I reck not. ‘Chloris’ speak when thou dost wish

To speak of me. 

 

Forester:

                                 My home is not far off;

We’ll go there and sup stew. And I’ll return

Later this wood to gather. 

 

Meliboea:

                                                       Thank ye, sir.

Show thou the way, I’ll follow close behind.

 

Forester:

Nay, give me thy hand – we’ll side by side

Walk o’er this trail I’ve made.

 

Meliboea:

                                                            I see where’t goes.

I’ll live with thee – thy child shall be, indeed.

 

[exeunt – lights down]

*

*

Scene II

 

[lights up on Leto, Apollo, and Artemis all dressed in dark robes, in a temple in the clouds]

 

Apollo:

’Tis done then.

 

Artemis:

                                And I feel the tremor still

Within my thews.

 

Leto:

                                     The queen hath peace at last,

Though ever tearful.

 

Apollo:

                                            And one daughter ’scapes,

The youngest. 

 

Artemis:

                              Arrows six I know I loosed –

But somehow seventh never left my bow,

And I relaxed.

 

Apollo:

                            She ran into the woods:

I saw, once oped mine eyes.

 

Leto:

                                                             And there, in time

Queen’s bloodline shall proceed. 

 

Artemis:

                                                              Time’s rage subsides.

The city mourns in silence. 

 

Apollo:

                                                        Suffers still

Niobe’s father ’twixt the fruit and flood.

 

Leto:

And hangs the weight of things just as before –

We gods above this earth, all else upon’t.

 

Apollo:

And shall it change?

 

Artemis:

                                          I sense the movement of

Wild air, and greater layers.

 

Leto:

                                                          Let them stir,

And worry not. 

 

Apollo:

                               I’ll watch all ways that lead

Unto this edifice. 

 

Artemis:

                                   And I shall fall

Into a sleep of sadness.

 

Leto:

                                                 Children, stay

Close by me in these days. I too shall look

All ’cross these clouds and tiers of skyey light,

Thinking naught’s there – but watchful all the same.

 

[lights down]

*

*

Epilogue

 

[lights up on Chorus]

 

Chorus:

Much-vengeful are the gods, we claimed, and cruel –

But we have watched with ye, and seems it just

Something to curb such judgment… In this life,

The push behind all things hides in blank space,

Which is the thickest veil. We must content

Ourselves with humbler matters: learn ye then,

And with good cheer, how daughter who survived

Lives out her life: Some years elapse, when falls

First wife of forest-man to Hades’ gloom,

Causing that fellow ache; but in short while

The ripe lass takes he to him.

 

                                                             Ye might ask

If that her color changed back… No, it didn’t.

Forever stayed stark horror’s hue in face,

Much to her puzzlement, husband’s as well.

And therefore kept she Chloris as her name

For all her days… but children that she had

Were normal-hued – and for that was she glad.

 

[lights down]

*

*

Finis

*

*