Procne and Philomela

Tereus Confronted with the Head of his Son Itylus, oil on canvas 1636–1638, by Peter Paul Rubens (Prado, Madrid).
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Greek mythology is full of wild stories, but the tale of Procne and Philomela ranks among the darkest. It’s the story of two sisters, a brutal king, and vengeance. Curious? Step into a tragedy as haunting as it is unforgettable.

The Sisters and the Marriage

Gardner-Philomena and Procne By Elizabeth Jane Gardner
Philomena and Procne

Procne and Philomela were sisters and daughters of Pandion, the king of Athens. They weren’t just royal siblings—they were inseparable.

Procne, the older one, married Tereus, a warrior king from Thrace, a region often seen as barbaric by the Greeks, contrasting sharply with the advanced civilization of Athens. Tereus, often linked to Ares, the god of war, was known for his fierce and brutal nature. He earned Procne’s hand in marriage by helping her father in battle—a reward to seal their pact.

However, the wedding felt off. Some say the Furies, those dark spirits of revenge, hovered over the event instead of blessing gods, hinting that trouble was on the horizon. After the ceremony, Procne followed her husband Tereus to Thrace, leaving her sister Philomela behind. There, they had a son, Itys.

As the years passed, the distance from Philomela weighed heavily on Procne. Longing to see her sister, she pressed Tereus to bring Philomela for a visit. In most versions, it’s Procne’s request that drives this plan, though some tales suggest that Philomela herself asked to travel, prompting Tereus’s journey. Either way, he agreed and sailed for Athens—and that’s when everything started to unravel.

Tereus’s Betrayal

When Tereus arrived in Athens, he saw Philomela and was captivated by her beauty and gentle spirit. His admiration, fueled by his predatory nature, turned into obsession. Though already married to Procne, he fixated on her sister, betraying both women.

Masking his intent, he persuaded Pandion to let Philomela accompany him, vowing to protect her like family and bring her safely to Procne who was waiting to see her. Pandion, trusting his son-in-law, bade Philomela farewell.

On the way to Thrace, Tereus’s lust for Philomela overwhelmed him. He took her to a remote location/cabin in the woods, raped her, and brutalized her further. When she threatened to tell everyone what he’d done, he panicked, cut out her tongue to silence her, and left her locked inside.

He went back to Procne and lied, saying Philomela had died during the journey. Procne grieved for her sister, not knowing she was still alive but trapped and voiceless.

Procne finds out about her sister

Some time passed, and a festival for Dionysus tied to Bacchic rites happened in Thrace. As per tradition, the women gathered gifts and sent them to their queen, Procne. Philomela, mute and trapped in her prison, wove a visual depiction of her assault into a tapestry, which was her only way to reveal what Tereus had done to her. She sent it to Procne.

When Procne received the tapestry, she understood her sister’s fate. She dressed in wild festival clothes, mingled with the crowd, and found where Philomela was held. She broke in, took her sister, swapped their outfits, and slipped her into Tereus’s palace unseen. Philomela couldn’t speak, her tongue gone, but Procne saw the suffering in her eyes. She vowed to her sister: the wrong done to her would be avenged.

A Horrific Revenge

Back at the palace, Procne was thinking of a way to get back at Tereus. Then, her son Itys walked in, looking just like his father. Procne hesitated for a moment, grappling with her inner conflict as a mother, but ultimately, her desire for vengeance prevailed.

Fueled by rage and pain, the sisters killed Itys as an act of revenge against Tereus. They cooked his body and served the meal to Tereus, who ate it without suspecting a thing.

When he was done, Procne told him the horrible truth, and Philomela showed him Itys’s head. Tereus, filled with grief and fury, grabbed a weapon and chased after the sisters.

The gods stepped in and changed their fates in a final, twisted act.

Tereo
Tereus Confronted with the Head of his Son Itylus, oil on canvas 1636–1638, by Peter Paul Rubens (Prado, Madrid).

The Transformation

The gods turned them into birds to save the sisters from Tereus’s relentless pursuit. Philomela became a swallow, her silent flight reflecting her lost voice. Tereus became a hoopoe, a bird with a fierce look, always on the hunt. Procne turned into a nightingale, her song full of sadness for her son.


Variations of the Myth

Like most Greek myth, this story twists and turns depending on the storyteller. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, written around 8 CE, Philomela transforms into the nightingale—her sad, beautiful song echoing the voice she lost, symbolizing her mourning—while Procne becomes the swallow, darting through the sky with the speed of her vengeful choice, her silence reflecting Philomela’s mutilation But rewind to earlier Greek versions, like bits of Sophocles’ lost play Tereus, and the roles flip: Procne’s the nightingale, pouring out grief for her son Itys, and Philomela’s the swallow, silent as a shadow.

In some versions, Tereus not only attacked Philomela but also tricked her into a false marriage by claiming Procne was dead. And his bird form? Ovid picks the hoopoe, with its quirky crest, but other tellings make him a hawk, dialing up his predator vibes. These changes spotlight different angles—Philomela’s suffering, Procne’s heartbreak, or Tereus’s downright evil—but the story’s dark core never wavers.

A Little Reflection

This myth gathers a wild mix of loyalty, horror, and transformation that really sticks with you. It’s all about how betrayal can push people to the edge—Procne and Philomela channel their pain into a jaw-dropping act of revenge.

Becoming birds sets them free from Tereus, but not from their past—they’re out of his claws, yet forever tangled in what went down. For the ancient Greeks, this could’ve been a heads-up about letting desires run wild or a nod to grit in the face of awfulness.

This myth also explores themes of voice and silence: Philomela’s mutilation robs her of speech, while the birds’ songs reflect both lost voices and the anguish of their experiences. Each transformation reminds us of their struggles and the depths of their sorrow.

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