THE TWO WEAVERS
Athene could not only wield the sword, she could also ply the needle.
In these olden days there lived in Greece a Lydian maid who could weave
with wondrous skill. So beautiful were the tapestries she wrought that
her fame spread far and wide. Lords and ladies both came from distant
towns to see the maiden’s skilful hands at work.
Arachne, for that was the maiden’s name, lived in a cottage with her
parents. They were poor folk, and had often found it hard to earn their
daily bread. But now that their daughter was famous for her embroidery
their troubles were at an end. For not only lords and ladies, but
merchants, too, were glad to pay well to secure the young maid’s
exquisite designs.
And so all would have been well with Arachne and her parents had not
the foolish girl become vain of her work. Soon her companions began
to weary of her, for of nothing could she talk save of her own deft
fingers, of her own beautiful embroideries.
Those who loved Arachne grew sad as they listened to her proud words,
and warned her that ‘pride ever goes before a fall.’
But Arachne only tossed her pretty head as she listened to the wisdom
of older folk. Nor did she cease to boast, even saying that she could
do more wonderful work than the goddess Athene.
Not once, but many times did Arachne say that she wished she might
test her skill against that of the goddess. And should a prize be
offered, proudly she declared that it was she who would win it.
From Olympus Athene heard the vain words of the maid. So displeased was
she with her boldness that she determined to go to see Arachne, and if
she did not repent to punish her.
She changed herself into an old white-haired dame, and came to earth.
Leaning upon a staff she knocked at the door of the cottage where
Arachne lived, and was bidden to enter.
Arachne was sitting in the midst of those who had come to see and to
praise her work. Soon she began to talk, as she was quick to do, of her
skill, and of how she believed that her work surpassed in beauty any
that Athene could produce.
The old woman pushed her way through the group that surrounded the
maid, and laying her hand upon the shoulder of Arachne she spoke kindly
to her.
‘Be more modest, my child,’ she said, ‘lest the anger of the gods
descend upon you, lest Athene take you at your word, and bid you to the
contest you desire.’
Impatiently Arachne shook off the stranger’s hand, and answered, ‘Who
are you who dare speak to me? I would Athene might hear my words now,
and come to test her skill against mine. She would soon see that she
had a rival in Arachne.’
Athene frowned at the insolence of the maiden. Then the little company
were startled to see the old woman suddenly change into the glorious
form of the goddess Athene. As they gazed they were afraid and fell at
her feet.
But Arachne did not worship the goddess. Foolish Arachne looked boldly
in her face, and asked if she had come to accept her challenge.
Athene’s only answer was to sit down before an empty loom. Soon each,
in silence, had begun to weave a wondrous tapestry.
Swift and more swift moved the fingers of the weavers, while the group
of strangers, gathered now near to the door, watched the webs as they
grew and grew apace.
Into her tapestry Athene was weaving the story of her contest with
Poseidon for the city of Cecrops. The olive-tree, the horse, the gods
in the council, all seemed to live as they appeared on the web of the
goddess.
The tapestry woven by Arachne was also beauteous as her work was wont
to be. In it you saw the sea, with waves breaking over a great bull, to
whose horns clung a girl named Europa. And Europa’s curls blew free in
the wind.
At length Athene rose from the loom, her work complete. Arachne, too,
laid down her spindle, and as she turned to look upon the tapestry of
the goddess her courage suddenly failed.
A glance had been enough to show her that her skill was as nothing
before the wonder and the beauty of Athene’s work.
Too late the maiden repented that she had defied the goddess. In her
despair she seized a rope and tied it round her neck to hang herself.
But the goddess saw what Arachne meant to do, and at once she changed
her into a spider, bidding her from henceforth never cease to spin.
And so when you see a spider weaving its beautiful embroidery on a
dewy morning in the garden, or when you find a delicate web in your
lumber-room, you will remember how Athene punished poor foolish Arachne
in the days of old.