When
the wind carried the sound of Arachne’s spinning song to the villages
and
forests, people stopped their work.
They came to admire her woven pictures.
Even the nymphs from the forest sat at Arachne’s feet and
watched her
hands card and spin delicate wool threads.
All agreed that no other mortal could produce such beautiful
weavings.
“You
are second only to the goddess Minerva, the patron of weaving,” said a
nymph as
she watched Arachne weave a picture of the creatures of the sea. “She has given you a special gift. No other mortal can do as well with the
shuttle and needle. I can only guess
that you visit Minerva’s temple often and set out offerings to receive
such
blessings from her.”
“Blessings
from Minerva? I should say not!” answered
Arachne. “You insult me with those
words. My work, as you can see, is
better than Minerva’s. I could teach
her the true art of weaving if she came here.
Look what my needles can do. I
embroider each scene. No one, goddess
or mortal, can compare her work to mine.”
Minerva,
who heard Arachne’s boasts, decided to teach Arachne a lesson. She disguised herself as an old woman, and,
wrapped in a large cloak, paid a visit to the young woman’s house. She stood behind Arachne, watching her
work. After a time, she tapped her cane
on the ground and hummed a little tune.
“Be
off, old woman!” Arachne yelled. “Your
noise breaks the rhythm of my song. I
can’t finish this picture if you continue to sing and tap your cane.”
“It’s
just my way of admiring your work,” answered the old woman. “Your picture is almost as beautiful as the
weavings of the goddess Minerva. She
would be proud that you have learned these skills from her. But it is said that you boast of being a
better weaver than that goddess. Surely
no mortal’s work can compare with that of the gods.
If you bring offerings to her altar and take back your words, I
am sure that Minerva will forgive you and continue to bless your work.”
“Old
woman, don’t talk to me about Minerva,” answered Arachne.
“If she were here at this time, she could
see that I an a better weaver than all mortals and goddesses. If Minerva and I were to compete, it’s clear
that I would be the winner,” answered Arachne.
“Now leave me to my work.”
“Old
woman, you say!” Minerva threw off the cloak.
“Look again and see who hears your words.”
Arachne
stood and drew back in fear when she saw Minerva. Even
then, she didn’t apologize or take back what she had said.
“If
you insist, we shall have a contest and the nymphs will judge our
work,”
challenged Minerva. “Beware!
If you lose, you will pay for your boasts.”
“I
will not lose,” answered Arachne. “You
will see the beauty of my work. I will
prove that I am the greatest weaver of all.”
The
two weavers set their looms. Their
shuttles wove pictures of the gods and goddesses. Even
in her designs, Arachne was boastful. She
pictured the gods with angry, vengeful
looks. She often stopped to see
Minerva’s tapestry. Minerva’s weaving
seemed so real that Arachne could hear the roar of the waves in her
wind-swept
sea. She showed the gods and goddesses
on Mount Olympus looking lovingly down on the earth.
It was a picture that was fine enough to decorate the walls of
the house of the gods. Even so, Arachne
believed her weaving was equal to Minerva’s.
The goddess worked so quickly that her hands were a blur. Arachne wove faster, trying to keep up with
her.
Minerva
and Arachne put down their shuttles just before sunset.
The nymphs and all who watched the contest
declared Minerva the winner. They
agreed that Arachne’s tapestry was a work of art, but in Minerva’s
weaving the
sea, the earth, and the gods themselves seem alive.
When Minerva saw the spiteful way Arachne had portrayed the gods, she ripped Arachne’s tapestry and threw her shuttle at Arachne. The shuttle hit Arachne on the head. Immediately, Arachne began to change. She shriveled into a small, round shape. Four long, yarn-sized legs grew on each side of her body. Ashamed, Arachne scurried into a dark corner and hid under a chair.
Minerva
threw a piece of webbing from Arachne’s picture at the transformed
woman. “Now you will pay for your boastful
words. You will spin webbing for the
rest of your life. You will never be
able to add the colorful scenes you have pictured in the past. Here you will stay, hanging on the threads
of your webbing forever.”
Even today, all of Arachne’s children spin webs in hidden corners. They move about attached to strands of webbing just as Arachne did. Their work is never finished. Only the web is set. No shuttle weaves scenes into their webs.