Arachne
Olivia E. Coolidge
Arachne [ß rak» nè] was a maiden who became famous
throughout Greece, though she was neither wellborn nor
beautiful and came from no great city. She lived in an
obscure little village, and her father was a humble dyer of
wool. In this he was very skillful, producing many varied
shades, while above all he was famous for the clear, bright
scarlet which is made from shellfish, and which was the
most glorious of all the colors used in ancient Greece. Even
more skillful than her father was Arachne. It was her task
to spin the fleecy wool into a fine, soft thread and to weave
it into cloth on the high, standing loom within the cottage.
Arachne was small and pale from much working. Her eyes
were light and her hair was a dusty brown, yet she was
quick and graceful, and her fingers, roughened as they
were, went so fast that it was hard to follow their flickering
movements. So soft and even was her thread, so fine her
cloth, so gorgeous her embroidery, that soon her products
were known all over Greece. No one had ever seen the like
of them before.
At last Arachne’s fame became so great that people used
to come from far and wide to watch her working. Even the
graceful nymphs1 would steal in from stream or forest and
peep shyly through the dark doorway, watching in wonder
the white arms of Arachne as she stood at the loom
and threw the shuttle from hand to hand between
the hanging threads, or drew out the long wool,
fine as a hair, from the distaff 2 as she sat spinning.
“Surely Athene3 herself must have
taught her,” people would murmur to one
another. “Who else could know the secret of
such marvelous skill?”
Arachne was used to being wondered at,
and she was immensely proud of the skill that
had brought so many to look on her. Praise
was all she lived for, and it displeased her
greatly that people should think anyone, even
a goddess, could teach her anything. Therefore
when she heard them murmur, she
would stop her work and turn round indignantly
to say, “With my own ten fingers I
gained this skill, and by hard practice from
early morning till night. I never had time to
stand looking as you people do while another maiden
worked. Nor if I had, would I give Athene credit because the
girl was more skillful than I. As for Athene’s weaving, how
could there be finer cloth or more beautiful embroidery
than mine? If Athene herself were to come down and compete
with me, she could do no better than I.”
One day when Arachne turned round with such words,
an old woman answered her, a gray old woman, bent and
very poor, who stood leaning on a staff and peering at
Arachne amid the crowd of onlookers. “Reckless girl,” she
said, “how dare you claim to be equal to the immortal gods
themselves? I am an old woman and have seen much. Take
my advice and ask pardon of Athene for your words. Rest
content with your fame of being the best spinner and
weaver that mortal eyes have ever beheld.”
“Stupid old woman,” said Arachne indignantly, “who gave
you a right to speak in this way to me? It is easy to see that
you were never good for anything in your day, or you would
not come here in poverty and rags to gaze at my skill. If
Athene resents my words, let her answer them herself. I
have challenged her to a contest, but she, of course, will
not come. It is easy for the gods to avoid matching their
skill with that of men.”
At these words the old woman threw down her
staff and stood erect. The wondering onlookers
saw her grow tall and fair and stand clad in long
robes of dazzling white. They were terribly afraid
as they realized that they stood in the presence
of Athene. Arachne herself flushed red for a
moment, for she had never really believed that
the goddess would hear her. Before the group
that was gathered there she would not give in; so
pressing her pale lips together in obstinacy and
pride, she led the goddess to one of the great
looms and set herself before the other. Without a
word both began to thread the long woolen
strands that hang from the rollers, and between
which the shuttle4 moves back and forth. Many
skeins lay heaped beside them to use, bleached
white, and gold, and scarlet, and other shades,
varied as the rainbow. Arachne had never
thought of giving credit for her success to her
father’s skill in dyeing, though in actual truth
the colors were as remarkable as the cloth itself.
Soon there was no sound in the room but the
breathing of the onlookers, the whirring of the
shuttles, and the creaking of the wooden frames
as each pressed the thread up into place or tightened
the pegs by which the whole was held
straight. The excited crowd in the doorway began
to see that the skill of both in truth
was very nearly equal, but that, however
the cloth might turn out, the
goddess was the quicker of the two. A
pattern of many pictures was growing
on her loom. There was a border
of twined branches of the olive,
Athene’s favorite tree, while in the
middle, figures began to appear. As
they looked at the glowing colors, the
spectators realized that Athene was
weaving into her pattern a last
warning to Arachne. The central figure was the goddess
herself competing with Poseidon for possession of the city
of Athens; but in the four corners were mortals who had
tried to strive with gods and pictures of the awful fate that
had overtaken them. The goddess ended a little before
Arachne and stood back from her marvelous work to see
what the maiden was doing.
Never before had Arachne been matched against anyone
whose skill was equal, or even nearly equal to her own. As
she stole glances from time to time at Athene and saw the
goddess working swiftly, calmly, and always a little faster
than herself, she became angry instead of frightened, and
an evil thought came into her head. Thus as Athene
stepped back a pace to watch Arachne finishing her work,
she saw that the maiden had taken for her design a pattern
of scenes which showed evil or unworthy actions of the
gods, how they had deceived fair maidens, resorted to trickery,
and appeared on earth from time to time in the form of
poor and humble people. When the goddess saw this insult
glowing in bright colors on Arachne’s loom, she did not wait
while the cloth was judged, but stepped forward, her gray
eyes blazing with anger, and tore Arachne’s work across.
Then she struck Arachne across the face. Arachne stood
there a moment, struggling with anger, fear, and pride. “I
will not live under this insult,” she cried, and seizing a
rope from the wall, she made a noose and would have
hanged herself.
The goddess touched the rope and touched the maiden.
“Live on, wicked girl,” she said. “Live on and spin, both you
and your descendants. When men look at you they may
remember that it is not wise to strive with Athene.” At that
the body of Arachne shriveled up, and her legs grew tiny,
spindly, and distorted. There before the eyes of the spectators
hung a little dusty brown spider on a slender thread.
All spiders descend from Arachne, and as the Greeks
watched them spinning their thread wonderfully fine, they
remembered the contest with Athene and thought that it
was not right for even the best of men to claim equality with
the gods.