ARACHNE.


Not among mortals alone were there contests of skill, nor yet among the
gods, like Pan and Apollo. Many sorrows befell men because they grew
arrogant in their own devices and coveted divine honors. There was once
a great hunter, Orion, who outvied the gods themselves, till they took
him away from his hunting-grounds and set him in the heavens, with his
sword and belt, and his hound at his heels. But at length jealousy
invaded even the peaceful arts, and disaster came of spinning!

There was a certain maiden of Lydia, Arachne by name, renowned
throughout the country for her skill as a weaver. She was as nimble
with her fingers as Calypso, that nymph who kept Odysseus for seven
years in her enchanted island. She was as untiring as Penelope, the
hero's wife, who wove day after day while she watched for his return.
Day in and day out, Arachne wove too. The very nymphs would gather
about her loom, naiads from the water and dryads from the trees.

"Maiden," they would say, shaking the leaves or the foam from their
hair, in wonder, "Pallas Athena must have taught you!"

But this did not please Arachne. She would not acknowledge herself a
debtor, even to that goddess who protected all household arts, and by
whose grace alone one had any skill in them.

"I learned not of Athena," said she, "If she can weave better, let her
come and try."