In one corner of the web she made a story of her conquest over the
sea-god Poseidon. For the first king of Athens had promised to dedicate
the city to that god who should bestow upon it the most useful gift.
Poseidon gave the horse. But Athena gave the olive,--means of
livelihood,--symbol of peace and prosperity, and the city was called
after her name. Again she pictured a vain woman of Troy, who had been
turned into a crane for disputing the palm of beauty with a goddess.
Other corners of the web held similar images, and the whole shone like
a rainbow.

Meanwhile Arachne, whose head was quite turned with vanity, embroidered
her web with stories against the gods, making light of Zeus himself and
of Apollo, and portraying them as birds and beasts. But she wove with
marvellous skill; the creatures seemed to breathe and speak, yet it was
all as fine as the gossamer that you find on the grass before rain.

Athena herself was amazed. Not even her wrath at the girl's insolence
could wholly overcome her wonder. For an instant she stood entranced;
then she tore the web across, and three times she touched Arachne's
forehead with her spindle.

"Live on, Arachne," she said. "And since it is your glory to weave, you
and yours must weave forever." So saying, she sprinkled upon the maiden
a certain magical potion.

Away went Arachne's beauty; then her very human form shrank to that of
a spider, and so remained. As a spider she spent all her days weaving
and weaving; and you may see something like her handiwork any day among
the rafters.