Arachne was a young girl who was famous for her skill in embroidery and weaving. All the women of Greece knew that she excelled in this feminine work, and they liked to see her with her loom or needle. Even the nymphs, who love to sport about the fountains and in the groves, would leave their play to watch her.

It was pleasant to see her deftly separate the wool, and card it until it was soft and fleecy as down. Then dexterously twirling the spindle, she wove the web so quickly and easily that one watched her fingers with delight. Under her skillful touch, the trees in her tapestry seemed to bend before the gentle breeze, and the flowers were so perfect that they were as beautiful as those growing in the gardens.

“Minerva, the goddess of weaving, must be her teacher,” said all who saw her wonderful work.

But this did not please Arachne, who was vain and proud. “I am my own teacher,” she said, with a saucy toss of her pretty head, “and Minerva herself cannot compete with me.”

This proud boast Minerva heard. The gods do not like such boasting, and Minerva determined to correct her or to punish her. She changed her form, and appeared before Arachne as a wise old woman.

“My child,” she said, “do not challenge a goddess. Your work is beautiful and deserves praise, but Minerva’s skill is that of a goddess. You are a mortal, and you should ask forgiveness of Minerva for your rash speech.”

Arachne was angry at these wise words, and replied: “I do not wish your advice. I do not fear the goddess, and do not ask her forgiveness. If she is not afraid, let her come, and we will compare our work.”

Lo! as she spoke, Minerva dropped her disguise, and stood revealed—a goddess. All around were amazed, and trembled before the glorious Minerva, except the angry Arachne.

Her friends tried to influence her to give up the contest, and to ask Minerva to forgive her irreverent words. But Arachne still thought she could excel the goddess in weaving, and, as Minerva said no more, the contest began.

Each took her place. Wools of different dyes were given them. Both worked with speed, and the slender shuttle seemed to fly under their fingers.

Arachne showed Leda and the swan, and Europa and the bull, with such fidelity to nature that they seemed to move and breathe. But the goddess showed her contest with Neptune. Twelve of the great gods were represented. Neptune with his trident had just produced the horse, that animal so strong and so useful to man. Minerva stood with her helmet and shield, showing her gift to man—the olive tree.

All the beholders saw that Minerva had surpassed Arachne, and felt that the proud girl must be punished for her pride and impiety. Minerva, more in pity than in anger, touched Arachne’s forehead and said, “Live, guilty woman, and thus shall you preserve the memory of this lesson to all future times.”

Speaking thus, the goddess changed the hapless Arachne into a spider. If you look at a spider’s web, you will see that the descendants of Arachne still show great patience and skill, and spin wonderful webs.