And Then Came the Spider

Spider Man was a good guy (mostly) but this weaver here needed a knock on her head to learn some manners.

In a town called Lydia in northern Greece lived a young maiden by the name of Arachne. She could weave exquisite patterns with much skill and beauty, so much so that even the nymphs stopped by to watch her at work.

‘Look at that lovely weave,’ remarked the girls of her town, who gathered around her every day, mesmerized by her artistry. ‘It is as if Athena herself has blessed her with such talent!’ Now Athena, the war goddess, was also the patron goddess of crafts and weaving.

‘Humph . . .’ scoffed Arachne disdainfully at such praise for she was as vain as she was talented. ‘Athena! I bet she couldn’t spin as skillfully as I! She didn’t teach me. Why, if we were to hold a contest, she and I, she would most certainly lose!’ The girls were silent and in their hearts became fearful for they knew that one should never insult the gods.

In the heavens, the beautiful goddess heard the ranting of the maiden. Her brow darkened with anger. Such vanity, thought she. But she decided to give the foolish girl a chance and test her. Disguised as an old woman, she came to where Arachne sat with her loom. ‘Do not offend the gods, my child. One may have talent but one should always have humility too. Only then will your work be appreciated,’ she told the girl.

‘How dare you, old hag? Did I ask for your opinion? Did I? I said it earlier, and I say it again for all those who care to listen—let Athena come down here and we’ll see who can weave a better tapestry,’ retorted Arachne, irritated, little knowing she was tempting fate.

As if on cue, suddenly, darkness fell and the goddess Athena appeared in a blinding flash of light, resplendent in her golden curls and a blue satin robe. Even the wood nymphs, who had come to watch as usual, swooned in surprise. ‘So be it! You shall have the contest you so desire!’ said Athena.

Both Athena and Arachne sat down to weave at looms, Archane at hers and the goddess before another, which magically appeared from nowhere. The nymphs, who had recovered sufficiently by now, forgot their fear and gathered around to watch. The beautiful goddess began to weave deftly, and soon, lifelike scenes sprang from the tapestry. It was the scene of her contest with Poseidon over the city of Athens.

‘How lovely!’ whispered the nymphs. ‘Arachne cannot match that.’

But Arachne was weaving determinedly and furiously, and soon her design emerged, shocking those who looked upon it. She was creating scenes that mocked Zeus and all the other gods.

When their tapestries were complete, Athena looked at Arachne’s work. She noted the way the girl had used only scenes that showed the gods in poor light. She became angry, very angry. ‘You have shown remarkable skill, I must admit. But can something that is so insulting to others be considered beautiful?’ Grabbing the tapestry from Arachne, she tore it into pieces and broke the loom.

‘And you don’t even feel guilty, do you?’ she asked, her voice lowering to a whisper as Arachne continued to sit smugly still. Leaning over, the goddess touched her lightly on her forehead. When she did, a change came over Arachne. She was suddenly filled with remorse and felt a deep sense of shame for what she had done. She was mortal after all, she realized and her heart, her human heart, could take it no more, the guilt and the shame of it.

So filled with remorse was she that she hanged herself. Athena was not without kindness. She felt that the punishment the girl had chosen for herself was far too cruel. So she took the juice of the aconite flower and sprinkled it on Arachne. Instantly, she came back to life but as a spider.

And she continued to hang by a thread and weave and weave all her life. So it is with all her descendants, you see—hanging by their threads and weaving beautiful webs forever and ever.