And they saw that the goddess,
still merciful, was spinning; as a warning for
Arachne, the pictures of her own triumph over
reckless gods and mortals.
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 marvelous
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.
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