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Updated: May 14, 2025
Instead of hanging by the threads she had used she now hung from a dainty silken spider web, for Arachne was still a weaver, but not a weaver as of old. Today, perchance, if you should see a busy little spider, it might be one of Arachne's children, or perhaps Arachne herself. No one knows neither you nor I. It was spring, and the little town of Killingworth told of the joy of living again.
Do you still mean to say that I have not taught you how to spin and weave?" "No one has taught me," said Arachne; "and I thank no one for what I know;" and she stood up, straight and proud, by the side of her loom. "And do you still think that you can spin and weave as well as I?" said Athena. Arachne's cheeks grew pale, but she said: "Yes. I can weave as well as you."
"O, then beware Arachne's fate; Be prudent, Chloe, and submit, For you'll most surely meet her hate, Who rival both her art and wit."
"O, then beware Arachne's fate; Be prudent, Chloe, and submit, For you'll most surely meet her hate, Who rival both her art and wit."
The headland cliffs that darkly down O'er the Saronic waters frown, Are pass'd with the swift one's lurid stride, And the huge rock glares on the glaring tide, With mightier march and fiercer power It gain'd Arachne's neighbouring tower Thence on our Argive roof its rest it won, Of Ida's fire the long-descended son Bright harbinger of glory and of joy!
That is the central idea, around which the imagination of man has woven many a complicated web, some beautiful as Arachne's robe, some barbaric and repulsive, but all of little worth. The wise man, the true philosopher, will not mistake the machinery of a religion for the religious idea, the garment which ignorance weaves for Omniscience, for God himself.
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.
There be those for whom the veil that separates the two eternities is no black inpenetrable pall, but an Arachne's web, a sacred shadow through which comes sweeping, not the roar of myriad voiced hosannahs and the rustle of countless wings of dazzling white beating the everlasting blue; but the soft incense of love, bringing healing to broken hearts, calm to rebellious souls.
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. Once long ago there was a high mountain whose rocks were veined with gold and silver and seamed with iron.
In the first act there is a suggestion of the slow, soft march of a caravan across the sand, the eleven-toned Greek and Egyptian scale being used. In the tent of the Sheik, an old Arabian scale is employed. The weaving of Arachne's web is pictured with especial power. Greek traditions have, of course, been used only for occasional impressionisms, and not as manacles.
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