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.
Vatican, Rome.
Minerva.
“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.”