THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, August 29, 1995 TAG: 9508290058
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E4 EDITION: FINAL
SERIES: Tell Me a Story
LENGTH: Long : 109 lines
Tell Me a Story is a series of tales, adapted by Amy Friedman and illustrated by Jillian Gilliland, that are suitable for children to read with their parents, friends, or alone.
LONG AGO IN ancient Greece, a girl named Arachne lived with her family in a village known as Hypaepae. Poor they were, but Arachne possessed an amazing gift. She could weave better than anyone in all the world. People came to the village from everywhere to admire Arachne's work. They stood and watched as her fingers danced over the loom. They were delighted as she twirled the spindle with a dainty flick of her thumb.
Arachne was talented, that is true. But she was vain, too. She was quick-tempered with everyone, and sometimes she was rude even to her mother. ``Even the gods must envy me my skill,'' she said haughtily. Her mother trembled at these words, for everyone knows that it is unwise to compare oneself with the gods. Still, that's exactly what Arachne did.
``Not even Athene is so skilled as I,'' she told anyone who would listen.
Athene, goddess of war and wisdom, was the goddess who had graced Arachne with her skill. And Athene was known to have a fierce temper. Her curses had caused others great pain and terror. She could be a great friend, but she was a terrifying enemy.
``Arachne, do not anger Athene,'' the girl's mother said. ``No human being can be as great as a goddess. You must not compare yourself with her.''
``I am as great as Athene!'' Arachne said as she wove her wool, and laughed with pride. ``I am greater!''
One day an old woman came to the door of Arachne's cottage. When Arachne opened the door, she said rudely, ``What do you want?''
``I have heard you say that you are a better weaver than even Athene.''
``I am better than anyone,'' Arachne said, and she turned to close the door.
But the woman reached out and held the door open. ``Be careful, Arachne,'' she said. ``You may think of yourself as the best weaver in all the world, but now you must ask the goddess Athene for forgiveness. You know that no human being can compare to a goddess.''
Arachne laughed and said, ``I do not need forgiveness!''
Then the woman raised her arm and was transformed. Gone were the old clothes and walking stick, the wrinkles and gray hair. There stood a tall, armored woman carrying a spear in one hand and a shield in the other. She wore a helmet, and great rays of power radiated from her body.
``I am Athene,'' said the goddess. ``I am goddess of wisdom and war. I challenge you to a weaving contest.''
Arachne was not worried. ``I accept,'' she said readily.
Soon word spread throughout the village that a weaving contest was to be held between the great goddess Athene and the proud Arachne. The contest was to begin at sunrise and end at sunset. Speed as well as ability would count. As the day of the contest dawned, people from everywhere gathered to watch the amazing event.
Arachne and Athene stretched their threads upon their looms, tied their frames to the crossbeams, separated the warp with their neddles and reached for their shuttles to weave the many-colored threads.
People moved closer to watch. They stood in awe as the women worked. It seemed as if they were playing tunes on a many-stringed instrument, except no sound emerged. There was silence everywhere as Arachne's fingers raced back and forth across the looms, plucking and pulling, dipping in and out of the multicolored threads, pulling, separating, weaving, in and out. One color appeared, and then a line of gold and pink.
Soon Arachne's tapestry began to take shape. ``I call this `The Loves of the Gods,' '' she announced to the gaping crowds. She wove an image of Zeus three times, once as the golden bull speaking with Europa, then as a swan in the arms of Leda, and a third time as a shower of gold tumbling into Danae's lap. Then a ram appeared, and then a river and a humble shepherd, and then the figure of Baccus, god of wine, turning into fat, full purple grapes. And all of this she framed with flowers and ivy.
The people turned to watch Athene. She too worked with amazing speed and skill. She wove Zeus as king of Olympus, a thunderbolt in one hand and an eagle perched behind his throne. Poseidon was shown striking a rock to let loose a bountiful waterfall. Athene also wove the image of herself touching the ground with her spear. ``My tapestry,'' Athene told the gathered crowd, ``is called `The Power of the Gods.' ''
At long last the sun set and the contest was done. The two women turned and faced each other. Arachne's fingers were sore and aching, but Athene's hands were fresh and smooth.
Arachne looked at her own work and then at Athene's, and her smile grew broad. ``My tapestry is better than yours,'' she told the goddess.
Athene's smile faded as she looked, and the room seemed to grow dark as the goddess's fury grew. But it was true. Arachne's tapestry was the more complicated, the more delicate, the more beautiful.
Athene could not speak, but her eyes blazed with anger.
Arachne burst out laughing, and the sound of her laughter echoed in the silent room. Arachne's mother trembled with fear, for she knew the power of the gods.
Athene raised her shuttle and moved to strike the girl, but as she did, Arachne's mother dropped to her knees in front of her and looked up at her.
``Great Athene,'' the mother pleaded, ``forgive my daughter. Please, I beg of you, she is only a child.''
Athene looked at the mother, then at the daughter, and her heart softened. Staring hard at her foolish, proud opponent, she lowered her arm, reached into her gown and withdrew a handful of magical herbs. These she sprinkled over the girl. ``I will spare her life,'' Athene announced, ``but because of her vanity, I will change her forever.''
The moment the herbs touched Arachne, her shape changed. Her head shrank until it was as small as a bean, and her body folded in on itself. Her fingers turned thin and hairy and stuck to her sides. And she hung above ground by one of her silver threads. Athene had turned Arachne into a spider.
And still, Arachne continued to weave. by CNB