If ever there was a girl who thought she was all that and a plate of saganaki, it was Arachne. You should have seen her strutting all around the agora with her nose up in the air. She walked up and down the market stalls, examining the fine woven goods for sells, pointing out the minor flaws in other people’s work. A snag here, an uneven thread there—she noticed them all, and she simply couldn’t help pointing them out.
“I could out-weave you all with one hand tied behind my back,” she exclaimed. The townspeople grumbled amongst themselves, but they knew she was right. She was an excellent weaver. She was famous all over Greece for her work at the loom.
From the middle of the crowd that had gathered emerged an old woman. Her eyes seemed to assess Arachne before she spoke. “Have a care, child,” she admonished. “There is always someone better.”
Arachne sneered at the old woman. “Oh, really?” she said. “Well, not in this case. I could outweave Athena herself!” The crowd gasped at these insulting words.
The old woman’s voice grew tight with anger. “Do not anger the gods with your arrogance, Arachne,” she cautioned.
Arachne laughed. “I suppose you think you can do better, old hag,” she said. “Let’s have a contest, then. I’ll prove I’m the best weaver in the world!” The townspeople were anxious to see Arachne put in her place for their insults, so they quickly agreed. The contest was soon underway.
All the weavers in Greece competed, and Arachne defeated them one by one. Her linen was flawless, and her tapestries were superb in their artistry. At last, Arachne faced the old woman who had first challenged her. Suddenly, the old woman threw off her cloak. The crowd drew back in fear. Before them stood a strong young woman who blazed with anger. An owl was perched on her shoulder. It was Athena herself. The townspeople bowed before the great goddess.
For a brief moment, uncertainty clouded Arachne’s eyes. Then she smiled. “Well, now it is time for me to prove I am a better weaver than the great Athena.”
For three days, Arachne and Athena worked at their looms. When they were done, Athena presented her tapestry to the people. It was exquisite. It showed the great scene of Athena’s defeat over Poseidon that won her the city of Athens. The people were in awe. Then Arachne presented her tapestry. In bright colors, her tapestry featured scenes of the failings and sins of the gods. The work itself, though, was flawless. Even Athena had to admit that.
Athena cried out, “Give thanks to the gods for such talent, you wretched mortal!” Arachne, drunk with victory, just laughed. “My talent belongs to me alone,” she declared.
By this time the crowd, having some common sense, had scattered dispersed, returned to their homes, and locked the doors. Enraged at Arachne’s pride and blasphemy, Athena threw the shuttle in her hand at Arachne, hitting her in the face and ripping her offensive tapestry to shreds. Athena then changed Arachne into a spider. She and her kind would be weavers forever.
