There was another contest, in which a mortal dared to come in
competition with Minerva. That mortal was Arachne, a maiden who
had attained such skill in the arts of weaving and embroidery that
the nymphs themselves would leave their groves and fountains to
come and gaze upon her work. It was not only beautiful when it was
done, but beautiful also in the doing. To watch her, as she took
the wool in its rude state and formed it into rolls, or separated
it with her fingers and carded it till it looked as light and soft
as a cloud, or twirled the spindle with skilful touch, or wove the
web, or, after it was woven, adorned it with her needle, one would
have said that Minerva herself had taught her. But this she
denied, and could not bear to be thought a pupil even of a
goddess. "Let Minerva try her skill with mine," said she; "if
beaten I will pay the penalty." Minerva heard this and was
displeased. She assumed the form of an old woman and went and gave
Arachne some friendly advice "I have had much experience," said
she, "and I hope you will not despise my counsel. Challenge your
fellow-mortals as you will, but do not compete with a goddess. On
the contrary, I advise you to ask her forgiveness for what you
have said, and as she is merciful perhaps she will pardon you."
Arachne stopped her spinning and looked at the old dame with anger
in her countenance.
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