Arachne lived in a small village on the shores of the Mediterranean. Her parents were poor. While her mother worked, Arachne spun all day. Her wheel's steady whir sounded like an insect's buzz. Through constant practice, she grew so skillful that her threads were as fine as the sea mists.
One day, her fisherman father brought home baskets of bright crimson and purple shellfish. He tried dyeing Arachne's wool with them, resulting in the most vivid hue ever seen in woven fabric.
Thereafter, Arachne's tapestries always featured this new color. They sold readily, soon becoming famous. Her family moved to a larger house; her parents no longer had to labor in the fields or fish.
Arachne herself became as celebrated as her tapestries. Flattered by admiration, her head was turned. When people praised the beautiful color, she took all the credit, never mentioning her father's help. Crowds often gathered behind her loom to watch her weave.
One day, she overheard someone say that even Minerva, the patron goddess of spinning, could not weave more beautifully than this fisherman's daughter. Arachne foolishly believed this. Another suggested she must have been taught by Minerva herself.
The truth was, Minerva had taught Arachne. The goddess had sent the shellfish and, though invisible, often stood behind the girl, guiding her shuttle. Unaware, Arachne believed she owed her skill solely to herself and began to boast.
One day she declared: "It's said I weave as well as the goddess Minerva, if not better. I'd like a match with her to see who is best." No sooner had these proud words left her mouth than she heard the tap of a crutch.
Turning, she saw a feeble old woman in a rusty gray cloak, with strangely bright gray eyes. Leaning on her crutch, the old woman spoke with a cracked voice: "I am older than you. Take my advice. Ask Minerva's pardon for your ungrateful words. If truly sorry, she will forgive you."
Arachne, disrespectful to the elderly and angry at the reproof, retorted: "Don't advise me. Advise your own children. I shall say and do as I please."
At this, an angry light flashed in the old woman's eyes. Her crutch changed to a shining lance; she dropped her cloak, revealing the goddess Minerva. Arachne flushed, then paled, but still would not apologize. Instead, she insisted on the weaving match.
Two frames were brought and attached to an overhead beam. Side by side, Minerva and the foolish Arachne began to weave tapestry.
Minerva's tapestry depicted mortals who, like Arachne, had been boastful and foolhardy and were punished by the gods—a kindly warning. But Arachne would not heed it. She wove pictures mocking the foolish deeds of the Olympian gods. This was profoundly disrespectful. When finished, Minerva tore Arachne's work to pieces.
Frightened but too late, Arachne was struck on the forehead by Minerva's shuttle. She shrank to a creature no larger than a thumb. "Since you deem yourself so skillful," said Minerva, "you shall spin and weave all your life."
In her new form, Arachne scurried into a dark corner. She was now obliged to earn her living by spinning exceedingly fine webs to catch flies, much as her father had caught fish. She was called the Spinner. Her numerous descendants are still called spinners, though their name has changed to spider. Their delicate webs often grace the grass on fine mornings.