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A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

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dust, knew that life for her was no longer worth possessing. She had<br />

aspired, in the pride <strong>of</strong> her splendid genius, to a contest with a god, and<br />

knew now that such a contest must ever be vain. A cord hung from the<br />

weaver's beam, and swiftly she seized it, knotted it round her white<br />

neck, and would have hanged herself. But ere the life had passed out <strong>of</strong><br />

her, Athené grasped the cord, loosened it, and spoke Arachne's doom:<br />

"Live!" she said, "O guilty and shameless one! For evermore shalt thou<br />

live and hang as now, thou and thy descendants, that men may never<br />

forget the punishment <strong>of</strong> the blasphemous one who dared to rival a<br />

god."<br />

Even as she spoke, Arachne's fair form dried up and withered. Her<br />

straight limbs grew grey and crooked and wiry, and her white arms<br />

were no more. And from the beam where the beautiful weaver <strong>of</strong> Lydia<br />

had been suspended, there hung from a fine grey thread the creature<br />

from which, to this day, there are but few who do not turn with loathing.<br />

Yet still Arachne spins, and still is without a compeer.<br />

"Not anie damzell, which her vaunteth most In skilfull knitting <strong>of</strong> s<strong>of</strong>t<br />

silken twyne, Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast In dieper, in<br />

damaske, or in lyne, Nor anie skil'd in workmanship embost, Nor anie<br />

skil'd in loupes <strong>of</strong> fingring fine, Might in their divers cunning ever dare<br />

With this so curious networke to compare."<br />

Spenser.<br />

Thus, perhaps, does Arachne have her compensations, and in days that<br />

followed long after the twilight <strong>of</strong> the gods, did she not gain eternal<br />

honour in the heart <strong>of</strong> every Scot <strong>by</strong> the tale <strong>of</strong> how she saved a<br />

national hero? Kindly, too, are her labours for men as she slays their<br />

mortal enemies, the household flies, and when the peasant--practical, if<br />

not favoured <strong>by</strong> Æsculapius and Hygeia--runs to raid the loom <strong>of</strong><br />

Arachne in order to staunch the quick-flowing blood from the cut hand<br />

<strong>of</strong> her little child, much more dear to her heart is Arachne the spider<br />

than the unknown Athené.<br />

"Also in spinners be tokens <strong>of</strong> divination, and <strong>of</strong> knowing what weather

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