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Arachne: A Literary Journal. No. 1

Arachne — a literary paper

page 1

Arachne

a literary paper

It is terrible to reflect that the conflict could arise in a seemingly so harmonious situation. Something prompted Arachne to say that she could weave more beautiful cloths than the goddess Pallas herself. Pallas among her various powers and attributes had that of perfection in weaving. No human blood flowed through her portrayals, which were as coaxing and unapproachable as a blade of grass. Arachne saw no harm in making a statement so obvious as that she could weave better than Pallas. So when the old woman came trembling with indignation in the way very futile old women do, Arachne said: "Yes of course," without thinking of any impiety. With cheap rhetorical effect the old woman asked "What would she do if Pallas herself would descend from heaven and stand next to her in her own shape and challenge her to a contest with herself." This was so queer that it really engaged the fancy. Arachne had occasionally pondered that problem as we all ponder what we would say to the Governor General or the Prime Minister. Pallas would then be hopelessly defeated, Arachne had often thought, for Pallas was utterly strange to the subtlety that produces the human blush. The same would be true for all human weavers even the least significant, Arachne thought, but it would, of course, only happen to the very greatest that Pallas would appear. One would need the high reputation and the rounded human perfection that would tickle Pallas' fancy. The old lady changed herself into her true shape, which was Pallas'; as Ovid says, the rest of the company were aghast, but a light blush visited Arachne's cheek and vanished like the redness of dawn. So she had been chosen for the miracle, Arachne thought. It takes all the machinery of heaven to produce a miracle and it was only done on the very highest priority of predestined necessity. The heavenly decision looked, now, a little sinister; Pallas' smile was beautiful but horribly neutral in the sense of neither kind nor unkind. One thing was reassuring: the smile seemed close to benevolence, might easily turn to benevolence. What she desires to see is great art, thought Arachne. And she set to work. Pallas smiled, very engagingly, and set to work as well. Arachne did not see Pallas' face as she sat down before the loom, but remembered the last smile which was sufficient assurance to reinvoke the shaping impulse. Ovid recounts that Pallas wove the powers and punishments of the gods and Arachne their passions of love, and their tricks and disguises. When Pallas afterwards studied Arachne's web, no flaw could be found in it. The border-motif of flowers and vines was a little faded but then human beings always did lose themselves in dull repetitions. It was not enough to be remarked upon.

Pallas raised herself to her full height and her eyes began to flash. Arachne, still stunned from her work, did not at once see the meaning; it took time for her sense to wake up. But the gods have a rule of not punishing an intoxicated man. The man who walks drunk into a large revolving machine and thus terminates both as life-spirit and as physical shape is not the man punished by the gods. "What wonderful work, what wonderful work," said Pallas and she happened to put her hand through it just accidentally, and then she said "Oh," but apologetically (maybe, maybe), and then she put her hand and the elbow also through it. She moved uncouthly for a goddess. She moved and said "Oh but this is very beautiful." Arachne began to apologise for the rifts; it was a pity that she could not see it now as it really was; "It does not matter," said Pallas. "But it does,' said Arachne. Now Arachne woke up, and consequently became an object of the gods' revenge.