Soldan High School - Scrip Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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ffxis-1 ' I -2:4 T for -P 1 -f 51' P .PA i P An old beggar-woman in dusty rags stepped forward. Madam, do you dare challenge a goddess? The girl turned upon her abruptly. Dare? There is nothing to dare. I know what I can do. And I think I have never seen you beforeg how do you come here? The old dame bowed stiffly. I am begging my way to Thebes. A friend here told me never to leave this town without first seeing the famous Arachne at workg so I persuaded your doorkeeper to let me in. Arachne was unpaciliedg but she pointed out a stool for her unasked guest. The housewives edged away as the latter sat down near them. Arachne continued pulling the wool apart with her quick handsg her lips were set bitterly. Finally the old woman piped up, So you would feel shame to admit you were a pupil even of Pallas? Certainly, I would. Let Pallas compete with me! I believe none of the chimney-corner stories of her wisdom. Ah, lady, said the woman, gravely, never say that. I am agedg and I have been in many landsg and everywhere I see traces of her power. Challenge a fellow-mortal, if you will, but never a deity. Indeed, I advise you to ask her pardon for your rash pride, she is merciful: she will forgive. Arachne sprang up, breathing hard. Her eyes snapped furiously. Am I to be preached at and insulted in my own house? Will you stop your sermonizing, or must I call a slave to put you out? I'd like to know how a beggar-woman has the right to tell me my shortcomings! Would you know, indeed? The old dame arose, facing the angry girl. Look, and learn how I have the right. Calm gray eyes gazed steadily into Arachne's, hypnotizing her. Slowly the bent form straightened, the rags changed to flowing robes. Athene herself-majestic, powerful, tall-stood in the midst of the startled group. Arachne never paled. Her audacity kept the crimson flame in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. Do you challenge Pallas Athene face to face? the grave voice asked. Face to face, Pallas Athene. My loom is ready. How the other loom came there, and the bag of fine wool, too, is a mystery. But there they were, and there Athene took her place. The trembling women were struck dumb and motionless. Horri- iied, they could but watch the contest. Arachne set her teeth grimly. Hatred of this imperturbable gray- eyed virgin burned in her heart. She must-yes, she would shame the goddess. Her blood ran hot: her soul seethed with rage and jealous 21

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Tj - ,AY -Ai, -- - -1 of Y -.IX W'-Q ' 'T Xi' PV - 'Ti Y' ' :7 ' - 7 Arachne 's Web By Frances Hall England, 7 S va ERTAINLY, the household of Cyaxeres was never lacking in I fine linens. For Arachne, the daughter of this wealthy Athe- nian farmer, had a passion for weaving. Naturally, Cyaxeres had few objections to such a hobby. V - He never had to spend his good money for imported cloth- for, behold, Arachne could convert a roll of wool into a modish chiton as easily as any ordinary girl might twine a garland. Motives of econ- omy assured him that she should be left to her loom and spindle. The only drawback was the extent to which her passion went. She would spin and weave, weave and spin, from morning until night. It had been so from her childhood, when she would gather reeds and twist them into baskets. Now she was nineteen: and with each flying year her skill had increased-but so, also, her seclusion. If a girl came to see her, poor Chloe or Althea or Stratonice, as her name might be, was pressed into service to hold the skeins. Or if a suitor dared to penetrate her sanctum, he was threatened with blows from her shuttle, or was chilled with absorbed silence, until he slunk away. So Cyaxeres had need to fear that she might never marry-and a husbandless daughter is a sign of juno's malice. In spite of Arachne's coolness, curious housewives would often come to watch the fair spinner. So exquisite was the work, so beautiful the worker, that it was only a matter of opinion which was the prettier sight. One day the maiden, surrounded by her usual circle of admirers, was carding wool in the patio, when one woman remarked, Lady, your web is so fine that I would swear you were a pupil of Athene herself! Arachne slowly turned to regard her. A pupil? I? Verily, I have taught myself the art ! The words were mild, but the glance of her dark eyes was haughty. I meant no offense, dear Arachne. In fact, I meant to honor you by what I said. Arachne shrugged her shoulders. My cloth is Hawlessg you see that. Even a goddess can do no more than weave a perfect web. And any earthling can do it if she loves the art as I do. The women looked nervously at each other, scenting heresy in the air. Arachne's temper flashed: arrogantly she cried out, Listen to me! Stop staring so! I dare Pallas Athene herself to show more skill in this than Ig if beaten, I will pay the penalty-and you may call me a mere apprentice. Do you hear? 0

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determination. Unconsciously she chose marvelous combinations. A design grew in her mindg each detail fulfilled itself through her sensi- tive fingers. Never had she been so quick to visualize, and to execute her vision. V Soon the pattern began to take form-a hate-inspired design, show- ing scene after scene exemplifying the follies and errors of the gods. There was august Zeus, stealing into DanaE's towerg Leda caressing the swang the three goddesses wrangling over Discord's apple. In vivid colors that vibrated and glistened in the light, the shameful scenes grew on the loom. Meanwhile, Phoebus whirled downward to the west: deep shadows, quick with the rustlings of fearful nymphs, crept over the terraces. Cyaxeres, come in from his fields, stood, terror-Filled, behind his daughter. Finally, Arachne fastened the last thread. I have done, she said. The women huddled close to look at her work. Athene lefti her loomg standing before her earthly rival's fabric, she gazed long, admiring. But indignation at the impious affront stirred her spirit. Maiden, said Pallas, your presumption is plainly wrought here. But come now and see my web. Arachne went to Athene's loom. Quivering sunset glowings lighted the scene worked there in Tyrian dye, and gold, and emerald. Silently, Arachne gazedg deeply, the sublime lesson sank into her soul. The breathings and stirrings of Paradise lived in the web. Legend tells us that Athene wove the story of her contest with Neptune. That may have been the outward showing of itg but to Arachne it was a drawing of the curtain that had veiled her eyes so long. In the presence of that divine scene contrasted with the base ideas of her own work, before the towering figure of the goddess, she felt for the first time her nothingness compared with immortality. One low cry-then, as the bystanders still shuddered to hear it, they saw Arachne dart across the courtyard, into the sombre night glooms. Cyaxeres lurched forward after her, but Athene waved him back, and he could follow his daughter no more than if he had been bound with iron chains. Sad-eyed, Athene stepped through the gateway and was gone. Arachne never was seen again as the haughty-browed artist. But she or her descendants still spin and weave, weave and spin, through the black nights and the gilded days. And always when the web, rain- bow-sparkling in the sunlight, is just complete, a heavy hand shatters it, or a shower rends it into a hundred fragments. 22