Arachne

Hello and welcome back to Fab Figmentals, the podcast that explores the realm of curious creatures, magical monsters, and beautiful beasts!

I’m your host, Lindsey Morse.

Each episode, we dive into the folklore and history of a different legendary creature and share a story about it.

Before we kick things off, a quick apology. At the end of last week’s episode, I teased that this week we’d be exploring changelings, but I’ve decided to make a slight adjustment to the lineup. We’ll tackle changelings soon, I promise. 

Instead, this week we’re going to be looking at my favorite weaver from classical mythology— Arachne.

Arachne was a mortal weaver, famous for her skill and innovation— she is credited with the invention of linen and nets. But Arachne was a proud woman, and boasted that her talent was greater than that of any other weaver— even Athena, goddess of wisdom and crafts. 

This— are we really surprised— got quickly back to Athena, who scoffed at the suggestion that she was second best at anything and quickly challenged Arachne to a weaving duel.

For those at all familiar with Greek and Roman legends, you’re probably tensed up a bit waiting for the other shoe to drop— as you should be. Arachne stinks of hubris— or excessive pride— and like many an arrogant human before her it’s about to be her downfall. 

Arachne’s story has been written and rewritten many times, and the most famous version is from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Ovid’s version is, of course, wonderful, but he incorporates quite a few names that can make the tale a bit difficult to follow, so today I’m going to share James Baldwin’s version with you. This was published in 1895 in his book Old Greek Stories. 

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There was a young girl in Greece whose name was Arachne. Her face was pale but fair, and her eyes were big and blue, and her hair was long and like gold. All that she cared to do from morn till noon was to sit in the sun and spin; and all that she cared to do from noon till night was to sit in the shade and weave.

And oh, how fine and fair were the things which she wove in her loom! Flax, wool, silk-she worked with them all; and when they came from her hands, the cloth which she had made of them was so thin and soft and bright that men came from all parts of the world to see it. And they said that cloth so rare could not be made of flax, or wool, or silk, but that the warp was of rays of sunlight and the woof was of threads of gold.

Then as, day by day, the girl sat in the sun and span, or sat in the shade and wove, she said: "In all the world there is no yarn so fine as mine, and in all the world there is no cloth so soft and smooth, nor silk so bright and rare."

"Who taught you to spin and weave so well?" some one asked.

"No one taught me," she said. "I learned how to do it as I sat in the sun and the shade; but no one showed me.”

"But it may be that Athena, the queen of the air, taught you, and you did not know it.”

"Athena, the queen of the air? Bah!" said Arachne. "How could she teach me? Can she spin such skeins of yarn as these? Can she weave goods like mine? I should like to see her try. I can teach her a thing or two.”

She looked up and saw in the doorway a tall woman wrapped in a long cloak. Her face was fair to see, but stern, oh, so stern! and her gray eyes were so sharp and bright that Arachne could not meet her gaze.

"Arachne," said the woman, "I am Athena, the queen of the air, and I have heard your boast. Do you still mean to say that I have not taught you how to spin and weave?”

"No one has taught me," said Arachne; "and I thank no one for what I know;" and she stood up, straight and proud, by the side of her loom.

"And do you still think that you can spin and weave as well as I?" said Athena.

Arachne's cheeks grew pale, but she said: "Yes. I can weave as well as you.”

"Then let me tell you what we will do," said Athena. "Three days from now we will both weave; you on your loom, and I on mine. We will ask all the world to come and see us; and great Jupiter, who sits in the clouds, shall be the judge. And if your work is best, then I will weave no more so long as the world shall last; but if my work is best, then you shall never use loom or spindle or distaff again. Do you agree to this?" "I agree," said Arachne.

"It is well," said Athena. And she was gone.

When the time came for the contest in weaving, all the world was there to see it, and great Jupiter sat among the clouds and looked on.

Arachne had set up her loom in the shade of a mulberry tree, where butterflies were flitting and grasshoppers chirping all through the livelong day. But Athena had set up her loom in the sky, where the breezes were blowing and the summer sun was shining; for she was the queen of the air.

Then Arachne took her skeins of finest silk and began to weave. And she wove a web of marvelous beauty, so thin and light that it would float in the air, and yet so strong that it could hold a lion in its meshes; and the threads of warp and woof were of many colors, so beautifully arranged and mingled one with another that all who saw were filled with delight.

"No wonder that the maiden boasted of her skill," said the people.

And Jupiter himself nodded.

Then Athena began to weave. And she took of the sunbeams that gilded the mountain top, and of the snowy fleece of the summer clouds, and of the blue ether of the summer sky, and of the bright green of the summer fields, and of the royal purple of the autumn woods,-and what do you suppose she wove?

The web which she wove in the sky was full of enchanting pictures of flowers and gardens, and of castles and towers, and of mountain heights, and of men and beasts, and of giants and dwarfs, and of the mighty beings who dwell in the clouds with Jupiter. And those who looked upon it were so filled with wonder and delight, that they forgot all about the beautiful web which Arachne had woven. And Arachne herself was ashamed and afraid when she saw it; and she hid her face in her hands and wept.

"Oh, how can I live," she cried, "now that I must never again use loom or spindle or distaff?”

And she kept on, weeping and weeping and weeping, and saying, "How can I live?”

Then, when Athena saw that the poor maiden would never have any joy unless she were allowed to spin and weave, she took pity on her and said:

"I would free you from your bargain if I could, but that is a thing which no one can do. You must hold to your agreement never to touch loom or spindle again. And yet, since you will never be happy unless you can spin and weave, I will give you a new form so that you can carry on your work with neither spindle nor loom.”

Then she touched Arachne with the tip of the spear which she sometimes carried; and the maiden was changed at once into a nimble spider, which ran into a shady place in the grass and began merrily to spin and weave a beautiful web.

I have heard it said that all the spiders which have been in the world since then are the children of Arachne; but I doubt whether this be true. Yet, for aught I know, Arachne still lives and spins and weaves; and the very next spider that you see may be she herself.

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As you can probably tell from the way I write these episodes, my background is primarily in English and Art History. I’m not much of a scientist, but for this episode I’d like to venture a little ways out of my comfort zone to talk biology. 

Thinking about Arachne and her ultimate fate got me reading about spiders. I’ve been known to admire a freshly spun web once or twice, but— to be honest— I really don’t know that much about spiders. And when I started to really think about it, I got curious. Spiders create such intricate webs— they really are the weavers of the animal world. 

How do they do it? 

Okay, so here’s the gist: Spiders produce a number of different types of silks— some silks are sticky and used for catching prey, and some are soft and used to wrap it— each type of silk serves a unique purpose, and different silks can be woven together to make a web. Fun fact: the sticky strands that spiders weave to catch prey? Spiders themselves are not immune to its stickiness, so they have to weave non-sticky sidewalks into their webs so they can travel around it without getting stuck in their own trap. 

Creating a web uses a lot of silk and expends a lot of energy. And, unfortunately, webs don’t last for that long. They lose their stickiness pretty quickly and need to be replaced. But because web building is the arachnid equivalent of running a marathon, spiders need to conserve as much energy as they can, and will often eat their webs to recoup some calories before building a new one. 

And there are quite a few different types of webs: orb, funnel, tubular, sheet, and tangle or cobwebs. Orb webs are the ones I’m most familiar with, and the ones I always tried to draw around Halloween— flat and sort of circular. Some orb weaving spiders even incorporate flashy web decorations that often appear whiter and shinier than the rest of their web. They’re almost unnaturally beautiful, and surprisingly complex— I’ve seen zig-zags, x’s, spirals, and circular pattens. It’s said that E. B. White was inspired to write Charlotte’s Web after seeing what actual spiders are capable of when it comes to web decoration, and I like imagining ancient storytellers drawing inspiration from the same phenomenon; when you see what spiders can do, it’s really not much of a stretch to imagine the greatest mortal weaver, reborn as a spider, still showing off her skill to this day.

And, just like Arachne, performing some of her best work even while Athena herself looks on, spiders are remarkable at weaving under some— shall we say— stressful conditions. 

Arabella and Anita, two European garden spiders, were shot into space in 1973. The two spiders were spun (pun intended) in a low earth orbit about Skylab, and they were there to study the effects of low gravity on their ability to spin webs. It took the spiders a little while to find their “sea legs”— or shall we say “space legs?”— but one of them soon spun a web. It wasn’t quite as impressive as a typical earth web, but it was pretty decent. 

And these aren’t the only spiders to hitch a ride on a rocket. In 2011, two more spiders— this time, a pair of golden orb spiders named Gladys and Esmerelda— were send into space aboard the Space Shuttle Endeavour. These two joined up with the International Space Station, where they were given the adorable nickname “arachnid-nauts.” They quickly got to work spinning their webs, and— fascinatingly— the webs, which are usually three dimensional and asymmetric on Earth, were quite a bit different, flatter and more circular.

I’ve always loved the story of Arachne, but before researching for this episode I had no idea just how remarkable spiders really are at weaving. And as it sometimes happens, when I was diving down the research rabbit hole to learn about spider webs, I came across a fascinating subject where spiders, craftiness, and art meet: cobweb paintings. 

Cobweb paintings, also sometimes known as gossamer paintings, are first documented in the 16th century in the Austrian Alps. They were created by monks who collected spiders’ webs (or sometimes caterpillar silks) and layered them together to form canvases, on which they would paint religious imagery. 

Secular artists took up the practice in the mid 1700’s, and some cobweb paintings were sold to tourists who visited Austria. Preparation of the canvas was of the utmost importance, and web-collecting was a full-time job for some. Sheets would be gathered, often from funnel web spiders, and then they would be thoroughly and carefully cleaned, layered to form a canvas, and strengthened by carefully brushing them with diluted milk. Paintings were frequently small, and would often feature portraits or landscapes. This peculiar art form died out in the early 1900’s, but in their heyday cobweb paintings were exceptionally popular souvenirs. Today, however, there are only about 100 known cobweb paintings that remain in existence, most of which are held in private collections. 

Now how did we get all the way from the story of Arachne to spiders in space and the arcane art of cobweb painting? Honestly, I’m not too sure. But sometimes it’s fun to jump down the rabbit hole and see where it leads. I hope it was a fun ride. 

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Thank you so much for tuning in to this episode of Fab Figmentals!

Research, writing, and sound editing are done by me, Lindsey Morse. Niall Cooper assists with writing and editing. Our theme music was created by Graeme Ronald. 

Stay tuned after the credits to hear a promo for a show I’ve been enjoying lately: Fresh Hell. 

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Thanks again for listening, and I hope you’ll join me next week. We’re going to head to Japan to talk about Jikininki, spirits of greedy or selfish men that are cursed after death to seek out and eat human corpses.

We’ll see you next time. 

(Fresh Hell Promo.)