Minerva (2)

Although the brown-winged spirits of evil were kept busy flying up and
down the earth, their mischief-making never reached those immortal ones
who dwelt above the cloud-wrapped summit of Olympus. It was, therefore,
a most unheard-of happening when the Father of the gods complained one
day of a terrible pain in his head. Some of the gods were skilled in
the art of healing; but no one could relieve Jupiter's suffering, nor
tell what might be the cause of his pain. The trouble grew worse and
worse until it was too severe for even a god to endure; so Jupiter
bade his son Vulcan take an ax and split open his head. Not daring to
thwart the divine will, Vulcan tremblingly obeyed; and at the first
blow a marvelous thing occurred, for out of Jupiter's head sprang a
maiden clad in armor and bearing a spear in her hand. This was Minerva,
goddess of wisdom, so called because she came full-grown from the
mighty brain of Jupiter. So wise did the Ruler of the gods find this
child of his to be, that he kept her constantly near him, and sought
her counsel in dealing with the affairs of men, while Juno, his stately
wife, stood jealously by, envying the warrior-maiden her place at
Jupiter's side.

Being born equipped for battle, Minerva delighted in war, and had no
feminine shrinking from the noise of clashing steel or the cries of
struggling men. No Trojan hero gloried in the war more exultingly
than she, as she carried aloft the terrible shield of Jupiter--"the
Ægis"--and bore in her hand the mighty spear, "heavy and huge and
strong." When armies met in battle, the goddess was never far away from
the fighting hosts; and ofttimes a dying soldier, turning his eyes for
a last look at his comrades, saw the glint of her spear or the flash of
her shield as she led the favored ones on to victory.

But the azure-eyed Minerva was not always on the battle-field, for in
spite of her warlike appearance she had many very feminine tastes, and
among them was a love of weaving. Often would white-armed Juno taunt
Minerva with her unwomanly fondness for warfare; but when the goddess
took up her weaving, even jealous Juno could not withhold her praise,
for the hand that could wield a spear like a man had also the delicate
touch of a woman.

Now there lived on the earth a maiden named Arachne, who was very proud
of her skill in weaving, and boasted that in the whole length and
breadth of the land there was no one to equal her in this art. Whenever
people spoke with her, she could talk of nothing else but her work;
and if a stranger stopped to rest at her door, she would be sure to
show him her weaving and to ask him whether in all his wanderings he
had seen anything to surpass it. Soon she grew so conceited that she
dared to compare herself with the goddess Minerva, and boasted that
her own work was as beautiful as anything that hung in the halls of
Olympus. Her friends grew frightened at her rash speech, and begged
her not to let her foolish pride go too far, lest some whisper of her
boasting should reach Minerva's ears. But Arachne only grew bolder, and
said openly that she would not be afraid to challenge the goddess to a
contest. These words were overheard by Apollo's raven, who flew quickly
back to Olympus to tell what he had seen and heard.

Minerva had known for some time of Arachne's boasting, but she had not
deigned to notice it. Now, however, when she learned that a mortal
maiden had dared to claim superiority to a goddess, she grew very
angry and determined to punish such presumption. So she cast off her
glittering armor and laid aside her long spear, and went down to
earth in the disguise of an old woman. She found Arachne seated on the
doorstep, weaving; and as she stopped to admire the girl's work, even
Minerva was forced to admit that the weaving was beautifully done. Soon
Arachne began to boast proudly of her skill and told the pretended old
woman that she hoped some day to challenge the goddess Minerva to a
contest. The listener seemed shocked at these daring words, and begged
the maiden to be more humble and not to presume too far; but Arachne
only tossed her head and laughed, saying that she wished the goddess
would hear her and accept the challenge.

At these bold words Minerva's anger broke out, and throwing off her
disguise she commanded the astonished girl to fetch two looms and set
them up in the doorway. Then she bade Arachne make good her boast.
For hours they worked in silence, each weaving with practiced fingers
an exquisite design in the tapestry; and neither one turning her head
to watch her rival's progress. When the last thread was tied and the
work finished, Arachne looked anxiously at the goddess's loom, and one
glance was sufficient to assure her of her own failure. Never in all
her life had she seen work so faultlessly done, and the beauty of it
was like that of visions in a dream.

Humiliated at her defeat, and too proud to endure the taunts that she
felt awaited her from those who had heard her boast, the unhappy
maiden tried to hang herself. But Minerva would not let the world so
easily forget how a mortal had dared to challenge a goddess; so when
she saw Arachne's body hanging by a rope, she quickly changed her into
a spider, and bade her spin and spin as long as she lived. Thus when
strangers came from all the country round to see the maiden whose skill
in weaving had been noised far and wide, there she hung--an ugly black
spider in the midst of her dusty web--a warning to all mortals who
presume.


II

Many, many years had passed since Epimetheus and Pandora wandered in
the gardens of the earth; and many, many generations of men had come
and gone since the day when Deucalion and Pyrrha looked down from Mount
Parnassus upon an unpeopled land. Cities had been built, with marble
palaces and costly temples. Towns had sprung up on river-banks and by
the sea. Everywhere man was making for himself a home, and journeying
into strange and distant lands. The gods, seated in the council-hall of
Jupiter, watched the changes taking place upon the earth; and as each
new city was built and the flames of its altar-fires rose up toward the
white clouds around Olympus, they smiled upon the work of man's hand
and made it prosper. Nowhere was the worship of the gods forgotten,
but in each undertaking the protection of some deity was sought and a
sacrifice offered that success might be assured. Scattered throughout
the land, in town or by the wayside, were shrines where the farmer laid
his offering of doves in return for a rich harvest, or a soldier hung
some trophy of victory upon his safe return from the war or a sailor,
starting on some uncertain voyage, burned spices and incense that the
gods might grant favoring winds to all those who go down to the sea in
ships.

But in every city there was one temple more beautiful than the rest,
and this was dedicated to that particular deity who had named the
city and was its especial protector; and as city after city was built
throughout the fair land of Greece, each of the gods wished to have
the naming of it that he might thereby receive added worship and
honor. There was much jealousy among them on this score, and they
watched eagerly each thriving inland town or seaport, knowing that in
a few years it would become a great city, building costly temples and
erecting statues to the god whom it delighted to honor.

So once, when a certain town on the coast of Greece began to grow into
a large and prosperous city, there was much dispute in the council
hall of Jupiter as to who should have the privilege of naming it.
Perhaps the gods were looking far into the future and saw what this
city was destined to become; but however that may be, the gods and
goddesses argued so fiercely over the matter that Jupiter was obliged
to interfere, lest some murmur of this unusual discord should reach
the earth. Then one by one the various contestants withdrew until only
Neptune and Minerva were left to dispute over their respective rights
to the naming of the city. There being no ground for either's claim,
Jupiter at length decided to give the much-coveted honor to whichever
of these two should present the most useful gift to the people of the
city.

Neptune then struck the ground with his trident, and where the earth
opened there sprang out a horse with snow-white mane and arching neck
and a splendid body on which a king might be proud to ride. The gods
and goddesses who had assembled to witness the contest were delighted
with Neptune's gift, and waited impatiently to see what better thing
Minerva would be able to offer. Surprise, amusement, and contempt
were written on the faces of the spectators when the goddess stepped
forward, holding in her hand an olive branch. But Jupiter, wisest of
them all, did not smile, for he was listening while Minerva told of
the great value her gift would have for the people of the new city.
She described all the uses to which its leaves, its fruit, and even
its bark could be put, adding that the olive branch was to be a sign
of peace among all nations, and was therefore of more true service
to man than a war-horse, which would bring upon him only bloodshed
and disaster. To these wise words the gods were forced to agree, so
to Minerva was granted the privilege of naming the city; and as she
was called Athena, by the Greeks, she named the place Athens, which
it is called to this very day. Before many years passed a splendid
marble temple was built on the hill just above the city, and this
was dedicated to Athena, whose colossal statue, carved by the famous
sculptor Phidias, adorned the interior. They called this temple the
Parthenon, and from the ruins that still remain we know that the
hand of man has never built anything to equal it in beauty.