The Tree

by H. P. Lovecraft

　　

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On a verdant slope of Mount Maenalus, in Arcadia, there stands an olivegrove about the ruins of a villa. Close by is a tomb, once beautiful with thesublimest sculptures, but now fallen into as great decay as the house. At oneend of that tomb, its curious roots displacing the time-stained blocks ofPanhellic marble, grows an unnaturally large olive tree of oddly repellentshape; so like to some grotesque man, or death-distorted body of a man, that thecountry folk fear to pass it at night when the moon shines faintly through thecrooked boughs. Mount Maenalus is a chosen haunt of dreaded Pan, whose queercompanions are many, and simple swains believe that the tree must have somehideous kinship to these weird Panisci; but an old bee-keeper who lives in theneighboring cottage told me a different story.Many years ago, when the hillside villa was new and resplendent, there dweltwithin it the two sculptors Kalos and Musides. From Lydia to Neapolis the beautyof their work was praised, and none dared say that the one excelled the other inskill. The Hermes of Kalos stood in a marble shrine in Corinth, and the Pallasof Musides surmounted a pillar in Athens near the Parthenon. All men paid homageto Kalos and Musides, and marvelled that no shadow of artistic jealousy cooledthe warmth of their brotherly friendship.But though Kalos and Musides dwelt in unbroken harmony, their natures werenot alike. Whilst Musides revelled by night amidst the urban gaieties of Tegea,Saios would remain at home; stealing away from the sight of his slaves into thecool recesses of the olive grove. There he would meditate upon the visions thatfilled his mind, and there devise the forms of beauty which later becameimmortal in breathing marble. Idle folk, indeed, said that Kalos conversed withthe spirits of the grove, and that his statues were but images of the fauns anddryads he met there for he patterned his work after no living model.So famous were Kalos and Musides, that none wondered when the Tyrant ofSyracuse sent to them deputies to speak of the costly statue of Tyche which hehad planned for his city. Of great size and cunning workmanship must the statuebe, for it was to form a wonder of nations and a goal of travellers. Exaltedbeyond thought would be he whose work should gain acceptance, and for this honorKalos and Musides were invited to compete. Their brotherly love was well known,and the crafty Tyrant surmised that each, instead of concealing his work fromthe other, would offer aid and advice; this charity producing two images ofunheard of beauty, the lovelier of which would eclipse even the dreams of poets.With joy the sculptors hailed the Tyrant's offer, so that in the days thatfollowed their slaves heard the ceaseless blows of chisels. Not from each otherdid Kalos and Musides conceal their work, but the sight was for them alone.Saving theirs, no eyes beheld the two divine figures released by skillful blowsfrom the rough blocks that had imprisoned them since the world began.At night, as of yore, Musides sought the banquet halls of Tegea whilst Kaloswandered alone in the olive Grove. But as time passed, men observed a want ofgaiety in the once sparkling Musides. It was strange, they said amongstthemselves that depression should thus seize one with so great a chance to winart's loftiest reward. Many months passed yet in the sour face of Musides camenothing of the sharp expectancy which the situation should arouse.Then one day Musides spoke of the illness of Kalos, after which nonemarvelled again at his sadness, since the sculptors' attachment was known to bedeep and sacred. Subsequently many went to visit Kalos, and indeed noticed thepallor of his face; but there was about him a happy serenity which made hisglance more magical than the glance of Musides who was clearly distracted withanxiety and who pushed aside all the slaves in his eagerness to feed and waitupon his friend with his own hands. Hidden behind heavy curtains stood the twounfinished figures of Tyche, little touched of late by the sick man and hisfaithful attendant.As Kalos grew inexplicably weaker and weaker despite the ministrations ofpuzzled physicians and of his assiduous friend, he desired to be carried oftento the grove which he so loved. There he would ask to be left alone, as ifwishing to speak with unseen things. Musides ever granted his requests, thoughhis eyes filled with visible tears at the thought that Kalos should care morefor the fauns and the dryads than for him. At last the end drew near, and Kalosdiscoursed of things beyond this life. Musides, weeping, promised him asepulchre more lovely than the tomb of Mausolus; but Kalos bade him speak nomore of marble glories. Only one wish now haunted the mind of the dying man;that twigs from certain olive trees in the grove be buried by his restingplace-close to his head. And one night, sitting alone in the darkness of theolive grove, Kalos died. Beautiful beyond words was the marble sepulchre whichstricken Musides carved for his beloved friend. None but Kalos himself couldhave fashioned such basreliefs, wherein were displayed all the splendours ofElysium. Nor did Musides fail to bury close to Kalos' head the olive twigs fromthe grove.As the first violence of Musides' grief gave place to resignation, helabored with diligence upon his figure of Tyche. All honour was now his, sincethe Tyrant of Syracuse would have the work of none save him or Kalos. His taskproved a vent for his emotion and he toiled more steadily each day, shunning thegaieties he once had relished. Meanwhile his evenings were spent beside the tombof his friend, where a young olive tree had sprung up near the sleeper's head.So swift was the growth of this tree, and so strange was its form, that all whobeheld it exclaimed in surprise; and Musides seemed at once fascinated andrepelled.Three years after the death of Kalos, Musides despatched a messenger to theTyrant, and it was whispered in the agora at Tegea that the mighty statue wasfinished. By this time the tree by the tomb had attained amazing proportions,exceeding all other trees of its kind, and sending out a singularly heavy branchabove the apartment in which Musides labored. As many visitors came to view theprodigious tree, as to admire the art of the sculptor, so that Musides wasseldom alone. But he did not mind his multitude of guests; indeed, he seemed todread being alone now that his absorbing work was done. The bleak mountain wind,sighing through the olive grove and the tomb-tree, had an uncanny way of formingvaguely articulate sounds.The sky was dark on the evening that the Tyrant's emissaries came to Tegea.It was definitely known that they had come to bear away the great image of Tycheand bring eternal honour to Musides, so their reception by the proxenoi was ofgreat warmth. As the night wore on a violent storm of wind broke over the crestof Maenalus, and the men from far Syracuse were glad that they rested snugly inthe town. They talked of their illustrious Tyrant, and of the splendour of hiscapital and exulted in the glory of the statue which Musides had wrought forhim. And then the men of Tegea spoke of the goodness of Musides, and of hisheavy grief for his friend and how not even the coming laurels of art couldconsole him in the absence of Kalos, who might have worn those laurels instead.Of the tree which grew by the tomb, near the head of Kalos, they also spoke. Thewind shrieked more horribly, and both the Syracusans and the Arcadians prayed toAiolos.In the sunshine of the morning the proxenoi led the Tyrant's messengers upthe slope to the abode of the sculptor, but the night wind had done strangethings. Slaves' cries ascended from a scene of desolation, and no more amidstthe olive grove rose the gleaming colonnades of that vast hall wherein Musideshad dreamed and toiled. Lone and shaken mourned the humble courts and the lowerwalls, for upon the sumptuous greater peri-style had fallen squarely the heavyoverhanging bough of the strange new tree, reducing the stately poem in marblewith odd completeness to a mound of unsightly ruins. Strangers and Tegeans stoodaghast, looking from the wreckage to the great, sinister tree whose aspect wasso weirdly human and whose roots reached so queerly into the sculpturedsepulchre of Kalos. And their fear and dismay increased when they searched thefallen apartment, for of the gentle Musides, and of the marvellously fashionedimage of Tyche, no trace could be discovered. Amidst such stupendous ruin onlychaos dwelt, and the representatives of two cities left disappointed; Syracusansthat they had no statue to bear home, Tegeans that they had no artist to crown.However, the Syracusans obtained after a while a very splendid statue in Athens,and the Tegeans consoled themselves by erecting in the agora a marble templecommemorating the gifts, virtues, and brotherly piety of Musides.But the olive grove still stands, as does the tree growing out of the tombof Kalos, and the old bee-keeper told me that sometimes the boughs whisper toone another in the night wind, saying over and over again. "Oida! Oida! -I know!I know!"

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