The Tree

The Tree
by H.P. Lovecraft

On a verdant slope of Mount Maenalus, in Arcadia, there stands an olive
grove about the ruins of a villa. Close by is a tomb, once beautiful with the
sublimest sculptures, but now fallen into as great decay as the house. At one
end of that tomb, its curious roots displacing the time-stained blocks of
Panhellic marble, grows an unnaturally large olive tree of oddly repellent
shape; so like to some grotesque man, or death-distorted body of a man, that the
country folk fear to pass it at night when the moon shines faintly through the
crooked boughs. Mount Maenalus is a chosen haunt of dreaded Pan, whose queer
companions are many, and simple swains believe that the tree must have some
hideous kinship to these weird Panisci; but an old bee-keeper who lives in the
neighboring cottage told me a different story.
Many years ago, when the hillside villa was new and resplendent, there dwelt
within it the two sculptors Kalos and Musides. From Lydia to Neapolis the beauty
of their work was praised, and none dared say that the one excelled the other in
skill. The Hermes of Kalos stood in a marble shrine in Corinth, and the Pallas
of Musides surmounted a pillar in Athens near the Parthenon. All men paid homage
to Kalos and Musides, and marvelled that no shadow of artistic jealousy cooled
the warmth of their brotherly friendship.
But though Kalos and Musides dwelt in unbroken harmony, their natures were
not 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 the
cool recesses of the olive grove. There he would meditate upon the visions that
filled his mind, and there devise the forms of beauty which later became
immortal in breathing marble. Idle folk, indeed, said that Kalos conversed with
the spirits of the grove, and that his statues were but images of the fauns and
dryads he met there for he patterned his work after no living model.
So famous were Kalos and Musides, that none wondered when the Tyrant of
Syracuse sent to them deputies to speak of the costly statue of Tyche which he
had planned for his city. Of great size and cunning workmanship must the statue
be, for it was to form a wonder of nations and a goal of travellers. Exalted
beyond thought would be he whose work should gain acceptance, and for this honor
Kalos and Musides were invited to compete. Their brotherly love was well known,
and the crafty Tyrant surmised that each, instead of concealing his work from
the other, would offer aid and advice; this charity producing two images of
unheard 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 that
followed their slaves heard the ceaseless blows of chisels. Not from each other
did 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 blows
from the rough blocks that had imprisoned them since the world began.
At night, as of yore, Musides sought the banquet halls of Tegea whilst Kalos
wandered alone in the olive Grove. But as time passed, men observed a want of
gaiety in the once sparkling Musides. It was strange, they said amongst
themselves that depression should thus seize one with so great a chance to win
art's loftiest reward. Many months passed yet in the sour face of Musides came
nothing of the sharp expectancy which the situation should arouse.
Then one day Musides spoke of the illness of Kalos, after which none
marvelled again at his sadness, since the sculptors' attachment was known to be
deep and sacred. Subsequently many went to visit Kalos, and indeed noticed the
pallor of his face; but there was about him a happy serenity which made his
glance more magical than the glance of Musides who was clearly distracted with
anxiety and who pushed aside all the slaves in his eagerness to feed and wait
upon his friend with his own hands. Hidden behind heavy curtains stood the two
unfinished figures of Tyche, little touched of late by the sick man and his
faithful attendant.
As Kalos grew inexplicably weaker and weaker despite the ministrations of
puzzled physicians and of his assiduous friend, he desired to be carried often
to the grove which he so loved. There he would ask to be left alone, as if
wishing to speak with unseen things. Musides ever granted his requests, though
his eyes filled with visible tears at the thought that Kalos should care more
for the fauns and the dryads than for him. At last the end drew near, and Kalos
discoursed of things beyond this life. Musides, weeping, promised him a
sepulchre more lovely than the tomb of Mausolus; but Kalos bade him speak no
more 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 resting
place-close to his head. And one night, sitting alone in the darkness of the
olive grove, Kalos died. Beautiful beyond words was the marble sepulchre which
stricken Musides carved for his beloved friend. None but Kalos himself could
have fashioned such basreliefs, wherein were displayed all the splendours of
Elysium. Nor did Musides fail to bury close to Kalos' head the olive twigs from
the grove.
As the first violence of Musides' grief gave place to resignation, he
labored with diligence upon his figure of Tyche. All honour was now his, since
the Tyrant of Syracuse would have the work of none save him or Kalos. His task
proved a vent for his emotion and he toiled more steadily each day, shunning the
gaieties he once had relished. Meanwhile his evenings were spent beside the tomb
of 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 who
beheld it exclaimed  in surprise; and Musides seemed at once fascinated and
repelled.
Three years after the death of Kalos, Musides despatched a messenger to the
Tyrant, and it was whispered in the agora at Tegea that the mighty statue was
finished. 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 branch
above the apartment in which Musides labored. As many visitors came to view the
prodigious tree, as to admire the art of the sculptor, so that Musides was
seldom alone. But he did not mind his multitude of guests; indeed, he seemed to
dread 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 forming
vaguely 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 Tyche
and bring eternal honour to Musides, so their reception by the proxenoi was of
great warmth. As the night wore on a violent storm of wind broke over the crest
of Maenalus, and the men from far Syracuse were glad that they rested snugly in
the town. They talked of their illustrious Tyrant, and of the splendour of his
capital and exulted in the glory of the statue which Musides had wrought for
him. And then the men of Tegea spoke of the goodness of Musides, and of his
heavy grief for his friend and how not even the coming laurels of art could
console 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. The
wind shrieked more horribly, and both the Syracusans and the Arcadians prayed to
Aiolos.
In the sunshine of the morning the proxenoi led the Tyrant's messengers up
the slope to the abode of the sculptor, but the night wind had done strange
things. Slaves' cries ascended from a scene of desolation, and no more amidst
the olive grove rose the gleaming colonnades of that vast hall wherein Musides
had dreamed and toiled. Lone and shaken mourned the humble courts and the lower
walls, for upon the sumptuous greater peri-style had fallen squarely the heavy
overhanging bough of the strange new tree, reducing the stately poem in marble
with odd completeness to a mound of unsightly ruins. Strangers and Tegeans stood
aghast, looking from the wreckage to the great, sinister tree whose aspect was
so weirdly human and whose roots reached so queerly into the sculptured
sepulchre of Kalos. And their fear and dismay increased when they searched the
fallen apartment, for of the gentle Musides, and of the marvellously fashioned
image of Tyche, no trace could be discovered. Amidst such stupendous ruin only
chaos dwelt, and the representatives of two cities left disappointed; Syracusans
that 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 temple
commemorating the gifts, virtues, and brotherly piety of Musides.
But the olive grove still stands, as does the tree growing out of the tomb
of Kalos, and the old bee-keeper told me that sometimes the boughs whisper to
one another in the night wind, saying over and over again. "Oida! Oida! -I know!
I know!"