Notes

  Editor’s Note: An A.Ms. exists, but it is a fair copy and must date to after the first appearance: Tryout (July 1921), as it incorporates some revisions from that text. HPL presumably prepared a T.Ms. for Weird Tales, where the story appeared in the August 1926 issue. I now believe that a few slight variants between the A.Ms. and the Weird Tales text are the result of deliberate revisions that HPL made in the hypothetical T.Ms. The Arkham House editions followed the Weird Tales text.

  Texts: A = Tryout 7, No. 4 (July 1921): [10–14]; B = A.Ms. (JHL); C = Weird Tales 8, No. 2 (July 1926): 191–92; D = The Dunwich Horror and Others (Arkham House, 1963), 278–80. Copy-text: B (with some readings from C).

  1. in] on A, B

  2. exceedingly] om. A

  3. Messrs.] Messrs A

  4. Czanek,] Czanek C, D

  5. Silva,] Silva A

  6. dignified than] than dignified A

  7. keep] kept A

  8. attentions] attention A, B

  9. frighten] frightens A

  10. Peters,] Peters. A; Peters C, D

  11. conversations] conversations, B

  12. New-England] New England A, C, D

  13. traditions,] traditions. A

  14. greybeard,] gray-/beard, C; grey-beard, D

  15. cane,] cane A, C, D

  16. thin,] om. A

  17. lonely,] lonely A

  18. a] the A

  19. Messrs.] Messrs A

  20. 11th] eleventh A, B, C, D

  21. them] the men A

  22. presumable] presumably C, D

  23. motor-car] motor car A, C, D

  24. explanations in] explanationins A

  25. afterward.] afterwards. A, B

  26. Messrs.] Messrs A

  27. Messrs.] Messrs A

  28. door. ¶] door. A

  29. Mr. Czanek] Mr.Czanek A

  30. motor-car] motor car A, C, D

  31. ordinarily tender-hearted,] ordinary tenderh-earted, A

  32. gentle] gentley A

  33. place.] place. ¶ A

  34. gate,] gate. A

  35. street-lamp] street lamp A, C, D

  36. that] the A

  37. looked,] looked A

  38. for his] forhis A

  39. colour] color C, D

  40. now] now; A

  41. motor-car] motor car A, C, D

  42. certain especially] certaine pecially A

  43. citizens.] citizens. ¶ A

  The Tree

  “Fata viam invenient.”[1]

  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 Pentelic 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[2] 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 neighbouring[3] 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[4] to Neapolis the beauty of their work was praised, and none dared say that the one excelled the other in skill. The Hermes of [5] Kalos stood in a[6] marble shrine in Corinth, and the Pallas of Musides surmounted[7] a pillar[8] in Athens,[9] 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,[10] Kalos 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[11] 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[12] sent to them deputies to speak of the costly statue of Tyché[13] 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 honour [14] Kalos and Musides were invited to compete. Their brotherly love was well known,[15] 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[16] beauty, the lovelier[17] 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 skilful 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[18] whilst Kalos[19] wandered alone in the olive grove. But as time passed, men observed a want of gaiety[20] in the once sparkling Musides. It was strange, they said amongst themselves, that depression[21] 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,[22] after which none marvelled again at his sadness, since the sculptors’ attachment[23] 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,[24] 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 Tyché,[25] 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,[26] 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[27]—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 bas-reliefs, 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 laboured[28] with diligence upon his figure of Tyché.[29] 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,[30] 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 laboured.[31] 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 Tyché[32] and bring eternal honour to Musides, so their reception by the proxenoi was of great warmth. As the night wore on,[33] 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;[34] 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[35] had done strange things. Slaves’ cries ascended from a scene of desolation, and no more amidst[36] 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[37] the sumptuous greater peristyle had fallen squarely the heavy[38] 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;[39] for of the gentle Musides, and of the marvellously fashioned image of Tyché,[40] no trace could be discovered. Amidst[41] such stupendous ruin[42] only chaos dwelt, and the representatives of two[43] 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,[44] saying over and over again, “Ο„δα! Ο„δα!—I know! I know!” [45]

  Notes

  Editor’s Note: The T.Ms. is single-spaced (although not one of those sent to Weird Tales in 1923) and was prepared by HPL. It was presumably followed by the Tryout (October 1921), but many errors occurred there. In his copy of the issue, HPL has corrected most of the errors. It appears that this corrected copy was followed in the Arkham House editions, for those editions duplicate the errors in the Tryout text that HPL did not correct. The posthumous Weird Tales appearance (August 1938) is irrelevant to the tale’s textual history.

  Texts: A = T.Ms. (JHL); B = Tryout 7, No. 7 (October 1921): [3–10] (with corrections by HPL [copy at JHL]) (nc = not corrected by HPL); C = Dagon and Other Macabre Tales (Arkham House, 1965), 86–90. Copy-text: A.

  1. “Fata . . . invenient.”] om. C

  2. companions are] companionsare B

  3. neighbouring] neighboring B, C

  4. Lydia] Lyda B

  5. of ] and B

  6. a] om. B

  7. surmounted] surrounded B

  8. pillar] pillow B

  9. Athens,] Athens B, C, D

  10. Tegea,] Tagea, B

  11. the] om. B

  12. Syracuse] Syarcuse B

  13. Tyché] Tyche B, C

  14. honour] honor B [nc], C

  15. known,] known B

  16. unheard-of] unheard of B [nc], C

  17. lovelier] lovelieer B

  18. Tegea] Thgea B

  19. Kalos] Calos B

  20. gaiety] gaity B

  21. depression] drepression B

  22. Kalos,] Calos, B

  23. attachment] atatchment B

  24. anxiety,] anxiety B [nc], C

  25. Tyché,] Tyche, B [nc], C

  26. friend,] friend B

  27. resting-place] resting place B [nc], C

  28. laboured] labored B [nc], C

  29. Tyché.] Tyche. B [nc], C

  30. emotion,] emotion B [nc], C

  31. laboured.] labored. B [nc], C

  32. Tyché] Tyche B [nc], C

  33. on,] on B [nc], C

  34. capital;] capatil; B capital C

  35. night-wind] night wind A, B, C, D

  36. amidst] admidst B

  37. for upon] forupon B

  38. the heavy] theheavy B [nc]

  39. apartment;] apartment, C

  40. Tyché,] Tyche, B [nc], C

  41. Amidst] Admist B

  42. ruin] ruins B

  43. two] the two B

  44. night-wind,] night wind, A, B, C

  45. “O"da! O"da!—I know! I know!” ] “Oida! Oida!—I know! I know!” A, B; “Oida! Oida!—I know! I know!” C

  The Cats of Ulthar

  It is said that in Ulthar, which lies beyond the river Skai, no man may kill a cat; and this I can verily believe as I gaze upon him who sitteth purring before the fire. For the cat is cryptic, and close to strange things which men cannot see. He is the soul of antique Ægyptus,[1] and bearer of tales from forgotten cities in Meroë[2] and Ophir. He is the kin of the jungle’s lords, and heir to the secrets of hoary and sinister Africa. The Sphinx is his cousin, and he speaks her language; but he is more ancient than the Sphinx, and remembers that which she hath forgotten.

  In Ulthar, before ever the burgesses forbade the killing of cats, there dwelt an old cotter and his wife who delighted to trap and slay the cats of their neighbours.[3] Why they did this I know not; save that many hate the voice of the cat in the night, and take it ill that cats should run stealthily about yards and gardens at twilight. But whatever the reason, this old man and woman took pleasure in trapping and slaying every cat which came near to their hovel; and from some of the sounds heard after dark, many villagers fancied that the manner of slaying was exceedingly peculiar. But the villagers did not discuss such things with the old man and his wife; because of the habitual expression on the withered faces of the two, and because their cottage was so small and so darkly hidden under spreading oaks at the back of a neglected yard. In truth, much as the owners of cats hated these odd folk, they feared them more; and instead of berating them as brutal assassins, merely took care that no cherished pet or mouser should stray toward the remote hovel under the dark trees. When through some unavoidable oversight a cat was missed, and sounds heard after dark, the loser would lament impotently;[4] or console himself by thanking Fate that it was not one of his children who had thus vanished. For the people of Ulthar were simple, and knew not whence it is[5] all cats first came.

  One day a caravan of strange wanderers from the South entered the narrow cobbled streets of Ulthar. Dark wanderers they were, and unlike the other roving folk who passed through the village twice every year. In the market-place they told fortunes for silver, and bought gay beads from the merchants. What was the land of these wanderers none could tell; but it was s
een that they were given to strange prayers, and that they had painted on the sides of their wagons strange figures with human bodies and the heads of cats, hawks, rams,[6] and lions. And the leader of the caravan wore a head-dress[7] with two horns and a curious disc[8] betwixt the horns.

  There was in this singular caravan a little boy with no father or mother, but only a tiny black kitten to cherish. The plague had not been kind to him, yet had left him this small furry thing to mitigate his sorrow; and when one is very young, one can find great relief in the lively antics of a black kitten. So the boy whom the dark people called Menes smiled more often than he wept as he sate[9] playing with his graceful kitten on the steps of an oddly painted wagon.

  On the third morning of the wanderers’ stay in Ulthar, Menes could not find his kitten; and as he sobbed aloud in the market-place certain villagers told him of the old man and his wife, and of sounds heard in the night. And when he heard these things his sobbing gave place to meditation, and finally to prayer. He stretched out his arms toward the sun and prayed in a tongue no villager could understand; though indeed the villagers did not try very hard to understand, since their attention was mostly taken up by the sky and the odd shapes the clouds were assuming. It was very peculiar, but as the little boy uttered his petition there seemed to form overhead the shadowy, nebulous figures of exotic things; of hybrid creatures crowned with horn-flanked discs.[10] Nature is full of such illusions to impress the imaginative.