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!"
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