Lovecraft, H P - Memory

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Memory

by H. P. Lovecraft

Written 1919

Published May 1923 in The National Amateur, Vol. 45, No. p. 5, 9.

In the valley of Nis the accursed waning moon shines thinly, tearing a path for its light

with feeble horns through the lethal foliage of a great upas-tree. And within the depths of

the valley, where the light reaches not, move forms not meant to be beheld. Rank is the

herbage on each slope, where evil vines and creeping plants crawl amidst the stones of

ruined palaces, twining tightly about broken columns and strange monoliths, and heaving

up marble pavements laid by forgotten hands. And in trees that grow gigantic in

crumbling courtyards leap little apes, while in and out of deep treasure-vaults writhe

poison serpents and scaly things without a name. Vast are the stones which sleep beneath

coverlets of dank moss, and mighty were the walls from which they fell. For all time did

their builders erect them, and in sooth they yet serve nobly, for beneath them the grey

toad makes his habitation.

At the very bottom of the valley lies the river Than, whose waters are slimy and filled

with weeds. From hidden springs it rises, and to subterranean grottoes it flows, so that the

Daemon of the Valley knows not why its waters are red, nor whither they are bound.

The Genie that haunts the moonbeams spake to the Daemon of the Valley, saying, "I am

old, and forget much. Tell me the deeds and aspect and name of them who built these

things of Stone." And the Daemon replied, "I am Memory, and am wise in lore of the

past, but I too am old. These beings were like the waters of the river Than, not to be

understood. Their deeds I recall not, for they were but of the moment. Their aspect I

recall dimly, it was like to that of the little apes in the trees. Their name I recall clearly,

for it rhymed with that of the river. These beings of yesterday were called Man."

So the Genie flew back to the thin horned moon, and the Daemon looked intently at a

little ape in a tree that grew in a crumbling courtyard.

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Lovecraft, H P - Memory

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