THE FIR TREE

Far away in the forest stood a pretty little fir tree. The warm sun

shone upon it, the fresh breezes blew about it, but the fir tree was

not happy. All about it were many tall companions, pines and firs, and

the little fir tree wanted to be tall like them. So it did not heed the

warm sunlight, or the soft air which fluttered its leaves, or even the

little peasant children who passed by, prattling merrily. Sometimes the

children would bring a basketful of raspberries or strawberries, and

seat themselves near the fir tree, saying of the tree, “What a pretty

little one this is!” which made it feel more unhappy than ever.

And yet, all this time, the tree grew a whole joint or ring taller

every year; for by the number of rings on the trunk of a fir tree we

can tell its age.

Still, as it grew, it complained, “Oh, if I were only as tall as the

other trees! then I should spread out my branches on every side, and my

crown would overlook the wide world. The birds would build their nests

in my branches, and when the wind blew, I should bow with stately

dignity like the others.”

So discontented was the tree that it took no pleasure in the sunshine,

or the birds, or in the rosy clouds that floated over it morning and

evening.

Sometimes in winter, when the snow lay white and sparkling on the

ground, a hare would come leaping along and jump right over the little

tree’s head; then how mortified it felt!

Two winters passed; and when the third came, the tree had grown so tall

that the hare was obliged to run round it.

“Ah, to grow and grow! to become tall and old! That is the only thing

in the world worth caring for,” the fir tree sighed.

In the autumn the woodcutters always came and cut down several of the

tallest trees, and the young fir, which had now grown to a very good

height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to the ground with a crash.

After the branches were lopped off, the trunks looked so slender and

bare that they could scarcely be recognized. Then the trees were

placed, one upon another, on wagons, and dragged by horses out of the

forest. “Where were they going? What was going to become of them?” The

young fir tree wondered a great deal about it.

So in the spring, when the swallows and the storks came, it asked them:

“Do you know where those trees were taken? Did you meet them?”

The swallows knew nothing of them, but the stork, after a little

reflection, nodded his head and said: “Yes, I think I know. As I flew

from Egypt I met several new ships, and they had fine masts that smelt

like fir. These must have been the trees, and I assure you they were

most stately and grand; they towered majestically.”

“Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea!” said the fir

tree. “Tell me, what is this sea, and what does it look like?”

“It would take too much time to explain,—a great deal too much,” said

the stork, flying quickly away.

“Rejoice in thy youth,” said the sunbeam; “rejoice in the fresh growing

time, and in the young life that is within thee!”

And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew wept tears over it; but the

fir tree did not understand.

Christmas time drew near, and many young trees were cut down; some that

were even smaller and younger than the fir tree, which had no peace or

rest from its longing to leave the forest. These young trees, which

were chosen for their beauty, kept their branches, but were also laid

on wagons and drawn by horses out of the forest.

“Where are they going?” asked the fir tree. “They are not taller than I

am; indeed, one was not so tall. And why do they keep all their

branches? Where are they going?”

“We know! we know!” sang the sparrows. “We have looked in at the

windows of the houses in the town, and we know what is done with them.

Oh, you cannot think what honor and glory they receive! They are

dressed up in the most splendid manner. We have looked in and seen them

standing in the middle of a warm room, adorned with all sorts of

beautiful things,—gilded apples, sweetmeats, playthings, and hundreds

of candles.”

“And then,” asked the fir tree, trembling in all its branches, “and

then what happens?”

“We did not see any more,” said the sparrows; “but, indeed, it was

simply wonderful!”

“I wonder whether anything so brilliant will ever happen to me,”

thought the fir tree. “That would be even better than sailing over the

sea. Oh, when will Christmas be here! I am now as tall and well grown

as those which were taken away last year. O that I were now laid on the

wagon, or standing in the warm room with all that brightness and

splendor about me! Something better and more beautiful is sure to

follow, or the trees would not be so decked out. Yes, something better,

something still more splendid must follow—but what can it be? I am

weary with longing. I scarcely know myself what is the matter with me.”

“Rejoice in our love,” said the air and the sunlight; “rejoice in thine

own bright life in the fresh air.”

But the tree would not rejoice, though it grew taller every day; and,

winter and summer, its evergreen foliage might be seen in the forest,

and passers-by would say, “What a beautiful tree!”

A short time before the next Christmas the discontented fir tree was

the first to fall. As the ax cut sharply into its trunk, deep in

through the pith, the tree fell to the ground with a groan, conscious

only of pain and faintness, and forgetting all its dreams of happiness

in the sorrow of leaving its home in the forest. It knew that it would

never again see its dear old companions the trees, nor the little

bushes, nor the flowers that had grown by its side—perhaps not even the

birds.

Nor was the journey at all pleasant. The tree first recovered itself

while it was being unloaded, with several other trees, in the courtyard

of a house; and it heard a man say: “We want only one, and this is the

prettiest. This one is beautiful!”

Then came two servants in grand livery, and carried the fir tree into a

large and beautiful room. Pictures hung on the walls, and near the

large stove stood great china jars with lions on the lids. There were

rocking-chairs, silken sofas, large tables with picture books and toys

that had cost a hundred times a hundred dollars,—at least, so the

children said.

Then the fir tree was placed in a great tub full of sand, but no one

could see that it was a tub, for it was hung with green cloth, and it

stood on a very handsome carpet. Oh, how the tree trembled! What was

going to happen to it now? Some young ladies came, and the servants

helped them to adorn the tree.

On some branches they hung little bags cut out of colored paper, and

each bag was full of sweetmeats; from other branches there hung gilded

apples and walnuts, as if they had grown there; and above and all

around were hundreds of red, blue, and white candles, which were

fastened upon the branches. Dolls, exactly like real men and women,

were placed under the green leaves,—the fir tree had never seen any

before,—and at the very top was fastened a glittering star, made of

gold tinsel. Oh, it was very beautiful!

“This evening,” they all exclaimed, “this evening how bright it will

be!”

“O that evening were come,” thought the tree, “and the candles were

lighted! Then I shall know what else is going to happen. Will the trees

come from the forest to see me? Will the sparrows peep in at the

windows, I wonder? Shall I grow faster here, and keep on all these

ornaments during summer and winter?”

But guessing was of very little use. Its back ached with trying; and

this pain is as bad for a slender tree as headache is for us.

At last the candles were lighted, and then what a shining blaze of

splendor the tree presented! It trembled so with joy in all its

branches that one of the candles fell on a green twig and set fire to

it. “Help! help!” exclaimed the young ladies, and they quickly

extinguished the fire.

After this the tree did not dare even to tremble (though the fire

frightened it), it was so anxious not to hurt any of the beautiful

ornaments which so dazzled and bewildered it by their brilliance.

And now the folding doors were thrown open, and a troop of children

rushed in as if they intended to upset the tree. They were followed

more slowly by the older people. For a moment the little ones stood

silent with delight, and then they shouted for joy till the room rang;

and they danced merrily round the tree, and snatched off one present

after another.

“What are they doing?” thought the tree. “What will happen next?”

The candles burned down to the branches and were put out one by one.

Then the children were given permission to plunder the tree.

Oh, how they rushed upon it! Its branches creaked with the strain, and

if it had not been fastened by the gold star to the ceiling, it must

have been thrown down.

Then the children danced about with their pretty toys, and no one paid

any attention to the tree except the old nurse, who came and peeped

among the branches to see if an apple or a fig had been forgotten.

“A story! a story!” cried the children, and dragged a little stout man

toward the tree.

“Now we are in the greenwood,” said the man, as he sat down beneath it,

“and the tree will have the pleasure of hearing, too. But I am going to

tell only one story. What shall it be? Henny Penny? or Humpty Dumpty,

who fell downstairs, but soon got up again, and at last married a

princess?”

“Henny Penny!” cried some. “Humpty Dumpty!” cried others; and there was

a great uproar. But the fir tree kept silent and thought: “What am I

supposed to do now? Have I nothing to do with all this?” But it had

already been in the entertainment, and had played out its part.

Then the old man told the story of Humpty Dumpty,—how he fell

downstairs, but soon got up again, and married a princess. And the

children clapped their hands and cried, “Another! another!” for they

wanted to hear the story of Henny Penny too; but this time they got

only Humpty Dumpty. The fir tree stood quiet and thoughtful. The birds

in the forest had never told anything like that,—how Humpty Dumpty fell

downstairs, and yet married a princess.

“Ah, yes, that is the way it happens in the world, I suppose,” thought

the fir tree. And it believed the story because such a nice man had

told it.

“Well,” it thought, “who knows? Perhaps I shall fall downstairs, too,

and marry a princess”; and it looked forward eagerly to the next

evening, expecting to be again decked out with candles and toys, tinsel

and fruit. “To-morrow I will not tremble,” thought the tree; “I will

enjoy to the full all my splendor, and I shall hear the story of Humpty

Dumpty again, and perhaps Henny Penny too.” And the tree stood silent

and lost in thought all night.

In the morning the servants came in. “Now,” thought the tree, “all the

decking me out will begin again.” But they dragged it out of the room

and upstairs to the garret, and threw it on the floor in a dark corner

where no daylight shone, and there they left it. “What does this mean?”

thought the tree. “What am I to do here? What is there for me to hear

in a place like this?” and it leaned against the wall, and thought and

thought.

And it had time enough to think, for days and nights passed and no one

came near it; and when at last some one did come, it was only to put

some great boxes into a corner. So the tree was completely hidden from

sight; it seemed as if it had been quite forgotten.

“It is winter now out of doors,” thought the tree. “The ground is hard

and covered with snow, so that people cannot plant me yet. That is

doubtless why I am left here under cover till the spring comes. How

thoughtful and kind everybody is to me! Still, I wish it were not so

dark here, and so terribly lonely, with not even a little hare to look

at. How pleasant it was out in the forest while the snow lay on the

ground, when the hare would run by—yes, and jump over me, too; but I

did not like it at all then. Oh, it is terribly lonely here!”

“Squeak, squeak!” said a little mouse, stealing out of his hole and

creeping cautiously toward the tree; then came another, and they both

sniffed at the fir tree, and crept in and out between its branches.

“Oh, it is very cold!” said the little mouse. “If it were not, we

should be very comfortable here, shouldn’t we, old fir tree?”

“I am not old at all,” said the fir tree. “There are many who are much

older than I am.”

“Where do you come from?” asked the mice, who were full of curiosity;

“and what do you know? What is the most beautiful place on earth that

you know about? Do tell us all about it! Have you been in the

storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from the

ceiling? One can run about on tallow candles there. Ah! that is the

place where one goes in thin and comes out fat.”

“I know nothing about that,” said the fir tree; “but I know of the

wood, where the sun shines and the birds sing.”

And then the tree told the little mice all about its youth. The mice

had never heard anything like that before, and they listened with all

their ears, and said: “How much you have seen! How happy you must have

been!”

“Happy!” exclaimed the fir tree; and then, as it thought over what it

had been telling them, it added, “Ah, yes, those were happy days.”

But when it went on and told them about Christmas Eve, and how it had

been adorned with sweetmeats and candles, the mice repeated once more,

“How happy, how very fortunate you have been, you old fir tree!”

“I am not old at all,” replied the tree. “I only came from the forest

this winter. I am now checked in my growth.”

“What splendid stories you do know!” said the little mice. And the next

night they came with four others, to have them hear what the tree had

to tell. The more it talked, the more it remembered, and then it

thought to itself: “Yes, those were happy days, but they may come

again. Humpty Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess.

Perhaps I, too, may marry a princess.” And the tree thought of a pretty

little birch tree that grew in the forest; she was a princess, a real

princess, to the fir tree.

“Who is Humpty Dumpty?” asked the little mice. And then the tree told

the whole story; it could remember every single word. And the little

mice were so delighted with it that they were ready to jump with joy up

to the very top of the tree. The next night a great many more mice made

their appearance, and on Sunday two rats came; but they did not care

about the story at all, and that troubled the mice, for it made them

also think less of it.

“Is that the only story you know?” asked the rats.

“The only one,” answered the tree. “I heard it on the happiest evening

of my life; but I did not know I was so happy at the time.”

“We think it is a very poor story,” said the rats. “Don’t you know any

story about bacon or tallow candles in the storeroom?”

“No,” replied the tree.

“Then we are much obliged to you,” said the rats, and they went their

way.

The little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed and

said, “Really, it was very pleasant when the lively little mice sat

around me and listened, while I told them stories. Now that is all

past, too. However, I shall consider myself happy when some one comes

to take me out of this place.”

But would this ever happen? Yes; one morning people came to clear up

the garret; the boxes were moved aside and the tree was pulled out of

the corner and thrown roughly on the floor; then the servants dragged

it out to the stairs, where the daylight shone.

“Now life is beginning again,” thought the tree, rejoicing in the

sunshine and fresh air.

It was carried downstairs and out into the yard so quickly that it

forgot to look at itself, and gazed about it, for there was so much to

be seen.

The yard opened into a garden where everything was blooming. Fresh and

sweet roses hung over a little trellis; the linden trees were in

blossom; and swallows flew here and there, calling, “Twit, twit, twit,

my mate is coming”; but it was not the fir tree they meant.

“Now I shall live,” thought the tree joyfully, stretching out its

branches; but alas! they were all withered and yellow, and it was lying

in a corner among weeds and nettles.

The star of gold paper still stuck in the top of the tree and glittered

in the sunshine. In the yard two of the merry children who had danced

round the tree at Christmas were playing. One of them saw the gilded

star, and ran up and tore it off.

“See what is sticking to the ugly old fir tree,” he cried, and stamped

on the boughs till they crackled under his boots.

And the tree saw all the fresh, bright flowers in the garden, and

looked at itself, and wished it had been left lying in the dark corner

of the garret. It thought of its fresh youth in the forest, of the

merry Christmas Eve, and of the little mice that had listened so

happily to the tale of Humpty Dumpty.

“Past! past!” said the poor tree. “O had I only enjoyed myself while I

could! But now it is too late,—it is all past.”

Then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces, till a large

pile lay heaped on the ground. The pieces were placed in a fire, where

they blazed up brightly, and the tree sighed so deeply that each sigh

was like a pistol shot. Then the children who were at play came and sat

in front of the fire and looked at it, and cried, “Piff! puff! bang!”

But at each “bang,” which was a deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a

summer day in the forest, or of some winter night out there, when the

stars were shining brightly, or of Christmas Eve, or of Humpty Dumpty,

the only story it had ever heard or could tell,—till at last the tree

burned away.

The children played on in the garden, and the youngest wore on his

breast the golden star which the tree had worn on the happiest evening

of its life. Now that was past,—all was past; the tree’s life was past,

and this story, too, is past, for all stories must come to an end some

time or other.