Far
down in the forest, where the warm sun and the fresh air made a
sweet resting-place, grew a pretty little fir-tree; and yet it was
not happy, it wished so much to be tall like its companions– the
pines and firs which grew around it. The sun shone, and the soft air
fluttered its leaves, and the little peasant children passed by,
prattling merrily, but the fir-tree heeded them not. Sometimes the
children would bring a large basket of raspberries or strawberries,
wreathed on a straw, and seat themselves near the fir-tree, and say,
“Is it not a pretty little tree?” which made it feel more unhappy
than before.
And yet all this while the tree grew a notch or joint taller every
year; for by the number of joints in the stem of a fir-tree we can
discover its age. Still, as it grew, it complained.
“Oh! how I wish I were as tall as the other trees, then I would
spread out my branches on every side, and my top would over-look the
wide world. I should have the birds building their nests on my
boughs, and when the wind blew, I should bow with stately dignity
like my tall companions.”
The tree was so discontented, that it took no pleasure in the warm
sunshine, the birds, or the rosy clouds that floated over it morning
and evening.
Sometimes, in winter, when the snow lay white and glittering on the
ground, a hare would come springing along, and jump right over the
little tree; and then how mortified it would feel! Two winters
passed, and when the third arrived, the tree had grown so tall that
the hare was obliged to run round it. Yet it remained unsatisfied,
and would exclaim, “Oh, if I could but keep on growing tall and old!
There is nothing else worth caring for in the world!”
In the autumn, as usual, the wood-cutters came and cut down several
of the tallest trees, and the young fir-tree, which was now grown to
its full height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to the earth with
a crash. After the branches were lopped off, the trunks looked so
slender and bare, that they could scarcely be recognized. Then they
were placed upon wagons, and drawn by horses out of the forest.
“Where were they going? What would become of them?”
The young fir-tree wished very much to know; so in the spring, when
the swallows and the storks came, it asked, “Do you know where those
trees were taken? Did you meet them?”
The swallows knew nothing, but the stork, after a little reflection,
nodded his head, and said, “Yes, I think I do. I met several new
ships when I flew from Egypt, and they had fine masts that smelt
like fir. I think these must have been the trees; I assure you they
were stately, very stately.”
“Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea,” said the
fir-tree. “What is the sea, and what does it look like?”
“It would take too much time to explain,” said the stork, flying
quickly away.
“Rejoice in thy youth,” said the sunbeam; “rejoice in thy fresh
growth, and the young life that is in thee.”
And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew watered it with tears; but
the fir-tree regarded them not.
Christmas-time drew near, and many young trees were cut down, some
even smaller and younger than the fir-tree who enjoyed neither rest
nor peace with longing to leave its forest home. These young trees,
which were chosen for their beauty, kept their branches, and 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 is much less; and why are the branches not
cut off? 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. They are dressed up in the most splendid manner. We have seen
them standing in the middle of a warm room, and adorned with all
sorts of beautiful things,– honey cakes, gilded apples, playthings,
and many hundreds of wax tapers.”
“And then,” asked the fir-tree, trembling through all its branches,
“and then what happens?”
“We did not see any more,” said the sparrows; “but this was enough
for us.”
“I wonder whether anything so brilliant will ever happen to me,”
thought the fir-tree. “It would be much better than crossing the
sea. I long for it almost with pain. Oh! when will Christmas be
here? I am now as tall and well grown as those which were taken away
last year. Oh! that I were now laid on the wagon, or standing in the
warm room, with all that brightness and splendor around me!
Something better and more beautiful is to come after, or the trees
would not be so decked out. Yes, what follows will be grander and
more splendid. What can it be? I am weary with longing. I scarcely
know how I feel.”
“Rejoice with us,” said the air and the sunlight. “Enjoy 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 dark-green foliage might be seen in the
forest, while passers by would say, “What a beautiful tree!” A short
time before Christmas, the discontented fir-tree was the first to
fall. As the axe cut through the stem, and divided the pith, the
tree fell with a groan to the earth, conscious of pain and
faintness, and forgetting all its anticipations of happiness, in
sorrow at leaving its home in the forest. It knew that it should
never again see its dear old companions, the trees, nor the little
bushes and many-colored flowers that had grown by its side; perhaps
not even the birds. Neither was the journey at all pleasant.
The tree first recovered itself while being unpacked in the
courtyard of a house, with several other trees; and it heard a man
say, “We only want one, and this is the prettiest.”
Then came two servants in grand livery, and carried the fir-tree
into a large and beautiful apartment. On the walls hung pictures,
and near the great stove stood great china vases, with lions on the
lids. There were rocking chairs, silken sofas, large tables, covered
with pictures, books, and playthings, worth a great deal of money,–
at least, the children said so. Then the fir-tree was placed in a
large tub, full of sand; but green baize hung all around it, so that
no one could see it was a tub, and it stood on a very handsome
carpet. How the fir-tree trembled! “What was going to happen to him
now?” Some young ladies came, and the servants helped them to adorn
the tree. On one branch they hung little bags cut out of colored
paper, and each bag was filled with sweetmeats; from other branches
hung gilded apples and walnuts, as if they had grown there; and
above, and all round, were hundreds of red, blue, and white tapers,
which were fastened on the branches. Dolls, exactly like real
babies, were placed under the green leaves,– the tree had never seen
such things before,– and at the very top was fastened a glittering
star, made of tinsel. Oh, it was very beautiful!
“This evening,” they all exclaimed, “how bright it will be!”
“Oh, that the evening were come,” thought the tree, “and the tapers
lighted! then I shall know what else is going to happen. Will the
trees of the forest come to see me? I wonder if the sparrows will
peep in at the windows as they fly? shall I grow faster here, and
keep on all these ornaments summer and winter?”
But guessing was of very little use; it made his bark ache, and this
pain is as bad for a slender fir-tree, as headache is for us.
At last the tapers were lighted, and then what a glistening blaze of
light the tree presented! It trembled so with joy in all its
branches, that one of the candles fell among the green leaves and
burnt some of them.
“Help! help!” exclaimed the young ladies, but there was no danger,
for they quickly extinguished the fire.
After this, the tree tried not to tremble at all, though the fire
frightened him; he was so anxious not to hurt any of the beautiful
ornaments, even while their brilliancy dazzled him. 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 silently
by their elders. For a moment the little ones stood silent with
astonishment, and then they shouted for joy, till the room rang, and
they danced merrily round the tree, while one present after another
was taken from it.
“What are they doing? What will happen next?” thought the fir. At
last the candles burnt down to the branches and were put out. Then
the children received permission to plunder the tree. Oh, how they
rushed upon it, till the branches cracked, and had it not been
fastened with the glistening star to the ceiling, it must have been
thrown down.
The children then danced about with their pretty toys, and no one
noticed the tree, except the children's maid 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, pulling a little fat man
towards the tree. “Now we shall be in the green shade,” said the
man, as he seated himself under it, “and the tree will have the
pleasure of hearing also, but I shall only relate one story; what
shall it be? Ivede-Avede, or Humpty Dumpty, who fell down stairs,
but soon got up again, and at last married a princess.”
“Ivede-Avede,” cried some. “Humpty Dumpty,” cried others, and there
was a fine shouting and crying out. But the fir-tree remained quite
still, and thought to himself, “Shall I have anything to do with all
this?” but he had already amused them as much as they wished.
Then the old man told them the story of Humpty Dumpty, how he fell
down stairs, and was raised up again, and married a princess. And
the children clapped their hands and cried, “Tell another, tell
another,” for they wanted to hear the story of “Ivede-Avede;” but
they only had “Humpty Dumpty.” After this the fir-tree became quite
silent and thoughtful; never had the birds in the forest told such
tales as “Humpty Dumpty,” who fell down stairs, and yet married a
princess. “Ah! yes, so it happens in the world,” thought the
fir-tree; he believed it all, because it was related by such a nice
man. “Ah! well,” he thought, “who knows? perhaps I may fall down
too, and marry a princess;” and he looked forward joyfully to the
next evening, expecting to be again decked out with lights and
playthings, gold and fruit.
“To-morrow I will not tremble,” thought he; “I will enjoy all my
splendor, and I shall hear the story of Humpty Dumpty again, and
perhaps Ivede-Avede.” And the tree remained quiet and thoughtful all
night.
In the morning the servants and the housemaid came in.
“Now,” thought the fir, “all my splendor is going to begin again.”
But they dragged him out of the room and up stairs to the garret,
and threw him on the floor, in a dark corner, where no daylight
shone, and there they left him. “What does this mean?” thought the
tree, “what am I to do here? I can hear nothing in a place like
this,” and he had time enough to think, for days and nights passed
and no one came near him, and when at last somebody did come, it was
only to put away large boxes in a corner. So the tree was completely
hidden from sight as if it had never existed.
“It is winter now,” thought the tree, “the ground is hard and
covered with snow, so that people cannot plant me. I shall be
sheltered here, I dare say, until spring comes. How thoughtful and
kind everybody is to me! Still I wish this place were not so dark,
as well as 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, although I
did not like it then. Oh! it is terrible lonely here.”
“Squeak, squeak,” said a little mouse, creeping cautiously towards
the tree; then came another; and they both sniffed at the fir-tree
and crept between the branches.
“Oh, it is very cold,” said the little mouse, “or else we should be
so comfortable here, shouldn't we, you old fir-tree?”
“I am not old,” said the fir-tree, “there are many who are older
than I am.”
“Where do you come from? and what do you know?” asked the mice, who
were full of curiosity. “Have you seen the most beautiful places in
the world, and can you tell us all about them? and have you been in
the storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelf, and hams hang from
the ceiling? One can run about on tallow candles there, and go in
thin and come out fat.”
“I know nothing of that place,” said the fir-tree, “but I know the
wood where the sun shines and the birds sing.” And then the tree
told the little mice all about its youth. They had never heard such
an account in their lives; and after they had listened to it
attentively, they said, “What a number of things you have seen? you
must have been very happy.”
“Happy!” exclaimed the fir-tree, and then as he reflected upon what
he had been telling them, he said, “Ah, yes! after all those were
happy days.” But when he went on and related all about
Christmas-eve, and how he had been dressed up with cakes and lights,
the mice said,
“How happy you must 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 can relate,” said the little mice. And
the next night four other mice came with them to hear what the tree
had to tell. The more he talked the more he remembered, and then he
thought to himself, “Those were happy days, but they may come again.
Humpty Dumpty fell down stairs, and yet he married the princess;
perhaps I may marry a princess too.” And the fir-tree thought of the
pretty little birch-tree that grew in the forest, which was to him a
real beautiful princess.
“Who is Humpty Dumpty?” asked the little mice. And then the tree
related the whole story; he could remember every single word, and
the little mice was so delighted with it, that they were ready to
jump to the top of the tree. The next night a great many more mice
made their appearance, and on Sunday two rats came with them; but
they said, it was not a pretty story at all, and the little mice
were very sorry, for it made them also think less of it.
“Do you know only one story?” asked the rats.
“Only one,” replied the fir-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 miserable story,” said the rats. “Don't you
know any story about bacon, or tallow in the storeroom.”
“No,” replied the tree.
“Many thanks to you then,” replied the rats, and they marched off.
The little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed, and
said, “It was very pleasant when the merry little mice sat round me
and listened while I talked. Now that is all passed 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
out the garret, the boxes were packed away, and the tree was pulled
out of the corner, and thrown roughly on the garret floor; then the
servant dragged it out upon the staircase where the daylight shone.
“Now life is beginning again,” said the tree, rejoicing in the
sunshine and fresh air. Then it was carried down stairs and taken
into the courtyard so quickly, that it forgot to think of itself,
and could only look about, there was so much to be seen. The court
was close to a garden, where everything looked blooming. Fresh and
fragrant roses hung over the little palings. The linden-trees were
in blossom; while the swallows flew here and there, crying, “Twit,
twit, twit, my mate is coming,”– but it was not the fir-tree they
meant.
“Now I shall live,” cried the tree, joyfully spreading out its
branches; but alas! they were all withered and yellow, and it lay in
a corner amongst weeds and nettles. The star of gold paper still
stuck in the top of the tree and glittered in the sunshine.
In the same courtyard two of the merry children were playing who had
danced round the tree at Christmas, and had been so happy. The
youngest saw the gilded star, and ran and pulled it off the tree.
“Look what is sticking to the ugly old fir-tree,” said the child,
treading on the branches till they crackled under his boots.
And the tree saw all the fresh bright flowers in the garden, and
then looked at itself, and wished it had remained in the dark corner
of the garret. It thought of its fresh youth in the forest, of the
merry Christmas evening, and of the little mice who had listened to
the story of “Humpty Dumpty.”
“Past! past!” said the old tree; “Oh, had I but enjoyed myself while
I could have done so! but now it is too late.”
Then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces, till a large
bundle lay in a heap on the ground. The pieces were placed in a fire
under the copper, and they quickly blazed up brightly, while the
tree sighed so deeply that each sigh was like a pistol-shot. Then
the children, who were at play, came and seated themselves in front
of the fire, and looked at it and cried, “Pop, pop.” But at each
“pop,” which was a deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer day
in the forest; and of Christmas evening, and of “Humpty Dumpty,” the
only story it had ever heard or knew how to relate, till at last it
was consumed.
The boys still played in the garden, and the youngest wore the
golden star on his breast, with which the tree had been adorned
during the happiest evening of its existence. Now all was past; the
tree's life was past, and the story also,– for all stories must come
to an end at last.
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