THE FIR TREE



Out in the woods stood a nice little Fir Tree. The place he had was a very

good one: the sun shone on him: as to fresh air, there was enough of that, and

round him grew many large-sized comrades, pines as well as firs. But the

little Fir wanted so very much to be a grown-up tree.



He did not think of the warm sun and of the fresh air; he did not care for the

little cottage children that ran about and prattled when they were in the

woods looking for wild-strawberries. The children often came with a whole

pitcher full of berries, or a long row of them threaded on a straw, and sat

down near the young tree and said, "Oh, how pretty he is! What a nice little

fir!" But this was what the Tree could not bear to hear.



At the end of a year he had shot up a good deal, and after another year he was

another long bit taller; for with fir trees one can always tell by the shoots

how many years old they are.



"Oh! Were I but such a high tree as the others are," sighed he. "Then I should

be able to spread out my branches, and with the tops to look into the wide

world! Then would the birds build nests among my branches: and when there was

a breeze, I could bend with as much stateliness as the others!"



Neither the sunbeams, nor the birds, nor the red clouds which morning and

evening sailed above him, gave the little Tree any pleasure.



In winter, when the snow lay glittering on the ground, a hare would often come

leaping along, and jump right over the little Tree. Oh, that made him so

angry! But two winters were past, and in the third the Tree was so large that

the hare was obliged to go round it. "To grow and grow, to get older and be

tall," thought the Tree--"that, after all, is the most delightful thing in the

world!"



In autumn the wood-cutters always came and felled some of the largest trees.

This happened every year; and the young Fir Tree, that had now grown to a very

comely size, trembled at the sight; for the magnificent great trees fell to

the earth with noise and cracking, the branches were lopped off, and the trees

looked long and bare; they were hardly to be recognised; and then they were

laid in carts, and the horses dragged them out of the wood.



Where did they go to? What became of them?



In spring, when the swallows and the storks came, the Tree asked them, "Don't

you know where they have been taken? Have you not met them anywhere?"



The swallows did not know anything about it; but the Stork looked musing,

nodded his head, and said, "Yes; I think I know; I met many ships as I was

flying hither from Egypt; on the ships were magnificent masts, and I venture

to assert that it was they that smelt so of fir. I may congratulate you, for

they lifted themselves on high most majestically!"



"Oh, were I but old enough to fly across the sea! But how does the sea look in

reality? What is it like?"



"That would take a long time to explain," said the Stork, and with these words

off he went.



"Rejoice in thy growth!" said the Sunbeams. "Rejoice in thy vigorous growth,

and in the fresh life that moveth within thee!"



And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears over him; but the Fir

understood it not.



When Christmas came, quite young trees were cut down: trees which often were

not even as large or of the same age as this Fir Tree, who could never rest,

but always wanted to be off. These young trees, and they were always the

finest looking, retained their branches; they were laid on carts, and the

horses drew them out of the wood.



"Where are they going to?" asked the Fir. "They are not taller than I; there

was one indeed that was considerably shorter; and why do they retain all their

branches? Whither are they taken?"



"We know! We know!" chirped the Sparrows. "We have peeped in at the windows in

the town below! We know whither they are taken! The greatest splendor and the

greatest magnificence one can imagine await them. We peeped through the

windows, and saw them planted in the middle of the warm room and ornamented

with the most splendid things, with gilded apples, with gingerbread, with

toys, and many hundred lights!



"And then?" asked the Fir Tree, trembling in every bough. "And then? What

happens then?"



"We did not see anything more: it was incomparably beautiful."



"I would fain know if I am destined for so glorious a career," cried the Tree,

rejoicing. "That is still better than to cross the sea! What a longing do I

suffer! Were Christmas but come! I am now tall, and my branches spread like

the others that were carried off last year! Oh! were I but already on the

cart! Were I in the warm room with all the splendor and magnificence! Yes;

then something better, something still grander, will surely follow, or

wherefore should they thus ornament me? Something better, something still

grander must follow--but what? Oh, how I long, how I suffer! I do not know

myself what is the matter with me!"



"Rejoice in our presence!" said the Air and the Sunlight. "Rejoice in thy own

fresh youth!"



But the Tree did not rejoice at all; he grew and grew, and was green both

winter and summer. People that saw him said, "What a fine tree!" and towards

Christmas he was one of the first that was cut down. The axe struck deep into

the very pith; the Tree fell to the earth with a sigh; he felt a pang--it was

like a swoon; he could not think of happiness, for he was sorrowful at being

separated from his home, from the place where he had sprung up. He well knew

that he should never see his dear old comrades, the little bushes and flowers

around him, anymore; perhaps not even the birds! The departure was not at all

agreeable.



The Tree only came to himself when he was unloaded in a court-yard with the

other trees, and heard a man say, "That one is splendid! We don't want the

others." Then two servants came in rich livery and carried the Fir Tree into a

large and splendid drawing-room. Portraits were hanging on the walls, and near

the white porcelain stove stood two large Chinese vases with lions on the

covers. There, too, were large easy-chairs, silken sofas, large tables full of

picture-books and full of toys, worth hundreds and hundreds of crowns--at

least the children said so. And the Fir Tree was stuck upright in a cask that

was filled with sand; but no one could see that it was a cask, for green cloth

was hung all round it, and it stood on a large gaily-colored carpet. Oh! how

the Tree quivered! What was to happen? The servants, as well as the young

ladies, decorated it. On one branch there hung little nets cut out of colored

paper, and each net was filled with sugarplums; and among the other boughs

gilded apples and walnuts were suspended, looking as though they had grown

there, and little blue and white tapers were placed among the leaves. Dolls

that looked for all the world like men--the Tree had never beheld such

before--were seen among the foliage, and at the very top a large star of gold

tinsel was fixed. It was really splendid--beyond description splendid.



"This evening!" they all said. "How it will shine this evening!"



"Oh!" thought the Tree. "If the evening were but come! If the tapers were but

lighted! And then I wonder what will happen! Perhaps the other trees from the

forest will come to look at me! Perhaps the sparrows will beat against the

windowpanes! I wonder if I shall take root here, and winter and summer stand

covered with ornaments!"



He knew very much about the matter--but he was so impatient that for sheer

longing he got a pain in his back, and this with trees is the same thing as a

headache with us.



The candles were now lighted--what brightness! What splendor! The Tree

trembled so in every bough that one of the tapers set fire to the foliage. It

blazed up famously.



"Help! Help!" cried the young ladies, and they quickly put out the fire.



Now the Tree did not even dare tremble. What a state he was in! He was so

uneasy lest he should lose something of his splendor, that he was quite

bewildered amidst the glare and brightness; when suddenly both folding-doors

opened and a troop of children rushed in as if they would upset the Tree. The

older persons followed quietly; the little ones stood quite still. But it was

only for a moment; then they shouted that the whole place re-echoed with their

rejoicing; they danced round the Tree, and one present after the other was

pulled off.



"What are they about?" thought the Tree. "What is to happen now!" And the

lights burned down to the very branches, and as they burned down they were put

out one after the other, and then the children had permission to plunder the

Tree. So they fell upon it with such violence that all its branches cracked;

if it had not been fixed firmly in the ground, it would certainly have tumbled

down.



The children danced about with their beautiful playthings; no one looked at

the Tree except the old nurse, who peeped between the branches; but it was

only to see if there was a fig or an apple left that had been forgotten.



"A story! A story!" cried the children, drawing a little fat man towards the

Tree. He seated himself under it and said, "Now we are in the shade, and the

Tree can listen too. But I shall tell only one story. Now which will you have;

that about Ivedy-Avedy, or about Humpy-Dumpy, who tumbled downstairs, and yet

after all came to the throne and married the princess?"



"Ivedy-Avedy," cried some; "Humpy-Dumpy," cried the others. There was such a

bawling and screaming--the Fir Tree alone was silent, and he thought to

himself, "Am I not to bawl with the rest? Am I to do nothing whatever?" for he

was one of the company, and had done what he had to do.



And the man told about Humpy-Dumpy that tumbled down, who notwithstanding came

to the throne, and at last married the princess. And the children clapped

their hands, and cried. "Oh, go on! Do go on!" They wanted to hear about

Ivedy-Avedy too, but the little man only told them about Humpy-Dumpy. The Fir

Tree stood quite still and absorbed in thought; the birds in the wood had

never related the like of this. "Humpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he

married the princess! Yes, yes! That's the way of the world!" thought the Fir

Tree, and believed it all, because the man who told the story was so

good-looking. "Well, well! who knows, perhaps I may fall downstairs, too, and

get a princess as wife! And he looked forward with joy to the morrow, when he

hoped to be decked out again with lights, playthings, fruits, and tinsel.



"I won't tremble to-morrow!" thought the Fir Tree. "I will enjoy to the full

all my splendor! To-morrow I shall hear again the story of Humpy-Dumpy, and

perhaps that of Ivedy-Avedy too." And the whole night the Tree stood still and

in deep thought.



In the morning the servant and the housemaid came in.



"Now then the splendor will begin again," thought the Fir. But they dragged

him out of the room, and up the stairs into the loft: and here, in a dark

corner, where no daylight could enter, they left him. "What's the meaning of

this?" thought the Tree. "What am I to do here? What shall I hear now, I

wonder?" And he leaned against the wall lost in reverie. Time enough had he

too for his reflections; for days and nights passed on, and nobody came up;

and when at last somebody did come, it was only to put some great trunks in a

corner, out of the way. There stood the Tree quite hidden; it seemed as if he

had been entirely forgotten.



"'Tis now winter out-of-doors!" thought the Tree. "The earth is hard and

covered with snow; men cannot plant me now, and therefore I have been put up

here under shelter till the spring-time comes! How thoughtful that is! How

kind man is, after all! If it only were not so dark here, and so terribly

lonely! Not even a hare! And out in the woods it was so pleasant, when the

snow was on the ground, and the hare leaped by; yes--even when he jumped over

me; but I did not like it then! It is really terribly lonely here!"



"Squeak! Squeak!" said a little Mouse, at the same moment, peeping out of his

hole. And then another little one came. They snuffed about the Fir Tree, and

rustled among the branches.



"It is dreadfully cold," said the Mouse. "But for that, it would be delightful

here, old Fir, wouldn't it?"



"I am by no means old," said the Fir Tree. "There's many a one considerably

older than I am."



"Where do you come from," asked the Mice; "and what can you do?" They were so

extremely curious. "Tell us about the most beautiful spot on the earth. Have

you never been there? Were you never in the larder, where cheeses lie on the

shelves, and hams hang from above; where one dances about on tallow candles:

that place where one enters lean, and comes out again fat and portly?"



"I know no such place," said the Tree. "But I know the wood, where the sun

shines and where the little birds sing." And then he told all about his youth;

and the little Mice had never heard the like before; and they listened and

said,



"Well, to be sure! How much you have seen! How happy you must have been!"



"I!" said the Fir Tree, thinking over what he had himself related. "Yes, in

reality those were happy times." And then he told about Christmas-eve, when he

was decked out with cakes and candles.



"Oh," said the little Mice, "how fortunate you have been, old Fir Tree!"



"I am by no means old," said he. "I came from the wood this winter; I am in my

prime, and am only rather short for my age."



"What delightful stories you know," said the Mice: and the next night they

came with four other little Mice, who were to hear what the Tree recounted:

and the more he related, the more he remembered himself; and it appeared as if

those times had really been happy times. "But they may still come--they may

still come! Humpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he got a princess!" and he

thought at the moment of a nice little Birch Tree growing out in the woods: to

the Fir, that would be a real charming princess.



"Who is Humpy-Dumpy?" asked the Mice. So then the Fir Tree told the whole

fairy tale, for he could remember every single word of it; and the little Mice

jumped for joy up to the very top of the Tree. Next night two more Mice came,

and on Sunday two Rats even; but they said the stories were not interesting,

which vexed the little Mice; and they, too, now began to think them not so

very amusing either.



"Do you know only one story?" asked the Rats.



"Only that one," answered the Tree. "I heard it on my happiest evening; but I

did not then know how happy I was."



"It is a very stupid story! Don't you know one about bacon and tallow candles?

Can't you tell any larder stories?"



"No," said the Tree.



"Then good-bye," said the Rats; and they went home.



At last the little Mice stayed away also; and the Tree sighed: "After all, it

was very pleasant when the sleek little Mice sat round me, and listened to

what I told them. Now that too is over. But I will take good care to enjoy

myself when I am brought out again."



But when was that to be? Why, one morning there came a quantity of people and

set to work in the loft. The trunks were moved, the tree was pulled out and

thrown--rather hard, it is true--down on the floor, but a man drew him towards

the stairs, where the daylight shone.



"Now a merry life will begin again," thought the Tree. He felt the fresh air,

the first sunbeam--and now he was out in the courtyard. All passed so quickly,

there was so much going on around him, the Tree quite forgot to look to

himself. The court adjoined a garden, and all was in flower; the roses hung so

fresh and odorous over the balustrade, the lindens were in blossom, the

Swallows flew by, and said, "Quirre-vit! My husband is come!" but it was not

the Fir Tree that they meant.



"Now, then, I shall really enjoy life," said he exultingly, and spread out his

branches; but, alas, they were all withered and yellow! It was in a corner

that he lay, among weeds and nettles. The golden star of tinsel was still on

the top of the Tree, and glittered in the sunshine.



In the court-yard some of the merry children were playing who had danced at

Christmas round the Fir Tree, and were so glad at the sight of him. One of the

youngest ran and tore off the golden star.



"Only look what is still on the ugly old Christmas tree!" said he, trampling

on the branches, so that they all cracked beneath his feet.



And the Tree beheld all the beauty of the flowers, and the freshness in the

garden; he beheld himself, and wished he had remained in his dark corner in

the loft; he thought of his first youth in the wood, of the merry

Christmas-eve, and of the little Mice who had listened with so much pleasure

to the story of Humpy-Dumpy.



"'Tis over--'tis past!" said the poor Tree. "Had I but rejoiced when I had

reason to do so! But now 'tis past, 'tis past!"



And the gardener's boy chopped the Tree into small pieces; there was a whole

heap lying there. The wood flamed up splendidly under the large brewing

copper, and it sighed so deeply! Each sigh was like a shot.



The boys played about in the court, and the youngest wore the gold star on his

breast which the Tree had had on the happiest evening of his life. However,

that was over now--the Tree gone, the story at an end. All, all was

over--every tale must end at last.

****

Top of Page

< BACK    NEXT >

| Home | Reading Room | Andersen's Fairy Tales