The Fir Tree

Out in the forest stood a pretty little fir tree. It was in a good place; the sun could reach it, there was plenty of air, and all around it grew many bigger companions, both pines and firs. But the little fir was so impatient to grow that it did not think of the warm sun and the fresh air. It took no notice of the village children who came there chattering to pick strawberries or raspberries. The children often came with a whole jug of berries, or with strawberries threaded on straws, sat down beside the little tree and said, "Oh, what a pretty little tree!" The tree did not like to hear that at all.

The next year it had grown a long joint taller, and the year after another joint. For you can tell how old a fir tree is by counting its joints. "Oh, if only I were a big tree like the others!" sighed the little tree. "Then I would spread my branches wide and look out from my top over the wide world! The birds would build their nests among my branches, and when the wind blew I would nod my head grandly like the others!"

Neither the sunshine, nor the birds, nor the red clouds that sailed over it morning and evening gave it the slightest pleasure. When winter came and the snow sparkled all around, a hare would often come leaping along and jump right over the little tree. Oh, how that annoyed it! But two winters passed, and by the third the tree had grown so tall that the hare had to run around it. "Oh, to grow, to grow, to become big and old! That's the finest thing in the world!" thought the tree.

In autumn the woodcutters came and felled some of the biggest trees. This happened every year, and the young fir tree, which was now quite well grown, trembled, because those splendid big trees fell to the ground with a crash and a creak. Their branches were cut off, and they lay there quite bare, long and thin; you could hardly recognise them. Then they were loaded onto carts, and horses dragged them out of the forest. Where were they going? What lay ahead of them?

In spring, when the swallows and the storks came, the tree asked them: "Do you know where they were taken? Have you met them?" The swallows knew nothing, but the stork looked thoughtful, nodded his head and said: "Yes, I think I know. On my way from Egypt I met many new ships. The ships had splendid masts; I believe they were the ones you mean. They smelled of fir. I can bring you many greetings; they held their heads very high!"

"Oh, if only I were big enough to sail across the sea! What is the sea like, what does it look like?" "That would take too long to explain," said the stork, and away he went. "Rejoice in your youth," said the sunbeams. "Rejoice in your fresh growth, in the young life that is in you!" The wind kissed the tree and the dew wept tears over it, but the fir tree did not understand.

Towards Christmas, quite young trees were cut down; often they were neither as big nor as old as this fir tree, which never had any peace and always wanted to be off. These young trees were always the prettiest ones, and they kept their branches. They were laid on carts, and the horses drew them out of the forest. "Where are they going?" asked the fir tree. "They're no bigger than I am; one of them is much smaller. Why do they keep all their branches? Where are they being taken?"

"We know! We know!" chirped the sparrows. "We've looked in at the windows in the town! We know where they go. Oh, they come to the greatest splendour and glory you can imagine! We looked in at the windows and saw them planted in the middle of a warm room and decorated with the most wonderful things, gilded apples, gingerbread, toys and hundreds of candles!" "And then?" asked the fir tree, trembling in all its branches. "And then? What happens then?" "We didn't see any more. But it was beyond compare!"

"Perhaps I was made to follow this shining path!" cried the tree joyfully. "That's even better than sailing across the sea! How I suffer with longing! If only it were Christmas! Now I'm as tall as the ones that were taken last year, and my branches spread wide! Oh, if only I were on the cart! If only I were in that bright, warm room, with all that splendour and glory! And then? Yes, then something even better, even more beautiful will come. Why else would they decorate me so? Something greater, more splendid must come! But what? Oh, how I long, how I suffer! I don't know myself what is the matter with me!"

"Rejoice with us," said the air and the sunshine. "Rejoice in your fresh youth out here in the open!" But the tree did not rejoice at all. It grew and grew, green winter and summer, dark green. People who saw it said, "What a beautiful tree!" and at Christmas it was the first to be cut down. The axe cut deep, right into its marrow. The tree fell to the ground with a sigh. It felt a pain, a faintness, and could not think of happiness at all; it was sad to be parted from its home, from the place where it had grown. It knew it would never see its dear old companions again, the little bushes and flowers around it, perhaps not even the birds. The departure was not at all pleasant.

The tree only came to itself when it was unloaded in a courtyard with other trees and heard a man say: "This one is splendid! We only want this one!" Then two servants came in fine livery and carried the fir tree into a big, beautiful room. Pictures hung on the walls, and beside the big tiled stove stood great Chinese vases with lions on their lids. There were rocking chairs, silk sofas, and big tables covered with picture books and toys worth hundreds and hundreds of pounds; at least, that's what the children said.

The fir tree was set up in a big tub filled with sand, but no one could see it was a tub, because green cloth was hung around it, and it stood on a big, bright carpet. Oh, how the tree trembled! What was going to happen? The servants and the young ladies decorated it. On one branch they hung little nets cut out of coloured paper; each net was filled with sweets. Gilded apples and walnuts hung as if they had grown on the tree itself, and more than a hundred little red, blue and white candles were fastened to the branches. Among the green needles dangled dolls that looked like real people; the tree had never seen such things before. And at the very top they fixed a big star of gold tinsel. It was splendid, quite splendid.

"Tonight," they all said, "tonight how it will shine!" "Oh," thought the tree, "if only it were evening! If only they would light the candles soon! And what will happen then? Will the trees from the forest come to look at me? Will the sparrows fly to the windows? Shall I take root here and stand decorated winter and summer?" Yes, it knew a great deal! But it had a real barkache from longing. And barkache is just as bad for a tree as a headache is for us.

At last the candles were lit. What brilliance, what splendour! The tree trembled so in all its branches that one of the candles set fire to a green twig, and it burned right up. "Goodness gracious!" cried the young ladies, and they put out the fire at once. Now the tree did not even dare to tremble. What a fright it was! It was so afraid of losing any of its finery that it was quite bewildered amid all the glitter. Suddenly the folding doors were thrown open and a crowd of children rushed in as if they would knock the tree over. The grown-ups followed calmly. The little ones stood quite silent, but only for a moment. Then they shouted so that the whole room rang. They danced around the tree, and one present after another was pulled off.

"What are they doing?" thought the tree. "What will happen?" The candles burned down to the branches and were put out as they did. Then the children were allowed to strip the tree. Oh, how they rushed at it! All its branches creaked. If its top with the golden star had not been tied to the ceiling, it would have toppled over. The children danced about with their lovely toys. Nobody looked at the tree except the old nurse, who peered among the branches to see whether a fig or an apple had been forgotten.

"A story! A story!" cried the children, and they pulled a little fat man towards the tree. He sat down under it and said: "Now we're in the shade of the green tree, and the tree can listen too. But I'll only tell one story. Would you like the one about Ivedy-Avedy, or the one about Klumpy-Dumpy, who fell downstairs and yet rose to fame and married the princess?" "Ivedy-Avedy!" cried some. "Klumpy-Dumpy!" cried the others. What shouting and screaming there was! Only the fir tree was quite silent and thought: "Am I not to take part? Is there nothing for me to do?" But it had already taken part and done everything that was expected of it.

The man told about Klumpy-Dumpy, who fell downstairs and yet rose to fame and married the princess. The children clapped their hands and cried, "Go on! Go on!" They wanted to hear about Ivedy-Avedy too, but they only got Klumpy-Dumpy. The fir tree stood quite still and thoughtful. The birds in the forest had never told anything like that. "Klumpy-Dumpy fell downstairs and still married the princess! Yes, that's the way of the world!" thought the fir tree, and it believed it was true, because the man who told it was such a nice man. "Well, who knows, perhaps I'll fall downstairs too and marry a princess!" And it looked forward to being decorated again the next day with candles and toys, gilding and fruit.

"Tomorrow I won't tremble!" it thought. "I'll enjoy all my splendour. Tomorrow I'll hear the story of Klumpy-Dumpy again, and perhaps the one about Ivedy-Avedy too." And all night the tree stood still and thoughtful. In the morning the servants and the maid came in. "Now the finery begins again," thought the tree, but they dragged it out of the room, up the stairs into the attic, and there they put it in a dark corner where no daylight came in. "What does this mean?" thought the tree. "What am I to do here? What shall I hear up here?"

It leaned against the wall and thought and thought. It had plenty of time for that, because days and nights went by and nobody came up. And when somebody did come, it was only to put some big boxes in the corner. The tree was quite hidden; you would have thought it had been forgotten altogether. "Now it's winter outside," thought the tree. "The ground is hard and covered with snow; people can't plant me. So I'm to be sheltered here until spring. How thoughtful they are! How kind people are! If only it weren't so dark and so dreadfully lonely here! Not even a single hare! It was so nice in the forest when the snow lay on the ground and the hare came leaping past. Yes, even when it jumped over me, though I didn't like it then. Up here it's dreadfully lonely!"

"Squeak, squeak!" said a little mouse just then, and it popped out of the floor. Then another came. They sniffed at the fir tree and crept in among its branches. "It's dreadfully cold," said the little mice. "Otherwise it would be lovely here, wouldn't it, old fir tree?" "I'm not old at all," said the fir tree. "There are many much older than I am." "Where do you come from?" asked the mice. "And what do you know?" They were very curious. "Tell us about the loveliest place on earth. Have you been there? Have you been in the larder, where cheeses lie on the shelves and hams hang from the ceiling, where you dance on tallow candles, and go in thin and come out fat?"

"I don't know that place," said the tree. "But I know the forest, where the sun shines and the birds sing!" Then it told them all about its youth, and the little mice had never heard anything like it. They listened and said: "How much you've seen! How happy you must have been!" "I?" said the fir tree, and it thought about what it had told them. "Yes, those were really very happy times!" Then it told them about Christmas Eve, when it had been decorated with sweets and candles. "Oh," said the little mice, "how happy you've been, old fir tree!"

"I'm not old at all," said the tree. "I only came from the forest this winter. I'm in the prime of life; I've just stopped growing." "How beautifully you tell it!" said the little mice. The next night they came with four other little mice, who wanted to hear the tree's stories too. The more the tree told, the more clearly it remembered everything, and it thought: "Those really were happy times! But they may come again, they may come again! Klumpy-Dumpy fell downstairs and still married the princess; perhaps I'll marry a princess too." And then it thought of a pretty little birch tree that grew in the forest; to the fir tree she was a really lovely princess.

"Who is Klumpy-Dumpy?" asked the little mice. The tree told them the whole story; it remembered every word. The little mice nearly jumped to the top of the tree for joy. The next night many more mice came, and on Sunday two rats. But they said the story was not at all amusing, and that made the little mice sad, because now they too began to like it less. "Is that the only story you know?" asked the rats. "Only that one," said the tree. "I heard it on my happiest evening, but I didn't know then how happy I was." "It's a very poor story! Don't you know any about bacon and tallow candles? No larder stories?" "No," said the tree. "Then thank you very much," said the rats, and they went home.

At last the little mice stayed away too, and the tree sighed: "But it was nice when the lively little mice sat around me and listened to what I told them! Now that's over too. But I'll remember to enjoy myself when they take me out again." And when did that happen? Well, one morning people came and rummaged about in the attic. The boxes were moved and the tree was pulled out. They threw it rather roughly on the floor, but a servant dragged it at once towards the stairs where the daylight shone.

"Now life begins again!" thought the tree. It felt the fresh air and the first rays of the sun, and now it was out in the courtyard. Everything happened so quickly that the tree forgot to look at itself; there was so much to see all around. The courtyard was next to a garden, and everything there was in bloom. The roses hung fresh and fragrant over the low fence. The lime trees were in blossom, and the swallows flew about saying, "Quirre-virre-vit, my husband has come!" But it was not the fir tree they meant.

"Now I'm going to live!" it cried joyfully, and spread out its branches. But oh, they were all withered and yellow! It lay in a corner among the nettles and weeds. The star of gold paper was still at its top and glittered in the bright sunshine. In the courtyard some of the merry children who had danced around the tree at Christmas and been so glad of it were playing. One of the littlest ran up and tore off the golden star. "Look what's still on the ugly old Christmas tree!" he said, and he trampled on the branches so that they crackled under his boots.

The tree looked at all the splendour and freshness of the flowers in the garden, then it looked at itself, and it wished it had stayed in its dark corner in the attic. It thought of its fresh youth in the forest, of the merry Christmas Eve, and of the little mice who had listened so happily to the story of Klumpy-Dumpy. "Over! Over!" said the poor tree. "If only I had enjoyed myself while I could! Over! Over!" Then the servant came and chopped the tree into little pieces; there was a whole bundle of them. They blazed up brightly under the big copper. The tree sighed deeply, and each sigh was like a little shot. So the children who were playing there came and sat in front of the fire, looked into it and cried, "Piff, paff!" But at each crack, which was a deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer day in the forest, or of a winter night when the stars were shining. It thought of Christmas Eve and of Klumpy-Dumpy, the only story it had ever heard and knew how to tell. And then the tree was burned up.

The boys played in the courtyard, and the littlest one wore on his breast the golden star the tree had carried on its happiest evening. Now that was over too, and the tree's life was over, and this story is over. Over, over, like all stories. But you, who are listening to this tale now, enjoy today; for one day today will be over too, and then you will remember how well you spent it.