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 them, 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 recognized; and then they were laid in carts,
and the horses
dragged them out of the woods.
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 woods.
"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 toward 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 knew well that he should
never see his dear
old comrades, the little bushes and flowers around
him, any more;
perhaps not even the birds! The departure was not at
all agreeable.
The Tree only came to himself when he was unloaded
in a courtyard 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 around 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
sugar-plums; 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!" said they all; "how it will shine
this evening!"
