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Once upon
a time...
There was once a pretty little fir-tree in a wood. It was in
a capital position, for it could get sun, and there was enough air,
and all around grew many tall companions, both pines and firs. It
did not heed the warm sun and the fresh air, or notice the little
peasant children who ran about chattering when they came out to
gather wild strawberries and raspberries. Often they found a whole
basketful and strung strawberries on a straw; they would sit down by
the little fir-tree and say, 'What a pretty little one this is!' The
tree did not like that at all.
By the next year it had grown a whole ring taller, and the year
after that another ring more, for you can always tell a fir-tree's
age from its rings.
'Oh! if I were only a great tree like the others!' sighed the little
fir-tree, 'then I could stretch out my branches far and wide and
look out into the great world! The birds would build their nests in
my branches, and when the wind blew I would bow to it politely just
like the others!' It took no pleasure in the sunshine, nor in the
birds, nor in the rose-coloured clouds that sailed over it at dawn
and at sunset. Then the winter came, and the snow lay white and
sparkling all around, and a hare would come and spring right over
the little fir-tree, which annoyed it very much. But when two more
winters had passed the fir-tree was so tall that the hare had to run
round it. 'Ah! to grow and grow, and become great and old! that is
the only pleasure in life,' thought the tree. In the autumn the
woodcutters used to come and hew some of the tallest trees; this
happened every year, and the young fir-tree would shiver as the
magnificent trees fell crashing and crackling to the ground, their
branches hewn off, and the great trunks left bare, so that they were
almost unrecognisable. But then they were laid on waggons and
dragged out of the wood by horses. 'Where are they going? What will
happen to them?'
In spring, when the swallows and storks came, the fir-tree asked
them, 'Do you know where they were taken? Have you met them?'
The swallows knew nothing of them, but the stork nodded his head
thoughtfully, saying, 'I think I know. I met many new ships as I
flew from Egypt; there were splendid masts on the ships. I'll wager
those were they! They had the scent of fir-trees. Ah! those are
grand, grand!'
'Oh! if I were only big enough to sail away over the sea too! What
sort of thing is the sea? what does it look like?'
'Oh! it would take much too long to tell you all that,' said the
stork, and off he went.
'Rejoice in your youth,' said the sunbeams, 'rejoice in the sweet
growing time, in the young life within you.'
And the wind kissed it and the dew wept tears over it, but the
fir-tree did not understand.
Towards Christmas-time quite little trees were cut down, some not as
big as the young fir-tree, or just the same age, and now it had no
peace or rest for longing to be away. These little trees, which were
chosen for their beauty, kept all their branches; they were put in
carts and drawn out of the wood by horses.
'Whither are those going?' asked the fir-tree; 'they are no bigger
than I, and one there was much smaller even! Why do they keep their
branches? Where are they taken to?'
'We know! we know!' twittered the sparrows. 'Down there in the city
we have peeped in at the windows, we know where they go! They attain
to the greatest splendour and magnificence you can imagine! We have
looked in at the windows and seen them planted in the middle of the
warm room and adorned with the most beautiful things-golden apples,
sweet-meats, toys and hundreds of candles.'
'And then?' asked the fir-tree, trembling in every limb with
eagerness, 'and then? what happens then?'
'Oh, we haven't seen anything more than that. That was simply
matchless!'
'Am I too destined to the same brilliant career?' wondered the
fir-tree excitedly. 'That is even better than sailing over the sea!
I am sick with longing. If it were only Christmas! Now I am tall and
grown-up like those which were taken away last year. Ah, if I were
only in the cart! If I were only in the warm room with all the
splendour and magnificence! And then? Then comes something better,
something still more beautiful, else why should they dress us up?
There must be something greater, something grander to come--but
what? Oh! I am pining away! I really don't know what's the matter
with me!'
'Rejoice in us,' said the air and sunshine, 'rejoice in your fresh
youth in the free air!'
But it took no notice, and just grew and grew; there it stood fresh
and green in winter and summer, and all who saw it said, 'What a
beautiful tree!' And at Christmas-time it was the first to be cut
down. The axe went deep into the pith; the tree fell to the ground
with a groan; it felt bruised and faint. It could not think of
happiness, it was sad at leaving its home, the spot where it had
sprung up; it knew, too, that it would never see again its dear old
companions, or the little shrubs and flowers, perhaps not even the
birds. Altogether the parting was not pleasant.
When the tree came to itself again it was packed in a yard with
other trees, and a man was saying, 'This is a splendid one, we shall
only want this.'
Then came two footmen in livery and carried the fir-tree to a large
and beautiful room. There were pictures hanging on the walls, and
near the Dutch stove stood great Chinese vases with lions on their
lids; there were armchairs, silk-covered sofas, big tables laden
with picture-books and toys, worth hundreds of pounds-at least, so
the children said. The fir-tree was placed in a great tub filled
with sand, but no one could see that it was a tub, for it was all
hung with greenery and stood on a gay carpet. How the tree trembled!
What was coming now? On its brances they hung little nets cut out of
coloured paper, each full of sugarplums; gilt apples and nuts hung
down as if they were growing, over a hundred red, blue, and white
tapers were fastened among the branches. Dolls as life-like as human
beings--the fir-tree had never seen any before were suspended among
the green, and right up at the top was fixed a gold tinsel star; it
was gorgeous, quite unusually gorgeous!
'To-night,' they all said, 'to-night it will be lighted!'
'Ah!' thought the tree, 'if it were only evening! Then the tapers
would soon be lighted. What will happen then? I wonder whether the
trees will come from the wood to see me, or if the sparrows will fly
against the window panes? Am I to stand here decked out thus through
winter and summer?'
It was not a bad guess, but the fir-tree had real bark-ache from
sheer longing, and bark-ache in trees is just as bad as head-ache in
human beings.
Now the tapers were lighted. What a glitter! What splendour! The
tree quivered in all its branches so much, that one of the candles
caught the green, and singed it. 'Take care!' cried the young
ladies, and they extinguished it.
Now the tree did not even dare to quiver. It was really terrible! It
was so afraid of losing any of its ornaments, and it was quite
bewildered by all the radiance.
And then the folding doors were opened, and a crowd of children
rushed in, as though they wanted to knock down the whole tree,
whilst the older people followed soberly. The children stood quite
silent, but only for a moment, and then they shouted again, and
danced round the tree, and snatched off one present after another.
'What are they doing?' thought the tree. 'What is going to happen?'
And the tapers burnt low on the branches, and were put out one by
one, and then the children were given permission to plunder the
tree. They rushed at it so that all its boughs creaked; if it had
not been fastened by the gold star at the top to the ceiling, it
would have been overthrown.
The children danced about with their splendid toys, and no one
looked at the tree, except the old nurse, who came and peeped
amongst the boughs, just to see if a fig or an apple had been
forgotten.
'A story! a story!' cried the children, and dragged a little stout
man to the tree; he sat down beneath it, saying, 'Here we are in the
greenwood, and the tree will be delighted to listen! But I am only
going to tell one story. Shall it be Henny Penny or Humpty Dumpty
who fell downstairs, and yet gained great honour and married a
princess?'
'Henny Penny!' cried some; 'Humpty Dumpty!' cried others; there was
a perfect babel of voices! Only the fir-tree kept silent, and
thought, 'Am I not to be in it? Am I to have nothing to do with it?'
But it had already been in it, and played out its part. And the man
told them about Humpty Dumpty who fell downstairs and married a
princess. The children clapped their hands and cried, 'Another!
another!' They wanted the story of Henny Penny also, but they only
got Humpty Dumpty. The fir-tree stood quite astonished and
thoughtful; the birds in the wood had never related anything like
that. 'Humpty Dumpty fell downstairs and yet married a princess!
yes, that is the way of the world!' thought the tree, and was sure
it must be true, because such a nice man had told the story. 'Well,
who knows? Perhaps I shall fall downstairs and marry a princess.'
And it rejoiced to think that next day it would be decked out again
with candles, toys, glittering ornaments, and fruits. 'To-morrow I
shall quiver again with excitement. I shall enjoy to the full all my
splendour. To-morrow I shall hear Humpty Dumpty again, and perhaps
Henny Penny too.' And the tree stood silent and lost in thought all
through the night.
Next morning the servants came in. 'Now the dressing up will begin
again,' thought the tree. But they dragged it out of the room, and
up the stairs to the lumber-room, and put it in a dark corner, where
no ray of light could penetrate. 'What does this mean?' thought the
tree. 'What am I to do here? What is there for me to hear?' And it
leant against the wall, and thought and thought. And there was time
enough for that, for days and nights went by, and no one came; at
last when some one did come, it was only to put some great boxes
into the corner. Now the tree was quite covered; it seemed as if it
had been quite forgotten.
'Now it is winter out-doors,' thought the fir-tree. 'The ground is
hard and covered with snow, they can't plant me yet, and that is why
I am staying here under cover till the spring comes. How thoughtful
they are! Only I wish it were not so terribly dark and lonely here;
not even a little hare! It was so nice out in the wood, when the
snow lay all around, and the hare leapt past me; yes, even when he
leapt over me: but I didn't like it then. It's so dreadfully lonely
up here.'
'Squeak, squeak!' said a little mouse, stealing out, followed by a
second. They sniffed at the fir-tree, and then crept between its
boughs. 'It's frightfully cold,' said the little mice. 'How nice it
is to be here! Don't you think so too, you old fir-tree?'
'I'm not at all old,' said the tree; 'there are many much older than
I am.'
'Where do you come from?' asked the mice, 'and what do you know?'
They were extremely inquisitive. 'Do tell us about the most
beautiful place in the world. Is that where you come from? Have you
been in the storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams
hang from the ceiling, where one dances on tallow candles, and where
one goes in thin and comes out fat?'
'I know nothing about that,' said the tree. 'But I know the wood,
where the sun shines, and the birds sing.' And then it told them all
about its young days, and the little mice had never heard anything
like that before, and they listened with all their ears, and said:
'Oh, how much you have seen! How lucky you have been!'
'I?' said the fir-tree, and then it thought over what it had told
them. 'Yes, on the whole those were very happy times.' But then it
went on to tell them about Christmas Eve, when it had been adorned
with sweet-meats and tapers.
'Oh!' said the little mice, 'how lucky you have been, you old
fir-tree!'
'I'm not at all old' said the tree. 'I only came from the wood this
winter. I am only a little backward, perhaps, in my growth.'
'How beautifully you tell stories!' said the little mice. And next
evening they came with four others, who wanted to hear the tree's
story, and it told still more, for it remembered everything so
clearly and thought: 'Those were happy times! But they may come
again. Humpty dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married a princess;
perhaps I shall also marry a princess!' And then it thought of a
pretty little birch-tree that grew out in the wood, and seemed to
the fir-tree a real princess, and a very beautiful one too.
'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 ready to leap on to the
topmost branch out of sheer joy! Next night many more mice came, and
on Sunday even two rats; but they did not care about the story, and
that troubled the little mice, for now they thought less of it too.
'Is that the only story you know?' asked the rats.
'The only one,' answered the tree. 'I heard that on my happiest
evening, but I did not realise then how happy I was.'
'That's a very poor story. Don't you know one about bacon or tallow
candles? a storeroom story?'
'No,' said the tree.
'Then we are much obliged to you,' said the rats, and they went back
to their friends.
At last the little mice went off also, and the tree said, sighing:
'Really it was very pleasant when the lively little mice sat round
and listened whilst I told them stories. But now that's over too.
But now I will think of the time when I shall be brought out again,
to keep up my spirits.'
But when did that happen? Well, it was one morning when they came to
tidy up the lumber-room; they threw it really rather roughly on the
floor, but a servant dragged it off at once downstairs, where there
was daylight once more.
'Now life begins again!' thought the tree. It felt the fresh air,
the first rays of the sun, and there it was out in the yard!
Everything passed so quickly; the tree quite forgot to notice
itself, there was so much to look at all around. The yard opened on
a garden full of flowers; the roses were so fresh and sweet, hanging
over a little trellis, the lime-trees were in blossom, and the
swallows flew about, saying: 'Quirre-virre-vil, my husband has come
home;' but it was not the fir-tree they meant.
'Now I shall live,' thought the tree joyfully, stretching out its
branches wide; but, alas! they were all withered and yellow; and it
was lying in a corner among weeds and nettles. The golden star was
still on its highest bough, and it glittered in the bright sunlight.
In the yard some of the merry children were playing, who had danced
so gaily round the tree at Christmas. One of the little ones ran up,
and tore off the gold star.
'Look what was left on the ugly old fir-tree!' he cried, and stamped
on the boughs so that they cracked under his feet.
And the tree looked at all the splendour and freshness of the
flowers in the garden, and then looked at itself, and wished that it
had been left lying in the dark corner of the lumber-room; it
thought of its fresh youth in the wood, of the merry Christmas Eve,
and of the little mice who had listened so happily to the story of
Humpty Dumpty.
'Too late! Too late!' thought the old tree. 'If only I had enjoyed
myself whilst I could. Now all is over and gone.'
And a servant came and cut the tree into small pieces, there was
quite a bundle of them; they flickered brightly under the great
copper in the brew-house; the tree sighed deeply, and each sigh was
like a pistol-shot; so the children who were playing there ran up,
and sat in front of the fire, gazing at it, anad crying, 'Piff!
puff! bang!' But for each report, which was really a sigh, the tree
was thinking of a summer's day in the wood, or of a winter's night
out there, when the stars were shining; it thought of Christmas Eve,
and of Humpty Dumpty, which was the only story it had heard, or
could tell, and then the tree had burnt away.
The children played on in the garden, and the youngest had the
golden star on his breast, which the tree had worn on the happiest
evening of its life; and now that was past--and the tree had passed
away--and the story too, all ended and done with.
And that's the way with all stories!
Here our Danish author ends. This is what people call sentiment, and
I hope you enjoy it!
The Fir-Tree
from the Pink Fairy Book
Story Edited
by Andrew Lang |
