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The Fir Tree
Hans Christian Andersen
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.
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