Christmas Tiding

by Hans Christian Anderson

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
splendour 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
splendour 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 gayly coloured 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 coloured 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!”

“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 window-panes! 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 splendour! The Tree
trembled so in every bough that one of the tapers set fire to the
foliage. It blazed up splendidly.

“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 splendour, 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
so that the whole place reechoed 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
cask, it would certainly have tumbled down.