The Fir Tree

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.

A lovely little Fir Tree stood out in the woods. He had a very good spot. The sun shone on him, and there was plenty of fresh air. Many large companions, both pines and firs, grew around him. But the little Fir wanted so 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.

He did not think about the warm sun or the fresh air. He did not care about the cottage children who ran around and chatted as they looked for wild strawberries in the woods. The children often came with a whole pitcher full of berries or a long row of berries threaded on a straw. They would sit down near the young tree and say, “Oh, how pretty he is! What a nice little fir!” But the Tree could not bear to hear that.

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.

After a year, he had grown quite a bit. After another year, he was much taller again. You can always tell how old a fir tree is by its shoots.

“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!”

“Oh, if only I were as tall as the other trees,” he sighed. “Then I could spread out my branches and look out at the wide world from my top! Birds would build nests among my branches. And when the breeze blew, I could sway as gracefully 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.

The sunbeams and the birds gave the little Tree no pleasure. Neither did the red clouds that drifted above him each morning and evening.

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 winter, when snow glittered on the ground, a hare would often come bounding along and jump right over the little Tree. Oh, that made him so angry! But after two winters, the Tree had grown so large that the hare had to go around him in the third winter. “To grow and grow, to get older and taller,” thought the Tree. “That, after all, is the most wonderful 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.

Every autumn, the woodcutters came and cut down some of the largest trees. This happened every year, and the young Fir Tree, now grown to a handsome size, trembled at the sight. The magnificent trees fell to the ground with a loud crash and the cracking of wood. Their branches were cut off, leaving the trees long and bare, and they were hardly recognizable. Then they were loaded onto carts, and horses dragged them out of the woods.

Where did they go to? What became of them?

Where did they go? What happened to 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?”

In spring, the swallows and storks returned. The Tree asked them, “Do you know where they were taken? Have you seen 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!”

The swallows knew nothing about it, but the Stork looked thoughtful and nodded. “Yes, I think I know,” he said. “I passed many ships as I was flying here from Egypt. The ships had magnificent masts, and I dare say the masts were what smelled so strongly of fir. I congratulate you, for they rose up 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?”

“Oh, if only I were old enough to fly across the sea! But what does the sea really look like? What is it like?”

“That would take a long time to explain,” said the Stork, and with these words off he went.

“That would take a long time to explain,” said the Stork. Then he went on his way.

“Rejoice in thy growth!” said the Sunbeams. “Rejoice in thy vigorous growth, and in the fresh life that moveth within thee!”

“Rejoice in your growth!” said the Sunbeams. “Rejoice in your vigorous growth and in the fresh life moving within you!”

And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears over him; but the Fir understood it not.

And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears over him. But the Fir did not understand.

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.

When Christmas came, very young trees were cut down. They were often smaller or younger than this Fir Tree, who could never rest and always wanted to be off. These young trees were always the finest looking, and they kept their branches. They were loaded onto carts, and horses pulled 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?”

“Where are they going?” asked the Fir. “They are not taller than I am. In fact, one was much shorter. And why do they keep all their branches? Where are they being 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!”

“We know! We know!” chirped the Sparrows. “We’ve peeked through the windows in the town below! We know where they’re taken! The greatest splendor and magnificence imaginable await them. We peeked through the windows and saw them standing in the middle of a warm room. They were decorated with the most splendid things: gold-covered apples, gingerbread, toys, and many hundreds of lights!”

“And then?” asked the Fir Tree, trembling in every bough. “And then? What happens then?”

“And then?” asked the Fir Tree, trembling in every branch. “And then? What happens then?”

“We did not see anything more: it was incomparably beautiful.”

“We saw nothing more: it was beyond compare in its beauty.”

“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!”

“I wish I knew if I were destined for such a glorious future!” cried the Tree, rejoicing. “That is even better than crossing the sea! How I long for it! If only Christmas would come! I am tall now, and my branches spread like those of the trees carried off last year! Oh, if only I were already on the cart! If only I were in the warm room, surrounded by all that splendor and magnificence! Yes, then something better, something even grander, will surely follow. Otherwise, why would they decorate me like that? Something better, something even grander must follow, but what? Oh, how I long for it! How I suffer! I do not even know what is the matter with me!”

“Rejoice in our presence!” said the Air and the Sunlight. “Rejoice in thy own fresh youth!”

“Be glad we are here!” said the Air and the Sunlight. “Be glad of your 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.

But the Tree did not rejoice at all. He grew and grew, and stayed green in both winter and summer. People who saw him said, “What a fine tree!” As Christmas approached, he was one of the first trees to be cut down. The axe struck deep into his very core, and the Tree fell to the ground with a sigh. He felt a pang, and it was like fainting. He could not think of happiness because he was sad to leave his home, the place where he had grown. He knew he would never see his dear old friends, the little bushes and flowers around him, again. Perhaps he would never see the birds again either! Leaving was not pleasant at all.

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.

The Tree came to his senses only after he was unloaded in a courtyard with the other trees. Then he heard a man say, “That one is splendid! We don't want the others.” Two servants in fine uniforms came and carried the Fir Tree into a large, splendid drawing room. Portraits hung on the walls. Near the white porcelain stove stood two large Chinese vases with lions on their lids. There were also large armchairs, silk sofas, and large tables covered with picture books and toys. The toys were worth hundreds and hundreds of crowns, or so the children said. The Fir Tree was set upright in a barrel filled with sand. But no one could see the barrel, because green cloth was draped all around it. It stood on a large, brightly colored carpet. Oh, how the Tree trembled! What was going to happen? The servants and the young ladies decorated him. From one branch hung little nets made of colored paper, each filled with sugarplums. Gold-covered apples and walnuts hung among the other branches, looking as though they had grown there. Little blue and white candles were placed among the needles. Dolls that looked just like people appeared among the branches. The Tree had never seen anything like them before. At the very top, a large gold tinsel star was fixed in place. It was truly splendid, more splendid than words could describe.

“This evening!” they all said. “How it will shine this evening!”

“This evening!” they all said. “It will shine so brightly 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!”

“Oh!” thought the Tree. “If only evening would come! If only the candles were lit! And then I wonder what will happen! Perhaps the other trees from the forest will come to look at me! Perhaps the sparrows will flutter against the windowpanes! I wonder if I will take root here and stand covered in ornaments through winter and summer!”

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.

He knew a great deal about the matter. But he was so impatient that his longing gave him a backache. For trees, a backache is the same as a headache is for 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.

The candles were now lit. How bright and splendid they were! The Tree trembled in every branch, so much that one of the candles set its foliage on fire. The foliage burst into a great blaze.

“Help! Help!” cried the young ladies, and they quickly put out the fire.

“Help! Help!” the young ladies cried, 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.

Now the Tree did not even dare to tremble. What a state he was in! He was so worried about losing some of his splendor that the glare and brightness left him bewildered. Suddenly, both folding doors opened, and a crowd of children rushed in as if they would knock the Tree over. The adults followed quietly, and the little ones stood completely still. But only for a moment. Then they shouted so joyfully that the whole place echoed. They danced around the Tree and pulled off one present after another.

“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.

“What are they doing?” thought the Tree. “What will happen now!” The candles burned down to the branches, and as they burned down, they were put out one by one. Then the children were allowed to plunder the Tree. They attacked it so violently that all its branches cracked. If the Tree had not been firmly fixed in the ground, it would certainly have fallen over.

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.

The children danced around with their beautiful toys. No one looked at the Tree except the old nurse, who peeked between its branches. But she only wanted to see if a fig or an apple had been forgotten there.

“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?”

“A story! A story!” cried the children, pulling a little fat man toward the Tree. He sat down under the Tree and said, “Now we are in the shade, and the Tree can listen too. But I will tell only one story. Which one do you want? The story of Ivedy-Avedy? Or the one about Humpy-Dumpy, who fell downstairs but still became king 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.

“Ivedy-Avedy,” cried some. “Humpy-Dumpy,” cried the others. Everyone was shouting and screaming. Only the Fir Tree was silent. He thought to himself, “Shouldn’t I shout with the rest? Am I supposed to do nothing at all?” For he was one of the group 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.

And the man told them about Humpy-Dumpy, who tumbled down but still came to the throne and finally married the princess. The children clapped their hands and cried, “Oh, go on! Please go on!” They wanted to hear about Ivedy-Avedy too, but the little man only told them about Humpy-Dumpy. The Fir Tree stood perfectly still, lost in thought. The birds in the woods had never told him anything like this. “Humpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess! Yes, yes! That's the way of the world!” thought the Fir Tree. He believed the whole story because the man who told it was so good-looking. “Well, well! Who knows, perhaps I may fall downstairs too, and marry a princess!” He eagerly looked forward to tomorrow, when he hoped to be decorated again with lights, toys, fruit, 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.

“I won't tremble tomorrow!” thought the Fir Tree. “I will enjoy all my splendor to the fullest! Tomorrow I will hear the story of Humpy-Dumpy again, and perhaps the story of Ivedy-Avedy too.” The Tree stood still all night, deep in thought.

In the morning the servant and the housemaid came in.

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.

“Now the splendor will begin again,” thought the Fir. But they dragged him out of the room and up the stairs into the loft. They left him in a dark corner where no daylight could reach him. “What does this mean?” thought the Tree. “What am I supposed to do here? What will I hear now, I wonder?” He leaned against the wall, lost in thought. He had plenty of time to think, because days and nights passed and nobody came up. When someone finally did come, it was only to put some large trunks out of the way in a corner. The Tree stood there, completely 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!”

“It’s winter outside now!” thought the Tree. “The ground is hard and covered with snow. People can’t plant me now, so they’ve put me under shelter until spring comes! How thoughtful! How kind people are, after all! If only it weren’t so dark and terribly lonely here! There isn’t even a hare! 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 didn’t like that then! It’s 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.

“Squeak! Squeak!” said a little Mouse, peeking out of his hole at that very moment. Then another little Mouse came out. They sniffed around the Fir Tree and rustled among its branches.

“It is dreadfully cold,” said the Mouse. “But for that, it would be delightful here, old Fir, wouldn't it?”

“It is terribly cold,” said the Mouse. “If it weren't so cold, it would be lovely 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.”

“I’m not old at all,” said the Fir Tree. “There are many who are much 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?”

“Where do you come from?” asked the Mice. “And what can you do?” They were extremely curious. “Tell us about the most beautiful place on earth. Haven't you ever been there? Haven't you ever been in the pantry? Cheeses lie on the shelves there, and hams hang overhead. You can dance on tallow candles there. You go in thin and come out fat and round.”

“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,

“I don't know any such place,” said the Tree. “But I know the woods, where the sun shines and the little birds sing.” Then he told them all about his youth. The little Mice had never heard anything like it before. They listened and said,

“Well, to be sure! How much you have seen! How happy you must have been!”

“Well, my goodness! You have seen so much! You must have been so happy!”

“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.

“I!” said the Fir Tree, thinking about what he had just told them. “Yes, those really were happy times.” Then he told them about Christmas Eve, when he was decorated with cakes and candles.

“Oh,” said the little Mice, “how fortunate you have been, old Fir Tree!”

“Oh,” said the little Mice, “how lucky 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.”

“I’m not old at all,” he said. “I came from the woods this winter. I’m in my prime, just a little 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.

“What delightful stories you know,” said the Mice. The next night, they returned with four other little Mice to hear the Tree’s stories. The more he told them, the more he remembered. It seemed as if those times really had been happy. “But happy times may still come. They may still come! Humpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he got a princess!” Just then, he thought of a lovely little Birch Tree growing in the woods. To the Fir, she would be a truly 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.

“Who is Humpy-Dumpy?” asked the Mice. So the Fir Tree told the whole fairy tale, because he remembered every single word. The little Mice jumped for joy all the way to the top of the Tree. The next night, two more Mice came, and on Sunday, even two Rats came. But the Rats said the stories were not interesting. This upset the little Mice, and they, too, began to think the stories were not so amusing after all.

“Do you know only one story?” asked the Rats.

“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.”

“Only that one,” answered the Tree. “I heard it on my happiest evening, but I didn't know then 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?”

“That’s a very stupid story! Don’t you know one about bacon and tallow candles? Can’t you tell any stories about the pantry?”

“No,” said the Tree.

“No,” said the Tree.

“Then good-bye,” said the Rats; and they went home.

“Then goodbye,” 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.”

At last, the little Mice stopped coming too. The Tree sighed: “It really was pleasant when the sleek little Mice sat around me and listened to my stories. Now even that is over. But I will make sure 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.

But when would that happen? Well, one morning a lot of people came and started working in the attic. They moved the trunks, pulled out the tree, and threw him down on the floor. They did throw him rather hard. But a man dragged him toward 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 a happy life will begin again,” thought the Tree. He felt the fresh air and the first ray of sunlight. Now he was out in the courtyard. Everything happened so quickly, and so much was going on around him, that the Tree forgot to look at himself. The courtyard was next to a garden, where everything was in bloom. Fresh, fragrant roses hung over the railing, and the linden trees were blossoming. The Swallows flew by, saying, “Quirre-vit! My husband has come!” But they did not mean the Fir Tree.

“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.

“Now I’ll really enjoy life,” he said joyfully, spreading out his branches. But alas, they were all withered and yellow! He lay in a corner among weeds and nettles. The golden tinsel star was still on top of the Tree, glittering in the sunlight.

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.

Some of the cheerful children were playing in the courtyard. They had danced around the Fir Tree at Christmas and were so glad to see him. One of the youngest ran over 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.

“Just look at what’s still on the ugly old Christmas tree!” he said, trampling on the branches so 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.

The Tree saw all the beauty of the flowers and the freshness of the garden. He looked at himself and wished he had stayed in his dark corner in the loft. He thought of his early youth in the forest and the merry Christmas Eve. He also thought of the little Mice, who had so enjoyed listening 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!”

“It’s over. It’s gone!” said the poor Tree. “If only I had been happy when I had reason to be! But now it’s gone, it’s gone!”

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.

And the gardener's boy chopped the Tree into small pieces, leaving a whole heap of wood. The wood burned brightly under the large brewing pot and sighed so deeply! Each sigh sounded like a gunshot.

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.

The boys played in the courtyard. The youngest wore the gold star on his chest. The Tree had worn it on the happiest evening of its life. But that was over now. The Tree was gone, and the story had ended. All, all was over. Every tale must end at last.