The next year it was a shoot bigger, and the next year even taller. Indeed, you can always tell how old a spruce tree is by how many shoots it has.
“Oh, if only I were a big tree like the others!” sighed the little tree. “Then I could spread my branches so far around and from the top see out into the wide world! The birds would build nests within my branches, and when the wind blows, I could nod as nobly as the others do.”
It took no pleasure from the sunshine, or the birds, or the red clouds that sailed over it morning and evening. Often in the winter, when the snow lay glistening white all around, a rabbit would come hopping and jump right over the little tree—Oh, it was so irritating! But two winters passed, and by the third winter, the tree was so big that the rabbit had to go around it. Oh, to grow, to grow, to become big and old! That’s the only beauty in this world, thought the tree.
In the autumn the wood cutters always came and chopped down some of the largest trees. It happened every year, and the young spruce tree, which was pretty well grown now, trembled because the big magnificent trees fell crashing and bashing to the ground. The branches were chopped off so they looked quite naked and long and narrow. They were almost unrecognizable, and then they were laid on wagons, and horses pulled them out of the forest.
Where were they going? What was going to happen to them?
In the spring, when the swallows and the stork came, the tree asked them: “Don’t you know where they went? Didn’t you see them?”
The swallows didn’t know anything, but the stork looked thoughtful, nodded his head, and said, “Yes, I think so. Flying up from Egypt I met a lot of new ships, and on the ships were magnificent wooden masts. I dare say that that was them. They smelled like spruce, and I bring you greetings from them. They stood proudly, really spruced up.”
“Oh, if only I were big enough to fly over the ocean! What is this ocean exactly, and what does it look like?”
“It takes too long to explain!” said the stork, and he left.
“Enjoy your youth!” said the sunbeams. “Enjoy your fresh growth, and the young life that’s in you!”
And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew cried tears over it, but the spruce tree didn’t understand.
When it was Christmas time some very young trees were felled—trees that weren’t even as big or old as the spruce tree who had no peace and rest, but always wanted to be on its way. These young trees (and they were always the very prettiest) kept their branches. They were placed on the wagons, and horses pulled them out of the forest.
“Where were they going?” asked the spruce tree. “They aren’t any bigger than me. There was even one a lot smaller. Why did they keep all their branches? Where did they go?”
“This-see-we! This-see-we!” chirped the grey sparrows. “We’ve peeked in the windows down in town. We know where they’re going. Oh, they go to the greatest splendor and magnificence that can be imagined! We have looked through the windows and have seen how they’re planted right in the middle of the warm living room and decorated with the most lovely things, such as gilded apples, honey cakes, toys, and many hundreds of candles!”
“And then—?” asked the spruce tree, trembling in all its branches. “And then? What happens then?”
“Well, we didn’t see anything more. It was just splendid!”
“I wonder if I was born to go that shining way!?” rejoiced the tree. “That’s even better than sailing on the ocean. Oh, how I suffer from longing! If only it were Christmas! Now I’m tall and stretched upward like the ones who were taken away last year!—Oh, if only I were already on the wagon! If only I were in the warm room with all the splendor and magnificence! And then—? Then something even better will happen, even more beautiful. Why else would they decorate me like that? Something even greater, even more splendid—But what? Oh, how I am suffering! I’m pining! I don’t even know myself what’s the matter with me!”
“Take pleasure in us,” said the air and the sunshine. “Be happy in your fresh youth out in the open air!”
But the tree wasn’t happy at all. It grew and grew. Both winter and summer it was green. Dark green it stood there, and people who saw it said, “that’s a lovely tree,” and at Christmas it was cut first. The ax cut deeply through the pith, and the tree fell with a sigh to the earth. It felt a pain and a powerless-ness, and couldn’t think of any joy. It felt saddened to be parted from its home, from the spot where it had grown up. It knew, of course, that it would never again see its dear companions, the small bushes and flowers all around, maybe not even the birds. The departure was not at all pleasant.
The tree came to itself in the yard, unpacked with the other trees, when it heard a man say, “That one’s magnificent! We won’t take any other!”
Then two servants in uniform came and bore the spruce tree into a big beautiful room. Portraits were hanging on the walls, and by the big porcelain stove there were Chinese vases with lions on the lids. There were rocking chairs, silk sofas, big tables full of coffee table books, and toys worth hundreds upon hundreds of dollars—at least that’s what the children said. And the spruce tree was raised up in a big tub filled with sand, but no one could see that it was a tub because green material was wound around it, and it stood on a big embroidered rug. Oh, how the tree trembled! What was going to happen? Both servants and young ladies of the house decorated it. On one branch they hung small nets, cut from colored paper. Each net was filled with candies. Gilded apples and walnuts hung as if they had grown there, and over a hundred red, blue, and white candles were fastened to the branches. Dolls that looked as real as humans—the tree had never seen anything like them before—floated in the branches, and at the very top was placed a big gold tinsel star. It was magnificent, quite exceptionally magnificent.
“Tonight,” they all said, “tonight it will be radiant!”
“Oh,” thought the tree, “if only it were evening! If only the lights were lit soon! And I wonder what will happen then? I wonder if trees from the woods will come and look at me? Will the grey sparrows fly by the windows? I wonder if I’ll grow permanently here and stand here decorated winter and summer?”
Well, that’s what it knew about it! But it really had bark-ache from pure longing, and bark-ache is as painful for a tree as a headache is for the rest of us.
Then the lights were lit. What brilliance! What magnificence ! All the branches of the tree trembled with it, so much so that one of the candles started a fire on a branch, and that really stung.
“God save us!” cried the ladies and put out the fire in a hurry.
