Now the tree didn’t dare tremble at all. Oh, it was terrible! It was so afraid of losing some of its finery. It was really quite bewildered by all the splendor—and then both folding doors were swung open, and a crowd of children rushed in as if they were going to tip over the whole tree. The older people followed composedly behind. The little ones stood quite silently—but only for a moment. Then they cheered again so it resounded in the room. They danced around the tree, and one gift after another was plucked off.
“What are they doing?” thought the tree. “What’s going to happen?” And the candles burned right down to the branches, and as they burned down they were extinguished, and then the children were allowed to plunder the tree. Oh, how they rushed at it so that all the branches creaked! If it hadn’t been fastened to the ceiling by the top and the gold star, it would have tipped over.
The children danced around with their splendid toys. No one looked at the tree except the old nanny, who was peering and peeking through the branches, but only to see if one more fig or an apple had been overlooked.
“A story! a story!” cried the children and pulled a little fat man over toward the tree. He sat down right by it, “for then we’re out in nature,” he said, “and it will be good for the tree to listen too. But I’ll only tell one story. Do you want to hear the one about Dorky Porky or Clumpy Dumpy, who fell down the stairs and still gained the throne and got the princess.”
“Dorky Porky,” cried some. “Clumpy Dumpy,” cried others. There was yelling and shouting, only the spruce tree was very quiet and thought, “Am I not part of this at all? Am I not going to do something?” Of course it had already done its part, what it was supposed to do.
And the man told about Clumpy Dumpy who fell down the stairs and still gained the throne and got the princess. And the children clapped their hands and shouted: “Tell more! Tell more!” They wanted to hear Dorky Porky too, but they were only told the one about Clumpy Dumpy. The spruce tree stood very quietly and thoughtfully. None of the birds in the woods had told stories like this. “Clumpy Dumpy fell down the steps and still got the princess! Well, well, that’s how the world is,” thought the spruce tree and believed the story was true since such a nice man told it. “Well, well, who can tell. Maybe I’ll also fall down the steps and get a princess!” And it looked forward to the next day when it would be dressed with candles and toys, gold and fruit.
“Tomorrow I won’t shake,” he thought. “I’ll enjoy myself in all my splendor. Tomorrow I’ll hear the story about Clumpy Dumpy again and maybe the one about Dorky Porky.” And the tree stood quietly and thoughtfully the whole night.
In the morning the servants entered the room.
“Now the finery starts again,” thought the tree, but they dragged it out of the living room, up the stairs, into the attic, and there, in a dark corner where there was no daylight, they left it. “What’s the meaning of this?” thought the tree. “I wonder what I’m supposed to do here? I wonder what I’ll hear here?” And it leaned up against the wall and thought and thought.—And it had plenty of time because days and nights passed. No one came up there, and when someone finally did come, it was to put some big crates in a corner. The tree stood quite out-of- sight. You would think that it had been completely forgotten.
“Now it’s winter outside,” thought the tree. “The earth is hard and covered with snow. The people couldn’t plant me, so I’ll stay sheltered here until spring! That’s very smart! How good people are! If it just wasn’t so dark and lonely here—not even a little rabbit. It was nice out in the woods with snow on the ground when the rabbit jumped by. Yes, even when it jumped right over me, but I didn’t like it then. Still, up here it’s really lonely.”
“Squeak, squeak!” said a little mouse just then and popped out, and then another one came. They sniffed at the spruce tree and crept through the branches.
“It’s awfully cold,” the little mice said. “Otherwise it’s nice being here. Isn’t that right, you old spruce tree?”
“I’m not old at all,” said the spruce tree. “There are many who are much older than I am.”
“Where do you come from?” asked the mice, “and what do you know?” They were dreadfully curious. “Tell us about the most beautiful place on earth! Have you been there? Have you been in the kitchen where there’s cheese lying on the shelves, and there are hams hanging from the ceiling? Where you dance on tallow candles and go in skinny and come out fat?”
“I don’t know about that,” said the tree, “but I know the woods, where the sun shines, and where the birds sing.” And then he told all about his childhood, and the little mice had never before heard anything like that, and they listened carefully and said, “Oh, you have seen so much! How happy you have been!”
“Me?” said the spruce tree, and thought about what it had said. “Yes, they were actually pretty good times,” and then it told about Christmas Eve, when it was decorated with cakes and candles.
“Oh,” said the little mice, “how happy you have been, you old spruce tree!”
“I am not at all old,” said the tree. “I just came from the forest this very winter. I’m in the prime of life. I’m just not growing right now!”
“You’re a good storyteller,” said the little mice, and the next night they brought four other little mice to hear the tree tell stories. The more it talked, the clearer it remembered everything, and it thought, “they really were fun times, but they can come again. They can come! Clumpy Dumpy fell down the stairs and still got the princess, maybe I can get a princess too.” And then the spruce thought about such a lovely little birch tree that grew out in the forest—that was a truly lovely princess to the spruce tree.
“Who is Clumpy Dumpy?” asked the little mice. And then the spruce tree told the whole story. It remembered every single word, and the little mice almost climbed to the top of the tree in pure pleasure. The next night even more mice arrived, and on Sunday two rats, but they said that the story wasn’t funny, and that saddened the little mice who then also thought less of it.
“Is that the only story you know?” asked the rats.
“The only one,” the tree answered. “I heard it the happiest evening of my life, but at that time I didn’t realize how happy I was.”
“It’s an extraordinarily bad story. Don’t you know any about bacon and tallow candles? No pantry stories?”
“No,” said the tree.
“Well, we’ll say thanks anyway then,” said the rats and went home to their own concerns.
Finally the little mice went away too, and the tree sighed. “It was also rather nice when those nimble little mice sat around me and listened to what I said. But now that is over too—but I will enjoy myself when I’m taken
