"You will go to that magic metropolis, and you will take root there, to experience the murmuring waters and air and sunshine. But your life span will be shortened, and the life span you can enjoy in this free and easy world will be reduced to a few years. Poor tree spirit, this will be your disaster! Your yearning will grow, your quest, your longing will grow stronger! The tree will become your prison. You will leave your abode, detached from your nature, and fly away to be with mankind. And so your life will be shortened to half the life of a mayfly, for one short night. Your life shall be extinguished, and the leaves shall wither and fall off, never to return."
The voice spoke and sang this in the air. The light faded, but the tree spirit's longing and yearning did not break. She trembled in her longing, like a high fever.
"I am going to the city within a city!" She cried out in joy. "Life begins to swell like a cloud, and no one knows where it will fly."
At dawn, the moonlight faded and the red clouds rose. The time of wish fulfillment came, and the words of promise became reality.
There came men with shovels and clubs in their hands. They dug around the roots of the tree and dug deep, all the way down to the bottom of the roots. Another wagon came, and the tree was dug up with its roots and soil, and was wrapped in a rushes, almost like a warm bag; then it was carried to the wagon, and bundled up so tightly that it would be shipped away to Paris, to grow and live in France's proud capital, the city within a city.
The moment the car started, the leaves of the chestnut tree quivered, and the tree-spirit trembled in expectant happiness.
"Gone! Gone!" The voice rang out with every pulse beat. "Gone! Gone!" The voice vibrated and trembled. The tree-spirits had forgotten to say good-bye to her native lawn, to the swaying grasses and the innocent spring yellow daisies; they had always honored her as a noblewoman in God's garden⑩, a young princess dressed as a shepherdess in the wide, free world.
The chestnut tree sits on the cart, nodding its leaves to say, "Have a good day" or "Good-bye". The tree spirit knew none of this, she only dreamed of the strange and new and very familiar things that would unfold before her eyes. No child's heart full of innocent joy, no drop of boiling blood would have been as fanciful as when she traveled to Paris.
"Have a good time!" becomes "Go away! Go away!"
The wheels turn, and the distance grows nearer, falling behind. The scene in front of us changed, like clouds shifting. New vineyards, woods, towns, villas and gardens appeared, came into sight, and disappeared. The chestnut tree went forward, and the tree spirits went forward with it. Train after train sped by or drove past relative to each other. The clouds that the train exhaled took on various shapes. These shapes told the story of where the train was coming from and where the tree spirit was going to Paris. Everything around her knew and should have known where she was going. She felt that every tree she passed reached out to her, begging, "Take me with you! Take me with you!" You know, there's a longing tree spirit living in every tree. What a change! How swiftly it moves! Houses seem to spring from the earth, more and more dense. The chimneys were like so many flower-pots, one next to the other, lined up on the roofs. Words spelled out in huge letters, and pictures of all sorts of shapes, painted from the corners of the walls down to the eaves below, were gleaming. "What place is the beginning of Paris? When am I in Paris?" The tree spirit asked himself. The crowd grew larger and larger, car after car, people on foot and on horseback crowded together; stores were next to stores; everywhere there was the sound of music, singing, shouting, talking. The tree-spirit sat in her tree to the center of Paris.
The great heavy cart stopped in a small square. The square was planted with trees and surrounded by many tall houses with a balcony for each window. People stood there looking down at this fresh young chestnut tree that had been brought in and would be planted here in place of the dead tree that had fallen to the ground and been uprooted. The people standing in the square smiled and looked pleasantly at the tender green of spring. The old trees that have just sprouted buds, their branches rustling, say "Welcome! Welcome!" The fountain sprays water into the air and splashes it into the wide pool, allowing the wind to blow the water droplets onto the new tree, inviting it to drink the water of welcome.
The tree spirit felt as the tree she lived in was lifted from its cart and planted in its future location. The roots of the tree were buried in the earth and fresh green grass was planted on top. Blooming bushes were planted like trees, and potted flowers were brought in. A small garden was formed in the center of the square. The uprooted old tree that had been killed by gas, cooking fumes, and all sorts of city air that suffocated the plants was pulled onto a cart and transported away. Crowds of people watched, children and old people sitting on wooden benches in the shade of the green, gazing at the leaves of the newly planted tree. And we story-tellers stood on the balcony looking down at the young tree that had been transported from the fresh countryside, and said, like the old priest, "Poor tree-spirit!"
"How happy I am, how happy I am!" said the tree-spirit, "and yet I don't quite understand, don't quite express, what I feel. Everything is as I think it is, and yet not quite as I think it is!"
The houses around them were too high and too close together; the sun only shone on one wall, which was plastered with advertisements and posters. People stood still there, causing a jam. Cars drove by one after another, some brisk, some heavy; public **** carriages full of people sped along like a moving house; horseback riders galloped forward, and wagons and tour buses claimed the same right. The tree-spirit wondered if these towering houses close together could not be moved away into the shape of floating clouds in the sky, moved aside so that she could look at Paris and beyond. Notre Dame (11) would have to show its face, as well as the Mend?me Column (12) and the wonders that had attracted countless foreigners to visit it.
But the houses did not give way.
It was not yet dark, and the lamps were already lighted; gas-lights shot up in the stores, and we traveled to Paris to see the Exhibition1.
And now we are there! It was a quick trip, like a gust of wind, but not by any magic at all; we went by means of land and water steam transportation.
Our time was a fairytale time.
We were in the center of Paris, in a large inn. The stairs were decorated with flowers all the way to the top, and the stairs were all carpeted.
Our room was very comfortable. The doors of the balcony opened towards a large square. There resides the spring, which entered Paris at the same time as we did. Its appearance was that of a large chestnut tree, covered with young, newly-blooming leaves; and how beautiful was its spring finery compared with that of the other trees in the square! One of those trees was no longer included among the living ones. It lay there, having been uprooted and flung to the ground. Where it had been growing, this fresh chestnut tree will be cut in.2
Now it is still standing tall in the cart that brought it to Paris this morning, from many miles away, from the countryside. The tree has stood close to a large lawn for many years, and under it often sits an old priest, telling stories to the attentive children. The young chestnut tree listened along. The tree-spirit who lived in it-who, mind you, was a child at the time-could recall the tree when it was small. It was not as tall as the blades of grass and fern stalks when it came out of the ground. The grass couldn't grow any more by then, but the tree grew taller and taller every year. It absorbed air and sunlight, was moisturized by rain, and was battered and pushed around by the strong winds that were necessary for it, part of its education.
The Tree Spirit loved her life and surroundings, the sunlight and the singing of the birds, however her favorite was the sound of human voices. She can understand human language as well as the language of birds and animals.
Butterflies, dragonflies, and flies, yes, everything that flies comes to visit her. They were to chat and gossip; to tell of the city, of the vineyards, the woods, the old palaces and castles, and the gardens in the palaces and castles. And in the gardens there were artificial rivers and dams, and in the water there were creatures that would fly in their own way from one place to another, intelligent, thinking creatures; they could say nothing, but they were just so clever. And there were swallows that used to burrow into the water. They talk about beautiful goldfish, fat carp, fat perch and old carp covered in moss. The swallow described them in colorful detail, but she said it was better to see them for herself. But how could the tree spirit see these creatures! She could only be content to look at the beautiful scenery before her and feel the busy activity of the humans.
It was wonderful, but the best thing of all was to hear the old priest sitting under the oak tree, telling of France, and of the feats of men and women that have gone down through the ages.
The tree-spirit listened to the exploits of the shepherdesses Jeanne d'Arc3 and Charlotte Cordaye4. She listened as he told of the achievements and great deeds of the ancient times, the times of Henry IV and Napoleon I, all the way up to our own time. She listened to the names of the many people who had aroused **** in the hearts of the people. France is a country of world significance, a fertile ground for the cultivation of the theosophy of the free spirit!
The village children listened intently, the tree spirit concentrating no less; she was a schoolboy like the rest. She could make out a concrete image of what she was hearing in the floating clouds moving across the sky.
The cloudy sky is her picture book.
She feels happy in the beautiful country of France. But she still had a feeling that birds and any flying animal or insect were above her station. Even flies can look around and see much farther than tree spirits.
France was so big and beautiful, but she could only see a small part of it. The country is like a big world, with vineyards and woods and big cities spread out in every direction. Of all these, Paris was the most beautiful and the grandest. The birds could reach it, but she could never. There was a little girl among the children in the countryside who was ragged, but pretty. She was always singing and laughing and putting red flowers in her black hair.
"Don't go to Paris!" The old priest said. "Poor child! If you go to Paris, you will suffer!"
And yet she went.
The tree spirit thought of her often. You know, they both had the same interest in that marvelous capital city, the same longing for it.
Spring, summer, fall, and winter passed one after another; two years passed. For the first time the tree where the tree-spirit was had chestnut blossoms, and the birds were singing around it in the sunshine. At that moment there came up the main road a splendid carriage, in which sat a noble woman, who herself drove the beautiful horses; a beautifully dressed coachman sat behind. The tree-spirit recognized the woman, and so did the old priest, who shook his head and said mournfully:
"You have gone yonder! You're going to be plagued, poor Mary5!"
"Her, poor?" The tree spirit thought, "No, what a change! She's dressed almost like a duchess! She has gone to the Magic City. Ah, if only I could go to that splendid, gorgeous metropolis! When I look in the direction of the metropolis I know, it shines even at night, all the way up to the clouds." Yes, the tree-spirit looked in that direction every dusk, every night. Her vision was a bright mist. She missed it on moonlit nights, she missed the floating clouds that showed her pictures and stories.
The children looked through their picture books, and the tree spirit stared at the world of clouds, the book of her thoughts.
The cloudless sky was a blank page for her on hot summer days. For days now, she could only see such a blank page.
Every day in the hot summer, the sun was blazing and there was no wind at all. Every leaf, every flower was lethargic and lethargic, and so were the people.
Then the clouds appeared, and the bright nighttime haze suggested that this was Paris. The clouds rose, shaped like rolling mountains, and they sped across the sky, spreading out into the heavens until they were out of sight of the tree spirits. <
The clouds were like navy-colored boulders high in the sky, stacked one on top of the other. Electricity shot out from between the clouds, "They too are servants of God." The old preacher had said so. A bolt of blue lightning, bright as the sun, leapt out of the stone-like clouds and fell, splitting the huge old oak tree in two by the roots; the crown was split open, the trunk split. It fell to the ground and spread out, as if to embrace the messenger of light.
The salute that rang through the sky and through the country at the birth of the prince was no match for the rattle of that old oak when it was struck down. The rain poured down in torrents, and a fresh wind blew. The storm passed away, and there was a joyous festive scene all around. The people of the town gathered around the fallen old oak; the old priest spoke words of praise for it, and an artist painted the tree with his own hand to keep it as a memorial.
"Everything fades away!" said the tree-spirit, "faded away, like a floating cloud, never to return!"
The old priest never came back; the schoolhouse collapsed, the teacher's desk disappeared, and the children stopped coming. But fall came, winter came, and of course spring came. Throughout these ever-changing days the tree-spirit always looked in that direction, and every dusk and night, in that faraway place, Paris was bright as a dazzling mist. Locomotive after locomotive pulled train after train of carriages out of there, whistling and rumbling away every hour. Every dusk, night, morning, and day trains traveled over, coming from all over the world. Each train was packed with people, and a new world miracle called them to Paris. How did this miracle unfold? "A splendid flower of art and industry," they said, "bloomed on the wasteland of the Place des Mars, like a gigantic sunflower6 . From its petals one can learn geography and statistics, one can learn the crafts of master craftsmen, improve the quality of art and poetry, and recognize the size and achievements of nations." -- "A fairy-tale flower," said some others. "A bright and colorful lotus flower. It spreads its green leaves over the land like a velvet carpet, and blooms in the early spring season. In summer everyone can enjoy its beauty in its full bloom; the storms of fall will blow it away, leaving not even leaves or roots."
Outside the Military School stretches a peacetime battlefield; a grassless sandy field, cut from the great deserts of Africa. There the Fairy Morgana displays her marvelous pavilions and gardens in the sky. The pavilions and gardens of Mars Square are yet more magnificent and more marvelous. For through the handiwork of able craftsmen, the visions have become facts.
"The modern Aladdin's Palace has appeared!" Came the voice. With each passing day, each passing moment, it revealed more splendor. Endless halls were built out of marble, one colorful. "The Bloodless Master" (7) waved its limbs in the rotunda of machinery. Metal, stone and textile artifacts displayed the spirit of the world. The Hall of Plastic Arts was a blossom of flowers, where everything that people could produce with their wits and hands in the craftsman's workshop was on display. Even the remnants of ancient palaces and peat bogs make an appearance here.
Those huge, colorful sights had to be miniaturized to the size of a toy so that they could be displayed elsewhere, so that people could understand and see it in its full glory. Mars Square is like a giant Christmas banquet table with the Aladdin's palace of industry and art on it. Around it are displayed objects from every country, objects of pride: every nation has something to commemorate its country.
Here are the royal palaces of Egypt, the long lines of caravans of the desert countries; the nomadic Bedouins ⑧ coming from the land of the sun and hurrying past on camels; here are the Russian stables with their steppe steeds of fierce temperament; the Danish grass-roofed farmhouses with their Danish flags, and the beautiful wood-carved houses of the valley of the Gustavian Vasa age in Sweden, are close by; the ranch-houses of America, the country cottages of England, the pavilions, the cottages, the houses, and the houses of France, and the houses, and the cottages, and the cottages, and the cottages of France. American ranch-houses, English country cottages, and French pavilions, stores, churches, and theaters are wonderfully arranged. In between are green lawns, bright running water, flowering bushes, rare trees, and glass conservatories. Here you cannot help feeling that you are in a tropical jungle, with vast rose gardens brought from Damascus in full bloom under the roofs. How colorful and fragrant!
The artificial stalactite caves with their freshwater and brackish lakes show the kingdom of fish; one stands at the bottom of the sea between fish and hydroids.
All this, they say, is displayed in Mars Square. Around this sumptuous table of feasting the crowd crowded like ants, pushing and shoving; some on foot, some in pony-carriages, and the legs of all could not support so fatiguing a visit. From early in the morning until dark the people were continually thronging thither. Steamboat after steamboat full of people sailed across the Seine, and the number of cars was constantly increasing. The number of people on foot and in cars increased, and the railroad cars and public **** carriages were crowded with people. All were converging toward one goal: the Paris Exposition! The French flag hung at all the entrances, and the flags of the various countries hung outside the exhibition rooms. Machines roared in the machine-halls; the bells of the church belfry played music, and the sound of the organ came from the churches; rough, hoarse songs mingled together from the cafes of the Oriental countries. It was as if it were a country of Babel.9 The language of Babel, a wonder of the world. It did seem so; that's what the reports about the fair said, and who hadn't heard it? Tree spirits know all about the "new wonders" of the city within the city. "Fly, you birds! Fly over there and see and come back and talk!" This is the plea of the Tree Spirit.
This longing became a desire, a longing for life - and so, in the peace and silence of the night, when the full moon was shining brightly, the tree spirit saw a spark fly out of the moon, and it fell as brightly as a shooting star.
The leaves trembled as if blown by a violent wind, and a bright form appeared in front of the tree. It shot out a bright light between the branches of the tree in a soft but intense way like the end of the world; it was like the summer sun. Stars appeared in the sky, the same stars the tree spirit had seen in her homeland; and she felt a refreshing breath of fresh air blowing in. She felt replenished and energized, feeling every leaf gain vitality, even the very tips of the tree's roots. She felt like she existed in this world of active people, watched by gentle eyes.
She was surrounded by bursts of noise, music, color, and radiance.
From one side of the alley came dance music played by wind instruments and accordions. Yes, dance! Dance! Have fun, the music called out.
It was music that men, horses, cars, trees, and houses should dance to, if they could dance at all; and a heady joy welled up in the tree-spirit's breast. "How happy, how wonderful!" She cheered. "I have reached Paris!" The day that followed, the new night and the day and night that followed, brought the same scenes, the same activities, the same life, cyclical but always the same.
"Now I know every tree and every flower in the square! I recognize every house, every terrace and store here. How I was settled in such a closed nook, with not the slightest glimpse of the magnificent metropolis. Where are the Arc de Triomphe, the Boulevard and the Wonders of the World? How come I didn't see any of these things? I stood in the middle of these tall buildings as if I were in a cage. Where are the words, the posters, the signs on the walls of these buildings, which I can now recite by heart, and the piles of food that are no longer to my liking, but where is all that I have heard of, know, aspire to, for which I have come? What have I enjoyed, acquired and discovered! I am still as eager as ever; I feel a life which I must grasp, which I must live! I must take part in life! To leap there, to fly like a bird, To watch, to empathize, to be a true man, Rather live half a day of such a life, Than live years and years in weariness and dreariness; A life that sinks me, and fades like a mist on the grass. I will shine like a cloud in the sunshine of life; like a cloud that can look out into the distance, and fly like a cloud that flies who knows where!" This was the tree-spirit's sigh, which turned into a prayer, "Take the rest of my life, give me half the life of a mayfly! Deliver me from my prison! Give me the life of a man, a short human moment of joy, and if it must be so, give me this night today, and punish me for this bold request, this longing for life! Let me out, and let this house of mine, this fresh, young tree, wither and fall, and become ashes to the wind!" The branches of the tree rustled and produced a tickling sensation. Every leaf trembled as if it had given birth to a spark, or a spark had come splashing in from outside. A gale of wind blew through the canopy, and in the midst of the storm appeared the form of a woman who was a tree spirit. Suddenly she was sitting under a leafy branch illuminated by a gas lamp, young and beautiful, like poor Mary, of whom it had been said, "That big city will bring disaster upon you!"
The tree-spirit sat by the roots of the tree, in front of her house. She had locked the door and thrown away the key. She was so young and so beautiful! The stars saw her and winked at her, the gas lamps saw her and flickered and waved at her! How slender yet how fit she is. She is a child yet a mature girl. Her dress was as delicate as silk, as green as the new leaves blooming in the canopy of the trees; in her chestnut hair was a half-bloomed chestnut flower; she was like the goddess of spring. She sat still only a little while, and then she jumped up, and flew like a gazelle out of that place into the street. She ran and jumped like a mirror placed in the sun's rays, reflecting a beam of light which was constantly moving, now here, now there; and how marvelous it would be if one who looked closely could see what one actually saw! The hue of her dress and form varied with the character of the place where she paused, and with the light which the room beamed upon her clothes.
She came out into the avenue. The light from the street lamps, from the gas lamps of the stores and cafes, merged into a sea of light. Young, slender trees were lined up here in neat rows, each hiding its own tree spirit from the artificial sunlight. The endless sidewalk resembled a huge banquet hall; it was decorated with all kinds of food, from champagne and carter's nettles to coffee and beer. There were also flowers, pictures, sculptures, books and colorful clothing.
She looked out from the crowd under the high floor to the terrible tide of people beyond the trees; yonder was an undulating wave of rolling cars, two-wheeled caravans pulled by a single horse, sedans, public **** carriages, streetcars, gentlemen on horseback, and soldiers marching in procession. To walk across the street was to risk one's life. One moment there were blue fireworks, the next gas lights. Suddenly a rocket rushes into the sky; where did it come from and where did it shoot?
Obviously, this is the Avenue of the World!
On this side came a soft Italian song, and over there a Spanish song with a rattling accompaniment. But strongest of all, drowning everything, was the popular music played by the octave, the stimulating cancan (13), which even Orfeo (14) didn't know, and the beautiful Helena (15) hadn't heard, and even the one-wheeled cart couldn't help wanting to dance on that one-wheeled wheel of his, if only it could dance. The tree-spirit danced and whirled and leaped and changed colors like a hummingbird in the sunlight, for every house and everything in it reflected off her.
She floated away like a toothed water lily (16) with a broken stem as the water swirled. Every time she stops at a place, she takes on a new image, so that no one can follow her, recognize her, or see her.
Everything flew by her like a vision in the clouds, one face after another but she did not recognize any of them, she did not see anyone from her homeland. Two shining eyes came into her mind: she thought of Mary, poor Mary! this cheerful child in rags, with a red flower in her hair. You know that she is rich and radiant in the great cities of this world, as she was when she rode past the parson's house, the tree of the tree-spirit, and the old oak tree.