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A Christmas Tree: A Christmas Tree by Charles Dickens
A Christmas Tree
by Charles Dickens
by Charles Dickens
48 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1850
30 people are currently reading
493 people want to read
About the author
Charles Dickens
12.6k books31.3k followersCharles John Huffam Dickens (1812-1870) was a writer and social critic who created some of the world's best-known fictional characters and is regarded as the greatest novelist of the Victorian era. His works enjoyed unprecedented popularity during his lifetime, and by the twentieth century critics and scholars had recognised him as a literary genius. His novels and short stories enjoy lasting popularity.
Dickens left school to work in a factory when his father was incarcerated in a debtors' prison. Despite his lack of formal education, he edited a weekly journal for 20 years, wrote 15 novels, five novellas, hundreds of short stories and non-fiction articles, lectured and performed extensively, was an indefatigable letter writer, and campaigned vigorously for children's rights, education, and other social reforms.
Dickens was regarded as the literary colossus of his age. His 1843 novella, A Christmas Carol, remains popular and continues to inspire adaptations in every artistic genre. Oliver Twist and Great Expectations are also frequently adapted, and, like many of his novels, evoke images of early Victorian London. His 1859 novel, A Tale of Two Cities, set in London and Paris, is his best-known work of historical fiction. Dickens's creative genius has been praised by fellow writers—from Leo Tolstoy to George Orwell and G. K. Chesterton—for its realism, comedy, prose style, unique characterisations, and social criticism. On the other hand, Oscar Wilde, Henry James, and Virginia Woolf complained of a lack of psychological depth, loose writing, and a vein of saccharine sentimentalism. The term Dickensian is used to describe something that is reminiscent of Dickens and his writings, such as poor social conditions or comically repulsive characters.
On 8 June 1870, Dickens suffered another stroke at his home after a full day's work on Edwin Drood. He never regained consciousness, and the next day he died at Gad's Hill Place. Contrary to his wish to be buried at Rochester Cathedral "in an inexpensive, unostentatious, and strictly private manner," he was laid to rest in the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey. A printed epitaph circulated at the time of the funeral reads: "To the Memory of Charles Dickens (England's most popular author) who died at his residence, Higham, near Rochester, Kent, 9 June 1870, aged 58 years. He was a sympathiser with the poor, the suffering, and the oppressed; and by his death, one of England's greatest writers is lost to the world." His last words were: "On the ground", in response to his sister-in-law Georgina's request that he lie down.
(from Wikipedia)
Dickens left school to work in a factory when his father was incarcerated in a debtors' prison. Despite his lack of formal education, he edited a weekly journal for 20 years, wrote 15 novels, five novellas, hundreds of short stories and non-fiction articles, lectured and performed extensively, was an indefatigable letter writer, and campaigned vigorously for children's rights, education, and other social reforms.
Dickens was regarded as the literary colossus of his age. His 1843 novella, A Christmas Carol, remains popular and continues to inspire adaptations in every artistic genre. Oliver Twist and Great Expectations are also frequently adapted, and, like many of his novels, evoke images of early Victorian London. His 1859 novel, A Tale of Two Cities, set in London and Paris, is his best-known work of historical fiction. Dickens's creative genius has been praised by fellow writers—from Leo Tolstoy to George Orwell and G. K. Chesterton—for its realism, comedy, prose style, unique characterisations, and social criticism. On the other hand, Oscar Wilde, Henry James, and Virginia Woolf complained of a lack of psychological depth, loose writing, and a vein of saccharine sentimentalism. The term Dickensian is used to describe something that is reminiscent of Dickens and his writings, such as poor social conditions or comically repulsive characters.
On 8 June 1870, Dickens suffered another stroke at his home after a full day's work on Edwin Drood. He never regained consciousness, and the next day he died at Gad's Hill Place. Contrary to his wish to be buried at Rochester Cathedral "in an inexpensive, unostentatious, and strictly private manner," he was laid to rest in the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey. A printed epitaph circulated at the time of the funeral reads: "To the Memory of Charles Dickens (England's most popular author) who died at his residence, Higham, near Rochester, Kent, 9 June 1870, aged 58 years. He was a sympathiser with the poor, the suffering, and the oppressed; and by his death, one of England's greatest writers is lost to the world." His last words were: "On the ground", in response to his sister-in-law Georgina's request that he lie down.
(from Wikipedia)
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December 10, 2024
Imagine, if you will …
It is the evening of Christmas Day. You are safely ensconced in your favourite armchair by the fire. The logs crackle, and fronds of fragrant wood smoke fill the air; a feeling of contentment surrounds you. Joyful sounds come from the near distance; the murmur of adult voices, the excited squeals and chatter of children. Meanwhile you doze and dream; replete with special festive fare, your choice of drink at your elbow. The lights are dim, but the Christmas tree sparkles, and happy memories reach out to you. You gaze fondly at the Christmas tree, and once again live those wonderful moments.
The mood is set for A Christmas Tree, by Charles Dickens.
The tradition of bringing a fir tree into our houses at Christmas seems to date from time immemorial, at least in England, but that is not the case. It began comparatively recently—in Queen Victoria’s reign—when Prince Albert, her German consort, introduced the Christmas tree into this country in 1840.
Only a mere ten years later, in 1850, Charles Dickens penned A Christmas Tree. Before then, nobody in England had ever placed a Christmas tree in their home. How surprised they might have been, to know what a solid tradition it would become; at the heart of the Christmas festivities. And now, we are more likely to associate a Christmas tree with Charles Dickens. Along with plum puddings, a sumptuous repast, old-fashioned sweets, family games and theatricals and the exchanging of small gift, these all seem to comprise a typical “Dickensian” Christmas.
It is strange in a way then, that this story is not better known. Certainly there can be few people who do not know the story of “A Christmas Carol”—at least from the many dramatisations, films, and book adaptations, if not from reading the original text. It is a perennial delight, to countless people. And even though Dickens dashed it off in six weeks, he knew it was something special at the time.
“A Christmas Carol” was originally published in the Christmas of 1843, and was an overnight success. So much so, that the public clamoured for a Christmas story from Charles Dickens every year. Each year for five years, he duly wrote a new “Christmas book”: a novella, and included these in the Christmas issue of his weekly magazine, “Household Words”.
But by 1850, after the last one, “The Haunted Man”, Dickens had begun to tire of writing yet another Christmas story. So he abandoned the “Christmas Books”, although, being the canny businessman he was, and with an eye to his audience’s tastes, he continued his tradition of writing an annual story at Christmas. He published these shorter stories in his new magazine “All the Year Round”. The first of these is A Christmas Tree.
A Christmas Tree has a very different feel from any of its predecessors, and barely counts as a “story” at all. It is a series of impressions, or fantastical images. Just as “A Christmas Carol” is not a song, as one might expect, A Christmas Tree is not really about a literal tree. Certainly a tree is central to the piece, but the title is more of a metaphor in the same way as “A Christmas Carol”. A carol tells a story, but this “tree” is more of a concept, or linking device, serving to hold Dickens’s dreams together, as his images grow clear.
We are thrust instantly into his vision:
“It was brilliantly lighted by a multitude of little tapers; and everywhere sparkled and glittered with bright objects”
and into our minds come all our own Christmas trees; all those we have ever experienced through the years. They are all special. Ask any five year old if they remember the Christmas tree, and their face will light up. Nostalgia is not just for the elderly.
Yet nostalgia is what this delightful piece is about. As I read on, with the narrator describing in detail the toys on the Christmas tree, I am thrust in my mind back to my grandmother’s tree. On Dickens’s tree there were little dolls, watches and dolls furniture “as if in preparation for some fairy housekeeping”, little wooden men full of sugarplums, tiny musical instruments, books and paint boxes, weapons and witches, “real fruit, made artificially dazzling with gold leaf” —a veritable cornucopia of toys, as well as what Dickens thought of as dainty objects. Enough of a motley assortment to make a child remark in delight: “There was everything, and more.”
Dickens’s power of description is such that I was enchanted by the early part of this tale. It was not only the vividness of Dickens’s detailed descriptions of the the ornaments, but the veracity of them too. So many of them I recognised with wonder and joy, and was immediately transported in my mind to my own childhood.
My grandmother was born in 1880, just thirty years after this story was written. She had many of these wooden tree ornaments—which were more like toys than any now—and sweets, and even fabric bows and flowers. Reading Dickens’s descriptions was a delight; giving me a powerful surge of nostalgia. My parents’ tree also had some more contemporary ornaments. There was tinsel, and my favourites: bright metallic coloured glass balls and torpedos, with shimmering concave insides. And beautiful multi-coloured fairy lights; electric miracles I am sure Dickens would have appreciated. The first time the the switch was fired, we would all hold our breath. Would the magic work?
And as I look at my own tree now, (yes, I am writing this on Christmas Day), I see that it may be fibre-optic wizardry, but with a few special ornaments. With a jolt, I see golden apples, and miniature musical instruments, much as Dickens would have had. And of, course, the fairy, in her old tattered pale blue dress. She sparkles benignly down on us. I am not sure why she is a “fairy” and not an “angel”, but this is what we always called her, and Dickens too loves his fairies and sprites.
Alone, the narrator’s musings become less pleasant, resulting in frightening images. Perhaps like his predecessor, Ebeneezer Scrooge, he has succumbed to the unfamiliar rich festive fare, and his mind is affected by “an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato.” Blearily the toys become ghastly grotesques in his mind, and he quavers: “When did that dreadful Mask first look at me?”
Dickens understands the feelings and sensations of a child so intimately. I too had a “toy” of which I was terrified. It was a night light—something designed to make me less fearful of the dark—but this hideous yellow glowing pig with its ghastly grin gave me nightmares. Sobbing, I confessed my fears to my parents, who removed it for evermore. I completely understood Dickens rejecting any reassurance that the mask was made of paper, or to have it locked up so that no one wore it. “The mere recollection of that fixed face, the mere knowledge of its existence anywhere, was sufficient to awake me in the night all perspiration and horror, with, “O I know it’s coming! O the mask!”” Logic has no part in a child’s fears.
My toys were “real” little people to me, as they are to many children. My fairy was a remote but beautiful glittering presence, and a little doll on the Christmas tree, for Dickens: “She was my first love. I felt that if I could have married Little Red Riding–Hood, I should have known perfect bliss.” He immerses himself in the world of story and myth; his fears becoming the fears of fables and stories. Dickens dreams of many worlds, many imaginings familiar to us too; of giants and potentates, images from the Arabian Nights melding with Robinson Crusoe, or those from Biblical tales. All is grist to Dickens’s mill in his imaginative horror:
“My very rocking–horse,—there he is, with his nostrils turned completely inside–out, indicative of Blood!—should have a peg in his neck, by virtue thereof to fly away with me, as the wooden horse did with the Prince of Persia, in the sight of all his father’s Court.”
And in our mind’s eye we see the small child, quivering in a terror of his own making. This is real, as real as the detail we can almost smell and touch:
“Consider Noah and his family, like idiotic tobacco–stoppers; and how the leopard stuck to warm little fingers; and how the tails of the larger animals used gradually to resolve themselves into frayed bits of string!”
And we wryly recognise the the familiar devices to teach the alphabet: “A was an archer…” Of course he was. He was an apple–pie also, and there he is! He was a good many things in his time, was A, and … Y, who was always confined to a Yacht or a Yew Tree; and Z condemned for ever to be a Zebra …”.
We have more fantastical images and impression of tales, of merchants and genies, peasants and ghouls—a hideous and indistinct, “immense array of shapeless things” which as with Scrooge, may be “the result of indigestion, assisted by imagination and over–doctoring—a prodigious nightmare.”
And “I descry remembrances of winter nights incredibly long; of being sent early to bed, as a punishment for some small offence, and waking in two hours, with a sensation of having been asleep two nights; of the laden hopelessness of morning ever dawning; and the oppression of a weight of remorse.”
Oh yes, the cardinal sin of being sent to bed. And in my case, the intermittent call upstairs of “Are you sorry yet?” and my firm stubborn reply “No!” I was not one to be cajoled and bribed into lying by the thought of joining in the throng, tempting though it was. How my parents must have smiled to themselves.
How was Dickens lifted from his sadness? Why, by the theatre!
“And now, I see a wonderful row of little lights rise smoothly out of the ground, before a vast green curtain. Now, a bell rings—a magic bell, which still sounds in my ears unlike all other bells—and music plays, amidst a buzz of voices”
The theatre was to remain his first love, all through his life. To be sure he wrote novels to earn enough to pay the bills for his large family, (and those of his squandering parents), and had his hands in many ventures, but it was his love of the theatre which ran through his veins, and directing and acting always drew him back. Here we see his childhood visions; his; “toy–theatre,—there it is, with its familiar proscenium, and ladies in feathers, in the boxes!” and glimpse all his favourite scenarios, including of course, his fairy amour: “wanting to live for ever in the bright atmosphere I have quitted; of doting on the little Fairy, with the wand like a celestial Barber’s Pole, and pining for a Fairy immortality along with her.”
Gradually Dickens meanders down to the lower levels of the Christmas tree, remembering school days from which:
“We all come home, or ought to come home, for a short holiday—the longer, the better … to take, and give a rest … going a visiting … starting our fancy from our Christmas Tree!”
One section of “A Christmas Carol” describes the third spirit taking Scrooge across the ocean, to view the sailors celebrating. And now, A Christmas Tree mirrors those impressions and thoughts. We fly in our imaginations to a great house—but what a house—full of “grim portraits (some of them with grim legends, too)”. And we have yet another voice for the narrative.
No longer are we the elderly man, nor the young child, but a middle–aged nobleman, in a very old room, hung with tapestry. “We don’t like the portrait of a cavalier in green, over the fireplace”. It is a forbidding country house, with great black beams in the ceiling, and a bedstead, complete with carved black figures, reminiscent of those on tombstones. “But, we are not a superstitious nobleman, and we don’t mind.”
Thus the scene is set for ghostly visitations and visions. The nobleman from history tosses and turns, unable to sleep. He—we—get more and more nervous. A young woman, pale as death, enters and glides across the room, sitting down and wringing her hands. We learn her story, and relate it to our host, who gives us more details of this tragic tale. Our host wants it hushed up; and so it is. “But, it’s all true; and we said so, before we died (we are dead now) to many responsible people.”
From an old man, to a child, to a nobleman to a ghost.
Other ghost stories follow, in which Dickens dispels some of the terror by using absurdly frivolous names, such as: “Charles Macdoodle of Macdoodle”. These echo other ghost stories, which pepper the works of Charles Dickens, or his friend Edgar Allan Poe. “… a certain bad lord, baronet, knight, or gentleman, shot himself, has certain planks in the floor from which the blood WILL NOT be taken out.” A clock, striking thirteen at the midnight hour, when the head of the family is going to die. The sounds of carriages, driving round and round the terrace overnight, presaging death. An agreement between two young fellows, that the first to die would visit the other “from another world”. A beautiful girl, just seventeen years of age (Dickens’s heroines are almost always “just seventeen years of age” as this is the age at which his much-loved sister-in-law, Mary Hogarth, tragically died; an episode from which he never recovered) residing in a picturesque Elizabethan house, who came face to face with herself one twilit evening, and died that very night. A visitation from a cousin, known to be in India, but who had died at the precise time of the vision. The sensible old maiden lady, who “really did see the Orphan Boy”.
Are we still the persona of the ghost, recalling all these gothic tales? We seem to have drawn back a little, thinking of German castles, and sitting up alone to wait for the Spectre. But Dickens reins us in, reminding us of the Christmas tree: “Vast is the crop of such fruit, shining on our Christmas Tree; in blossom, almost at the very top; ripening all down the boughs!” We are mortal once more, nearly back at its base, and ready to reenter the real world.
We look once again back up the tree, and see some blank spaces, representing those we have loved who have died, or visions which can no longer be seen. But fully present, and glad to be alive with all his memories, the narrator hears a “whisper going through the leaves”, a realisation which appeals to all despite their faith. We have a wonderful human ability to remember and conjure up such images, triggered by the Christmas tree.
Dickens’s power of persuasion is at its peak in this piece. If you expect a story you may be disappointed. But there is something here to appeal to everyone, whether it is nostalgia you crave at this time of year, or ghost stories. Dickens weaves them together, using an ingenious range of different voices. Simply wonderful!
It is the evening of Christmas Day. You are safely ensconced in your favourite armchair by the fire. The logs crackle, and fronds of fragrant wood smoke fill the air; a feeling of contentment surrounds you. Joyful sounds come from the near distance; the murmur of adult voices, the excited squeals and chatter of children. Meanwhile you doze and dream; replete with special festive fare, your choice of drink at your elbow. The lights are dim, but the Christmas tree sparkles, and happy memories reach out to you. You gaze fondly at the Christmas tree, and once again live those wonderful moments.
The mood is set for A Christmas Tree, by Charles Dickens.
The tradition of bringing a fir tree into our houses at Christmas seems to date from time immemorial, at least in England, but that is not the case. It began comparatively recently—in Queen Victoria’s reign—when Prince Albert, her German consort, introduced the Christmas tree into this country in 1840.
Only a mere ten years later, in 1850, Charles Dickens penned A Christmas Tree. Before then, nobody in England had ever placed a Christmas tree in their home. How surprised they might have been, to know what a solid tradition it would become; at the heart of the Christmas festivities. And now, we are more likely to associate a Christmas tree with Charles Dickens. Along with plum puddings, a sumptuous repast, old-fashioned sweets, family games and theatricals and the exchanging of small gift, these all seem to comprise a typical “Dickensian” Christmas.
It is strange in a way then, that this story is not better known. Certainly there can be few people who do not know the story of “A Christmas Carol”—at least from the many dramatisations, films, and book adaptations, if not from reading the original text. It is a perennial delight, to countless people. And even though Dickens dashed it off in six weeks, he knew it was something special at the time.
“A Christmas Carol” was originally published in the Christmas of 1843, and was an overnight success. So much so, that the public clamoured for a Christmas story from Charles Dickens every year. Each year for five years, he duly wrote a new “Christmas book”: a novella, and included these in the Christmas issue of his weekly magazine, “Household Words”.
But by 1850, after the last one, “The Haunted Man”, Dickens had begun to tire of writing yet another Christmas story. So he abandoned the “Christmas Books”, although, being the canny businessman he was, and with an eye to his audience’s tastes, he continued his tradition of writing an annual story at Christmas. He published these shorter stories in his new magazine “All the Year Round”. The first of these is A Christmas Tree.
A Christmas Tree has a very different feel from any of its predecessors, and barely counts as a “story” at all. It is a series of impressions, or fantastical images. Just as “A Christmas Carol” is not a song, as one might expect, A Christmas Tree is not really about a literal tree. Certainly a tree is central to the piece, but the title is more of a metaphor in the same way as “A Christmas Carol”. A carol tells a story, but this “tree” is more of a concept, or linking device, serving to hold Dickens’s dreams together, as his images grow clear.
We are thrust instantly into his vision:
“It was brilliantly lighted by a multitude of little tapers; and everywhere sparkled and glittered with bright objects”
and into our minds come all our own Christmas trees; all those we have ever experienced through the years. They are all special. Ask any five year old if they remember the Christmas tree, and their face will light up. Nostalgia is not just for the elderly.
Yet nostalgia is what this delightful piece is about. As I read on, with the narrator describing in detail the toys on the Christmas tree, I am thrust in my mind back to my grandmother’s tree. On Dickens’s tree there were little dolls, watches and dolls furniture “as if in preparation for some fairy housekeeping”, little wooden men full of sugarplums, tiny musical instruments, books and paint boxes, weapons and witches, “real fruit, made artificially dazzling with gold leaf” —a veritable cornucopia of toys, as well as what Dickens thought of as dainty objects. Enough of a motley assortment to make a child remark in delight: “There was everything, and more.”
Dickens’s power of description is such that I was enchanted by the early part of this tale. It was not only the vividness of Dickens’s detailed descriptions of the the ornaments, but the veracity of them too. So many of them I recognised with wonder and joy, and was immediately transported in my mind to my own childhood.
My grandmother was born in 1880, just thirty years after this story was written. She had many of these wooden tree ornaments—which were more like toys than any now—and sweets, and even fabric bows and flowers. Reading Dickens’s descriptions was a delight; giving me a powerful surge of nostalgia. My parents’ tree also had some more contemporary ornaments. There was tinsel, and my favourites: bright metallic coloured glass balls and torpedos, with shimmering concave insides. And beautiful multi-coloured fairy lights; electric miracles I am sure Dickens would have appreciated. The first time the the switch was fired, we would all hold our breath. Would the magic work?
And as I look at my own tree now, (yes, I am writing this on Christmas Day), I see that it may be fibre-optic wizardry, but with a few special ornaments. With a jolt, I see golden apples, and miniature musical instruments, much as Dickens would have had. And of, course, the fairy, in her old tattered pale blue dress. She sparkles benignly down on us. I am not sure why she is a “fairy” and not an “angel”, but this is what we always called her, and Dickens too loves his fairies and sprites.
Alone, the narrator’s musings become less pleasant, resulting in frightening images. Perhaps like his predecessor, Ebeneezer Scrooge, he has succumbed to the unfamiliar rich festive fare, and his mind is affected by “an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato.” Blearily the toys become ghastly grotesques in his mind, and he quavers: “When did that dreadful Mask first look at me?”
Dickens understands the feelings and sensations of a child so intimately. I too had a “toy” of which I was terrified. It was a night light—something designed to make me less fearful of the dark—but this hideous yellow glowing pig with its ghastly grin gave me nightmares. Sobbing, I confessed my fears to my parents, who removed it for evermore. I completely understood Dickens rejecting any reassurance that the mask was made of paper, or to have it locked up so that no one wore it. “The mere recollection of that fixed face, the mere knowledge of its existence anywhere, was sufficient to awake me in the night all perspiration and horror, with, “O I know it’s coming! O the mask!”” Logic has no part in a child’s fears.
My toys were “real” little people to me, as they are to many children. My fairy was a remote but beautiful glittering presence, and a little doll on the Christmas tree, for Dickens: “She was my first love. I felt that if I could have married Little Red Riding–Hood, I should have known perfect bliss.” He immerses himself in the world of story and myth; his fears becoming the fears of fables and stories. Dickens dreams of many worlds, many imaginings familiar to us too; of giants and potentates, images from the Arabian Nights melding with Robinson Crusoe, or those from Biblical tales. All is grist to Dickens’s mill in his imaginative horror:
“My very rocking–horse,—there he is, with his nostrils turned completely inside–out, indicative of Blood!—should have a peg in his neck, by virtue thereof to fly away with me, as the wooden horse did with the Prince of Persia, in the sight of all his father’s Court.”
And in our mind’s eye we see the small child, quivering in a terror of his own making. This is real, as real as the detail we can almost smell and touch:
“Consider Noah and his family, like idiotic tobacco–stoppers; and how the leopard stuck to warm little fingers; and how the tails of the larger animals used gradually to resolve themselves into frayed bits of string!”
And we wryly recognise the the familiar devices to teach the alphabet: “A was an archer…” Of course he was. He was an apple–pie also, and there he is! He was a good many things in his time, was A, and … Y, who was always confined to a Yacht or a Yew Tree; and Z condemned for ever to be a Zebra …”.
We have more fantastical images and impression of tales, of merchants and genies, peasants and ghouls—a hideous and indistinct, “immense array of shapeless things” which as with Scrooge, may be “the result of indigestion, assisted by imagination and over–doctoring—a prodigious nightmare.”
And “I descry remembrances of winter nights incredibly long; of being sent early to bed, as a punishment for some small offence, and waking in two hours, with a sensation of having been asleep two nights; of the laden hopelessness of morning ever dawning; and the oppression of a weight of remorse.”
Oh yes, the cardinal sin of being sent to bed. And in my case, the intermittent call upstairs of “Are you sorry yet?” and my firm stubborn reply “No!” I was not one to be cajoled and bribed into lying by the thought of joining in the throng, tempting though it was. How my parents must have smiled to themselves.
How was Dickens lifted from his sadness? Why, by the theatre!
“And now, I see a wonderful row of little lights rise smoothly out of the ground, before a vast green curtain. Now, a bell rings—a magic bell, which still sounds in my ears unlike all other bells—and music plays, amidst a buzz of voices”
The theatre was to remain his first love, all through his life. To be sure he wrote novels to earn enough to pay the bills for his large family, (and those of his squandering parents), and had his hands in many ventures, but it was his love of the theatre which ran through his veins, and directing and acting always drew him back. Here we see his childhood visions; his; “toy–theatre,—there it is, with its familiar proscenium, and ladies in feathers, in the boxes!” and glimpse all his favourite scenarios, including of course, his fairy amour: “wanting to live for ever in the bright atmosphere I have quitted; of doting on the little Fairy, with the wand like a celestial Barber’s Pole, and pining for a Fairy immortality along with her.”
Gradually Dickens meanders down to the lower levels of the Christmas tree, remembering school days from which:
“We all come home, or ought to come home, for a short holiday—the longer, the better … to take, and give a rest … going a visiting … starting our fancy from our Christmas Tree!”
One section of “A Christmas Carol” describes the third spirit taking Scrooge across the ocean, to view the sailors celebrating. And now, A Christmas Tree mirrors those impressions and thoughts. We fly in our imaginations to a great house—but what a house—full of “grim portraits (some of them with grim legends, too)”. And we have yet another voice for the narrative.
No longer are we the elderly man, nor the young child, but a middle–aged nobleman, in a very old room, hung with tapestry. “We don’t like the portrait of a cavalier in green, over the fireplace”. It is a forbidding country house, with great black beams in the ceiling, and a bedstead, complete with carved black figures, reminiscent of those on tombstones. “But, we are not a superstitious nobleman, and we don’t mind.”
Thus the scene is set for ghostly visitations and visions. The nobleman from history tosses and turns, unable to sleep. He—we—get more and more nervous. A young woman, pale as death, enters and glides across the room, sitting down and wringing her hands. We learn her story, and relate it to our host, who gives us more details of this tragic tale. Our host wants it hushed up; and so it is. “But, it’s all true; and we said so, before we died (we are dead now) to many responsible people.”
From an old man, to a child, to a nobleman to a ghost.
Other ghost stories follow, in which Dickens dispels some of the terror by using absurdly frivolous names, such as: “Charles Macdoodle of Macdoodle”. These echo other ghost stories, which pepper the works of Charles Dickens, or his friend Edgar Allan Poe. “… a certain bad lord, baronet, knight, or gentleman, shot himself, has certain planks in the floor from which the blood WILL NOT be taken out.” A clock, striking thirteen at the midnight hour, when the head of the family is going to die. The sounds of carriages, driving round and round the terrace overnight, presaging death. An agreement between two young fellows, that the first to die would visit the other “from another world”. A beautiful girl, just seventeen years of age (Dickens’s heroines are almost always “just seventeen years of age” as this is the age at which his much-loved sister-in-law, Mary Hogarth, tragically died; an episode from which he never recovered) residing in a picturesque Elizabethan house, who came face to face with herself one twilit evening, and died that very night. A visitation from a cousin, known to be in India, but who had died at the precise time of the vision. The sensible old maiden lady, who “really did see the Orphan Boy”.
Are we still the persona of the ghost, recalling all these gothic tales? We seem to have drawn back a little, thinking of German castles, and sitting up alone to wait for the Spectre. But Dickens reins us in, reminding us of the Christmas tree: “Vast is the crop of such fruit, shining on our Christmas Tree; in blossom, almost at the very top; ripening all down the boughs!” We are mortal once more, nearly back at its base, and ready to reenter the real world.
We look once again back up the tree, and see some blank spaces, representing those we have loved who have died, or visions which can no longer be seen. But fully present, and glad to be alive with all his memories, the narrator hears a “whisper going through the leaves”, a realisation which appeals to all despite their faith. We have a wonderful human ability to remember and conjure up such images, triggered by the Christmas tree.
Dickens’s power of persuasion is at its peak in this piece. If you expect a story you may be disappointed. But there is something here to appeal to everyone, whether it is nostalgia you crave at this time of year, or ghost stories. Dickens weaves them together, using an ingenious range of different voices. Simply wonderful!
August 18, 2022
I have been looking on, this evening, at a merry company of children assembled round that pretty German toy, a Christmas Tree.
A Christmas Tree ~~ Charles Dickens
I have no idea what to make of this. I'm not sure Dickens himself knew. Was this an ode to the Christmas Tree? Or was it supposed to be an homage to the the German toy, or was it a ghost story, or all three?
A Christmas Tree starts out very charming, becomes a bit rambling, and then out of nowhere becomes a ghost story that is being narrated by a ghosts ~~ how many we never know; they refer to themselves as "we". Then this story returns to being a tribute to Christmas trees once more. I'm scratching my head here, but it was enjoyable to inhabit Dickens' world regardless of how confusing this journey was.
A Christmas Tree ~~ Charles Dickens
I have no idea what to make of this. I'm not sure Dickens himself knew. Was this an ode to the Christmas Tree? Or was it supposed to be an homage to the the German toy, or was it a ghost story, or all three?
A Christmas Tree starts out very charming, becomes a bit rambling, and then out of nowhere becomes a ghost story that is being narrated by a ghosts ~~ how many we never know; they refer to themselves as "we". Then this story returns to being a tribute to Christmas trees once more. I'm scratching my head here, but it was enjoyable to inhabit Dickens' world regardless of how confusing this journey was.
December 18, 2022
2.5⭐ Possibly could be better with a different narrator. This guy puts me to sleep.
December 3, 2021
Now, too, I perceive my first experience of the dreary sensation— often to return in
after–life—of being unable, next day, to get back to the dull, settled
world; of wanting to live for ever in the bright atmosphere I have
quitted; of doting on the little Fairy, with the wand like a celestial
Barber’s Pole, and pining for a Fairy immortality along with her.
This is the lingering magic of Christmas as described by Charles Dickens in this short essay inspired by a Christmas tree. I enjoyed his descriptions of the trees, both the one he sees before him and the one he remembers from his youth, but what really made this special were the ghost stories he weaves into the later part of the piece. How skilled to be able to tell all these different stories, so short and in quick succession, and to make me feel as if I were sitting around a fire with friends and trading sensational stories, waiting for the great day to arrive.
after–life—of being unable, next day, to get back to the dull, settled
world; of wanting to live for ever in the bright atmosphere I have
quitted; of doting on the little Fairy, with the wand like a celestial
Barber’s Pole, and pining for a Fairy immortality along with her.
This is the lingering magic of Christmas as described by Charles Dickens in this short essay inspired by a Christmas tree. I enjoyed his descriptions of the trees, both the one he sees before him and the one he remembers from his youth, but what really made this special were the ghost stories he weaves into the later part of the piece. How skilled to be able to tell all these different stories, so short and in quick succession, and to make me feel as if I were sitting around a fire with friends and trading sensational stories, waiting for the great day to arrive.
December 16, 2020
In "A Christmas Tree" an older narrator takes a nostalgic look back at Christmas trees, decorations, and toys from his childhood. He appreciates the beauty and wonder of Christmas. He mentions going away to boarding school, and enjoying a return home during a Christmas break.
Then, there is a change in tone as the narrator reminisces about his adult years, and visiting friends in the countryside. They tell ghost stories around the fire on Christmas Eve. The aging narrator ends the work by returning to the present time, enjoying the magic of a Christmas tree.
Although "A Christmas Tree" is included with Dickens' annual Christmas stories, it feels more like a reflective essay. The transition from the description of the ornaments and toys to the ghost stories was so unexpected that it almost felt like two different works. I first just read the plain text of "A Christmas Tree," and was drawn into the ghost stories. Then, I reread it in a beautifully illustrated book, A Christmas Carol / A Christmas Tree, that really enhanced my appreciation for the descriptions of a lavish Victorian Christmas. I found that the library has lovely illustrated versions of Dickens' Christmas stories in the children's department that adults can also enjoy.
Then, there is a change in tone as the narrator reminisces about his adult years, and visiting friends in the countryside. They tell ghost stories around the fire on Christmas Eve. The aging narrator ends the work by returning to the present time, enjoying the magic of a Christmas tree.
Although "A Christmas Tree" is included with Dickens' annual Christmas stories, it feels more like a reflective essay. The transition from the description of the ornaments and toys to the ghost stories was so unexpected that it almost felt like two different works. I first just read the plain text of "A Christmas Tree," and was drawn into the ghost stories. Then, I reread it in a beautifully illustrated book, A Christmas Carol / A Christmas Tree, that really enhanced my appreciation for the descriptions of a lavish Victorian Christmas. I found that the library has lovely illustrated versions of Dickens' Christmas stories in the children's department that adults can also enjoy.
December 20, 2019
What You Can See in a Christmas Tree
… if you look hard enough, or if nostalgia overwhelms you, which is a thing that often happens to me at Christmas, too. A Christmas Tree is a story, or rather an essay, Dickens wrote in 1850 as the first of several shorter Christmas pieces after the better-known Christmas novels of the 40s, and it gives us the musings of a man who watches children play around a Christmas tree and then starts remembering his own childhood Christmasses, picturing the tree as a symbol of his life and the trappings hanging from its branches as references to his childhood and youth, passing from the toys he used to play with to the books he devoured as a child. Whereas the top of the tree represents his earliest childhood, the lower branches, partly still veiled in shadows, stand for his years as a grown man, and some empty twigs indicate that he has also learned to put up with losses of people that were dear to him.
As ghost stories were a must to Victorian Christmas, the narrator’s musings also drift into the realm of the supernatural and he gives us several short yarns, at least one of which I had the impression was to be picked up by Algernon Blackwood and to be turned into a longer short story. In this context, the narrator even gently pokes fun at the tradition and tropes of ghost stories, saying,
Going from this, you may well guess that the ghost part is the most entertaining of the whole essay, and you will probably be right. I am not saying that A Christmas Tree is something you had better waste no time on – far from it –, but you should be aware that it is not a narrative but more a reflective piece of writing, mostly nostalgic, sometimes a bit creepy and at other times, due to allusions that we may no longer understand, slightly incomprehensible. When it comes to Christmas in Dickens, there is nothing that beats our well-beloved Christmas Carol and the Pickwick scenes at Dingley Dell.
… if you look hard enough, or if nostalgia overwhelms you, which is a thing that often happens to me at Christmas, too. A Christmas Tree is a story, or rather an essay, Dickens wrote in 1850 as the first of several shorter Christmas pieces after the better-known Christmas novels of the 40s, and it gives us the musings of a man who watches children play around a Christmas tree and then starts remembering his own childhood Christmasses, picturing the tree as a symbol of his life and the trappings hanging from its branches as references to his childhood and youth, passing from the toys he used to play with to the books he devoured as a child. Whereas the top of the tree represents his earliest childhood, the lower branches, partly still veiled in shadows, stand for his years as a grown man, and some empty twigs indicate that he has also learned to put up with losses of people that were dear to him.
As ghost stories were a must to Victorian Christmas, the narrator’s musings also drift into the realm of the supernatural and he gives us several short yarns, at least one of which I had the impression was to be picked up by Algernon Blackwood and to be turned into a longer short story. In this context, the narrator even gently pokes fun at the tradition and tropes of ghost stories, saying,
“There is no end to the old houses, with resounding galleries, and dismal state-bedchambers, and haunted wings shut up for many years, through which we may ramble, with an agreeable creeping up our back, and encounter any number of ghosts, but (it is worthy of remark perhaps) reducible to a very few general types and classes; for, ghosts have little originality, and ‘walk‘ in a beaten track. Thus, it comes to pass, that a certain room in a certain old hall, where a certain bad lord, baronet, knight, or gentleman, shot himself, has certain planks in the floor from which the blood will not be taken out. You may scrape and scrape, as the present owner has done, or plane and plane, as his father did, or scrub and scrub, as his grandfather did, or burn and burn with strong acids, as his great- grandfather did, but, there the blood will still be—no redder and no paler—no more and no less—always just the same.“
Going from this, you may well guess that the ghost part is the most entertaining of the whole essay, and you will probably be right. I am not saying that A Christmas Tree is something you had better waste no time on – far from it –, but you should be aware that it is not a narrative but more a reflective piece of writing, mostly nostalgic, sometimes a bit creepy and at other times, due to allusions that we may no longer understand, slightly incomprehensible. When it comes to Christmas in Dickens, there is nothing that beats our well-beloved Christmas Carol and the Pickwick scenes at Dingley Dell.
December 9, 2023
This is a short story of a man and his memories of the Christmases in the past, each ornament bringing back another memory. Memories from his childhood that he begins to examine again, reliving moments in time that are in the past. Recalling simple moments, the smell of roasted chestnuts, the fires they sat around and shared ghost stories, the memories brought on by each precious ornament, a reminder of times past..
’Now, too, I perceive my first experience of the dreary sensation—often to return in after-life—of being unable, next day, to get back to the dull, settled world; of wanting to live forever in the bright atmosphere I have quitted; of doting on the little Fairy, with the wand like a celestial Barber’s Pole, and pining for a Fairy immortality along with her. Ah, she comes back, in many shapes as my eye wanders down the branches of my Christmas Tree, and goes as often, and has never yet stayed by me!
There is a sense of nostalgia, as he reminisces over the memories of Christmases in the past, along with some ghost stories that add a different aura, although these ‘ghost stories’ are mildly chilling, they add an element of surprise, and even some charm.
December 15, 2020
“Oh, now all common things become uncommon and enchanted to me.”
Isn’t that enchantment what Christmas is all about? In a way, this is a melancholy story, but still very Christmassy. Dickens seems to be doing what I have long done, which is to desperately try to capture and hold onto the magic of Christmas that we felt as children.
As we grow older, we’re drawn to nostalgia, but we can’t pick and choose the memories it brings. That seems to be what’s happening to Dickens here. Staring into his Christmas tree, he sees the layered branches of his life, adorned with toys and troubles, baubles and bad dreams.
The ghosts don’t stay away long, but Dickens is determined to tamp them down with Christmas magic.
“Now, too, I perceive my first experience of the dreary sensation--of being unable, next day, to get back to the dull, settled world; of wanting to live forever in the bright atmosphere I have quitted; of doting on the little Fairy, with the wand like a celestial Barber’s Pole, and pining for a Fairy immortality along with her.”
Isn’t that enchantment what Christmas is all about? In a way, this is a melancholy story, but still very Christmassy. Dickens seems to be doing what I have long done, which is to desperately try to capture and hold onto the magic of Christmas that we felt as children.
As we grow older, we’re drawn to nostalgia, but we can’t pick and choose the memories it brings. That seems to be what’s happening to Dickens here. Staring into his Christmas tree, he sees the layered branches of his life, adorned with toys and troubles, baubles and bad dreams.
The ghosts don’t stay away long, but Dickens is determined to tamp them down with Christmas magic.
“Now, too, I perceive my first experience of the dreary sensation--of being unable, next day, to get back to the dull, settled world; of wanting to live forever in the bright atmosphere I have quitted; of doting on the little Fairy, with the wand like a celestial Barber’s Pole, and pining for a Fairy immortality along with her.”
December 20, 2020
Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Tree" takes the reader on a nostalgic look at one's childhood. The narrator sits alone and remembers the joy and beauty and twinkling of the Christmas tree of his youth.
Being now at home again, and alone, the only person in the house awake, my thoughts are drawn back, by a fascination which I do not care to resist, to my own childhood. I begin to consider, what do we all remember best upon the branches of the Christmas Tree of our own young Christmas days, by which we climbed to real life.
The magnitude of the decorations are spectacular and draw one's self into one's own personal memories of trees long gone. In my own memories the tree is enormous and grand with tinsel and handmade ornaments and glittering lights as well as white branches to represent snow. I believe memory compared to reality is probably more grand but that is what makes the remembering so wonderful. There may be exaggeration, but the sweetness of the memory is still realistic.
The tree in this story is glorious with its decoration. Just imagine dolls, watches (real ones), miniature furniture, musical instruments, books , food and trinkets. The choice of words Dickens uses to describe this memory allow a visual picture to come alive in one's mind and to feel the joy the Christmas season evokes just by thinking about the Christmas tree.
Then the story becomes a remembrance of pasts haunts with old friends. The tone changes and becomes a bit more spooky. But Dickens is certainly known for adding ghosts to his Christmas stories. I think the narrator is viewing the tree as different levels of decoration and different enjoyments. He talks about the toys, the way they can come to life, the doll house, books, the theater. He remembers his favorite stories - Little Red Riding Hood, Robin Hood, Noah's ark. He also remembers the story of Christmas of Christ on the cross and other stories of the Bible that had meaning. The narrator connects Christmas to family and coming home which is what many of us try and desire to do at Christmastime today. Enjoying time together with people we love.
Now, the tree is decorated with bright merriment, and song, and dance, and cheerfulness. And they are welcome. Innocent and welcome be they ever held, beneath the branches of the Christmas Tree, which cast no gloomy shadow!
Being now at home again, and alone, the only person in the house awake, my thoughts are drawn back, by a fascination which I do not care to resist, to my own childhood. I begin to consider, what do we all remember best upon the branches of the Christmas Tree of our own young Christmas days, by which we climbed to real life.
The magnitude of the decorations are spectacular and draw one's self into one's own personal memories of trees long gone. In my own memories the tree is enormous and grand with tinsel and handmade ornaments and glittering lights as well as white branches to represent snow. I believe memory compared to reality is probably more grand but that is what makes the remembering so wonderful. There may be exaggeration, but the sweetness of the memory is still realistic.
The tree in this story is glorious with its decoration. Just imagine dolls, watches (real ones), miniature furniture, musical instruments, books , food and trinkets. The choice of words Dickens uses to describe this memory allow a visual picture to come alive in one's mind and to feel the joy the Christmas season evokes just by thinking about the Christmas tree.
Then the story becomes a remembrance of pasts haunts with old friends. The tone changes and becomes a bit more spooky. But Dickens is certainly known for adding ghosts to his Christmas stories. I think the narrator is viewing the tree as different levels of decoration and different enjoyments. He talks about the toys, the way they can come to life, the doll house, books, the theater. He remembers his favorite stories - Little Red Riding Hood, Robin Hood, Noah's ark. He also remembers the story of Christmas of Christ on the cross and other stories of the Bible that had meaning. The narrator connects Christmas to family and coming home which is what many of us try and desire to do at Christmastime today. Enjoying time together with people we love.
Now, the tree is decorated with bright merriment, and song, and dance, and cheerfulness. And they are welcome. Innocent and welcome be they ever held, beneath the branches of the Christmas Tree, which cast no gloomy shadow!
December 9, 2015
This story is what happens when one gets high and then stares at a Christmas tree too long.
December 15, 2021
In this short story Dickens describes an elaborate Christmas tree from the narrators childhood. The decorations are reminders of magical stories, the childrens eyes lighting up at the toys and there’s vivid descriptions. The story rambles along in typical Dickens fashion, with more ideas than he knows what to do with. The narrator’s reminiscences take him to later christmases and a list of ghost stories. There’s no real story here, but Dickens’s love for Christmas comes through.
December 14, 2020
I’ve realized that I do not care much for the nonfiction of Dickens. Part of the Christmas story collection of the famous author, The Christmas Tree starts with a look at the tree and he goes back to childhood memories. The narration and style is tedious and dry. I did not really enjoy it and I think I will pass on the rest of the Christmas collection. Saving my energy and Dickens tolerance to read his masterpieces in 2021.
December 2, 2021
Какое чудесное описание рождественской ёлки! Сейчас таких причудливых украшений нет - издержки массового производства. ��о совершенная загадка для меня это то, при чём здесь призраки?
December 24, 2024
As much as I love “A Christmas Carol” and some other works by Dickens, it’s hard for me to believe I missed this charming piece over the years. “A Christmas Tree” isn’t so much a story as it is a journey, the kind you take when the world has grown weary and your mind drifts back to places where the air smells of pine with the glow of candlelight. An old man, admiring a Christmas tree, sees in its ornaments not just a celebration of the season, but a bridge to something far more tender--a boy's innocence and the fleeting days when belief felt like an unbreakable thing.
"O may I, with a grey head, turn a child's heart to that figure yet, and a child's trustfulness and confidence!" The words roll off the tongue like the whisper of wind through dry leaves, full of the ache of time passed, yet so hopeful, so wide-eyed in its wish for renewal.
Dickens, that master of ghosts and shadows, manages to entwine the past and present, capturing those fleeting moments of joy and sorrow, the mingling of the two like smoke curling from an old pipe. Through each ornament, each bauble on the tree, we find not just decoration but pieces of a boy’s life, his wonder at a world that feels, at times, too large to understand and yet so achingly small in the quiet corners of a Christmas night.
There are a few ghosts drifting through this narrative, like old friends you’ve long since lost track of. These spirits are wrapped in the warmth of a story-telling tradition, of a time when Christmas meant more than the frenzied chase for gifts--it meant something deep, something you could feel in your bones, if you let yourself. Dickens delivers that, and with it, he hands us a reminder of the true meaning of Christmas.
So on this Eve of a day when the world pauses to catch its breath, there’s no better place to turn than this little piece of Dickens’ heart. It’s not much of a story, but a reflection of something timeless, something we could all use a bit more of--a gentle sense of wonder with imagination that only the simplest moments can bring.
"O may I, with a grey head, turn a child's heart to that figure yet, and a child's trustfulness and confidence!" The words roll off the tongue like the whisper of wind through dry leaves, full of the ache of time passed, yet so hopeful, so wide-eyed in its wish for renewal.
Dickens, that master of ghosts and shadows, manages to entwine the past and present, capturing those fleeting moments of joy and sorrow, the mingling of the two like smoke curling from an old pipe. Through each ornament, each bauble on the tree, we find not just decoration but pieces of a boy’s life, his wonder at a world that feels, at times, too large to understand and yet so achingly small in the quiet corners of a Christmas night.
There are a few ghosts drifting through this narrative, like old friends you’ve long since lost track of. These spirits are wrapped in the warmth of a story-telling tradition, of a time when Christmas meant more than the frenzied chase for gifts--it meant something deep, something you could feel in your bones, if you let yourself. Dickens delivers that, and with it, he hands us a reminder of the true meaning of Christmas.
So on this Eve of a day when the world pauses to catch its breath, there’s no better place to turn than this little piece of Dickens’ heart. It’s not much of a story, but a reflection of something timeless, something we could all use a bit more of--a gentle sense of wonder with imagination that only the simplest moments can bring.
December 23, 2024
I listen to this podcast that reads books with soothing sounds and today was all about Christmas !! What a lovely story !! It usually takes me about 30-45 minutes to fall completely asleep but this story was only 1 hour so I stayed up to enjoy. Not my absolute favorite book but his voice made it worth the listen !!
Podcast is called “Down to sleep” !! Link below ⬇️⬇️
https://youtube.com/@downtosleep?si=Y...
Podcast is called “Down to sleep” !! Link below ⬇️⬇️
https://youtube.com/@downtosleep?si=Y...
February 20, 2022
Having read 'A Christmas Tree' some years ago I decided I would give it another read as I was unsure how good, or even possibly indifferent, the book was as I have never thought of it as one of Dickens' first-rate Christmas stories.
Dickens describes the Christmas Tree that he is looking at and it is full of decorations and presents, which he describes and imagines playing with the toys that are hanging there. In addition he remembers times of Christmases past in his life and enjoys recalling such things as old houses at Christmas, 'dismal state-bedchambers' where it was possible to encounter any number of ghosts' - Dickens had to make this point! He also mentions Christmas when the excitement was such 'we can't sleep' and 'the embers on the hearth burn fitfully and make the room look ghostly' - here are the ghosts once more!
He does capture the feel for a Victorian Christmas but I am not too sure that this short story will hold up for the younger generation of the 21st century.
Dickens describes the Christmas Tree that he is looking at and it is full of decorations and presents, which he describes and imagines playing with the toys that are hanging there. In addition he remembers times of Christmases past in his life and enjoys recalling such things as old houses at Christmas, 'dismal state-bedchambers' where it was possible to encounter any number of ghosts' - Dickens had to make this point! He also mentions Christmas when the excitement was such 'we can't sleep' and 'the embers on the hearth burn fitfully and make the room look ghostly' - here are the ghosts once more!
He does capture the feel for a Victorian Christmas but I am not too sure that this short story will hold up for the younger generation of the 21st century.
December 23, 2025
Read in A Christmas Carol and Other Christmas Classics.
Sorry, Charlie, this one didn't do much for me.
A man reminisces on past Christmases starting with early childhood, and how the gifts and meaning changed through his life. I suppose if I'd been of an age with Dickens who would've been 203 this year if it hadn't been for that pesky stroke in 1870, then I'd be able to better appreciate his memories of various toys, gadgets, and gewgaws. (And some of those things were terrifying. Children died young all the time in that day and age, and I wouldn't be surprised if at least half of them were frightened to death by their toys. Seriously. Just check out this clip from Scrooge. Watch it for about 20 seconds and tell me a few of those things didn't send kiddies into howls of terror when they were plopped down in front of them on Christmas morning). I expect the nostalgia of sharing in a common childhood peril lent a great deal to Dickens' readers in the Victorian era. Had he replaced the puppets, masks, and doll houses with Transformers, Masters of the Universe, and Play-Doh, this would be a four star story for me from the start. As it is, I'm just not feeling it.
Then there were several short ghost stories in the second half, a couple of which I actually enjoyed though I've never been able to make ghost stories go along with my own Christmas sentiments in spite of how much I love A Christmas Carol and many of its movie incarnations. I maintain that enjoying such should be a Halloween pastime if one must assign a holiday to the activity. Telling ghost stories at Christmas is a centuries old tradition that has gone by the wayside in the past hundred years (at least in America; I can't speak for other nations). Being a product of the 20th century I find the practice rather odd, but the wisdom of our ancestors is in the practice, and my unhallowed hands shall not pooh-pooh others partaking in it, or the country's done for.
If this were only the ghost stories, and wasn't listed as a Christmas story, I'd give it four stars, but as a whole I was disappointed. Luckily it was very short.
Fun Victorian/Dickensian word found in A Christmas Tree and defined in What the Dickens?:
Sassigassity
Sorry, Charlie, this one didn't do much for me.
A man reminisces on past Christmases starting with early childhood, and how the gifts and meaning changed through his life. I suppose if I'd been of an age with Dickens who would've been 203 this year if it hadn't been for that pesky stroke in 1870, then I'd be able to better appreciate his memories of various toys, gadgets, and gewgaws. (And some of those things were terrifying. Children died young all the time in that day and age, and I wouldn't be surprised if at least half of them were frightened to death by their toys. Seriously. Just check out this clip from Scrooge. Watch it for about 20 seconds and tell me a few of those things didn't send kiddies into howls of terror when they were plopped down in front of them on Christmas morning). I expect the nostalgia of sharing in a common childhood peril lent a great deal to Dickens' readers in the Victorian era. Had he replaced the puppets, masks, and doll houses with Transformers, Masters of the Universe, and Play-Doh, this would be a four star story for me from the start. As it is, I'm just not feeling it.
Then there were several short ghost stories in the second half, a couple of which I actually enjoyed though I've never been able to make ghost stories go along with my own Christmas sentiments in spite of how much I love A Christmas Carol and many of its movie incarnations. I maintain that enjoying such should be a Halloween pastime if one must assign a holiday to the activity. Telling ghost stories at Christmas is a centuries old tradition that has gone by the wayside in the past hundred years (at least in America; I can't speak for other nations). Being a product of the 20th century I find the practice rather odd, but the wisdom of our ancestors is in the practice, and my unhallowed hands shall not pooh-pooh others partaking in it, or the country's done for.
If this were only the ghost stories, and wasn't listed as a Christmas story, I'd give it four stars, but as a whole I was disappointed. Luckily it was very short.
Fun Victorian/Dickensian word found in A Christmas Tree and defined in What the Dickens?:
Sassigassity
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February 4, 2017
A rather odd Christmas tale with a ghostly air to it: a decent enough yarn if a little tangential. It is written well in general, but as a whole it was difficult to follow. A description of a family's Christmas tree is giving at the beginning from the narrative of whomsoever owns it, with a plethora of what is to be found hanging upon it (a nice insight in to how they used to decorate the tree when it first came in to being used during the Victorian period thanks to the German royal Prince Arthur), but tales of ghostly apparitions crop up without any apparent reference to what came before in the story.
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December 27, 2021
The only reason this gets two stars instead of one is because it's super short. This is basically a very compact version of how I view all the Dicken's works I've attempted - lists, lists, and more lists. Even the ghost stories were just lists.
I didn't feel anything magical or Christmas-y in it, but it was short so I didn't outright hate it.
I didn't feel anything magical or Christmas-y in it, but it was short so I didn't outright hate it.
November 27, 2021
3.5 Stars
November 11, 2018
A very quick read today of "the other Dickens Christmas story." Letting it stand on its own, doing my utmost not to compare the two vastly different tale-tellings, I find this story quite charming and wistful. An older gentlemen, gazing reminiscently at a present packed Christmas tree (yes, when they actually used to put presents on the tree) begins to recall his own childhood. The story unfolds as he brings to mind the toys and trinkets nestled among the boughs of his own tree. He shares the joy, the magic, and even some trepidation associated with each gift as he recreates this wondrous tree. He begins at the bottom most branches and slowly works his way to the top weaving his delightful stories. Toy acrobats, a cardboard lady and man made mobile by pulling strings, wooden soldiers in a box, a doll house, a tea set, books, a menagerie of animals, Eastern kings, a giant and his beautiful lady prisoner, tarts and pastries, a toy theatre, and many more. Included among his musings are the expected Dickens ghost tales ~ it wouldn't be a Dickens Christmas without them. I myself am quite nostalgic so while reading this man's holiday memories I can't help but think of my own. For me this is very much a comfort read. As always, the beautiful and melodic sounding words and images chosen by Dickens to entice the reader are eloquent and exquisite.
December 26, 2011
First sentence: "I have been looking on, this evening, at a merry company of children assembled round that pretty German toy, a Christmas Tree."
Last sentence: "This, in remembrance of me!"
After I finished reading 'A Christmas Carol', I thought of reading another one of Dickens' Christmas story and I started this one, not knowing that it was only a short story, a very short one (around 20 pages), and perhaps not even a story, more like an essay. I don't know what to think about this. The story starts promising enough when Dickens starts remembering Christmas Trees from the time he was a boy, but soon he starts talking about horror stories from the past. This gave the feeling that he wrote this piece (fiction, non-fiction?) without much consideration and thought.
Certainly 'A Christmas Tree' cannot be compared with 'A Christmas Carol'.
Last sentence: "This, in remembrance of me!"
After I finished reading 'A Christmas Carol', I thought of reading another one of Dickens' Christmas story and I started this one, not knowing that it was only a short story, a very short one (around 20 pages), and perhaps not even a story, more like an essay. I don't know what to think about this. The story starts promising enough when Dickens starts remembering Christmas Trees from the time he was a boy, but soon he starts talking about horror stories from the past. This gave the feeling that he wrote this piece (fiction, non-fiction?) without much consideration and thought.
Certainly 'A Christmas Tree' cannot be compared with 'A Christmas Carol'.
July 5, 2019
Dickens seems to have gotten distracted half-way through this tale....... It began as an account of various Christmases from his past and then turned into a catalogue of ghost stories. oKAY.
December 26, 2014
Christmas, a Dickens' tale and a beautifully illustrated book ... what more could one want over the festive season?
Well, while 'A Christmas Tree' is not one of Dickens more stunning Christmas tales, it is still redolent of that Victorian Christmas spirit and cheer that he portrayed.
Describing the tree he stated, 'There was everything and more' on it. And the story then describes the tree's setting while on it the author looks into and sees his youngest Christmas recollections.
There are toys, some liked some scary, characters, again some attractive, others frightening, animals and a doll's house, 'of which I was not the proprietor'. There were books, 'thin books with fat black letters', a Jack and the Beanstalk scenario, Noah's Ark and many more all of which 'I recognize among those upper branches of my Christmas Tree'.
There are even memories of ghostly apparitions but overall the impression is that the tree is decorated with bright merriment and it is a sad occasion when the author has to 'get back to the dull, settled world' as he would have preferred to 'live for ever in the bright atmosphere I have quitted'.
It is certainly some Christmas tree and I do think that the more one reflects on the tale, its charm will grow on the reader.
Well, while 'A Christmas Tree' is not one of Dickens more stunning Christmas tales, it is still redolent of that Victorian Christmas spirit and cheer that he portrayed.
Describing the tree he stated, 'There was everything and more' on it. And the story then describes the tree's setting while on it the author looks into and sees his youngest Christmas recollections.
There are toys, some liked some scary, characters, again some attractive, others frightening, animals and a doll's house, 'of which I was not the proprietor'. There were books, 'thin books with fat black letters', a Jack and the Beanstalk scenario, Noah's Ark and many more all of which 'I recognize among those upper branches of my Christmas Tree'.
There are even memories of ghostly apparitions but overall the impression is that the tree is decorated with bright merriment and it is a sad occasion when the author has to 'get back to the dull, settled world' as he would have preferred to 'live for ever in the bright atmosphere I have quitted'.
It is certainly some Christmas tree and I do think that the more one reflects on the tale, its charm will grow on the reader.
November 26, 2023
One of the strangest books I have read. It is basically just a lot of old ramblings from an old man. First of all he is looking at a Christmas tree and going on about the toys decorating it along with memories from his childhood. Then he moves on to telling parts of ghost stories. There didn’t really seem much point to the whole thing 🤷🏻♀️
April 30, 2010
Not all of Dickens' Christmas tales were winners, folks.
January 12, 2020
I am trying to go through all of the Christmas stories written by Charles Dickens. This is okay more description then actual narrative. Paints a beautiful picture of the holiday but not much else.
November 22, 2020
Thankful that Dickens invented Christmas!
December 11, 2019
This was a very strange tale and seemed to wander around. It was a very melancholy story and I think Dickens was depressed at the time of writing.
December 27, 2019
A Christmas Tree was more of an essay filled with musings and reminiscences than a story, as there were no characters to speak of, nor a plot. Instead, Dickens, as our narrator, enjoys watching children around the tree, and is reminded of the Christmas trees from his own childhood, and the feelings they evoked.
For me, this story had two points of appeal. The first, which I'm sure Dickens never would have foreseen, was historic in nature. This was a fascinating look at what Christmas was like in Victorian England 169 years ago. A lot has changed! As I read, I spent a lot of time with my phone next to me, looking up so many things he mentioned that are unfamiliar to 21st century readers. What a delightful time capsule this was!
There were fiddles and drums; there were tambourines, books, work-boxes, paint-boxes, sweetmeat-boxes, peep-show boxes, and all kinds of boxes; there were trinkets for the elder girls, far brighter than any grown-up gold and jewels; there were baskets and pincushions in all devices; there were guns, swords, and banners; there were witches standing in enchanted rings of pasteboard, to tell fortunes; there were teetotums, humming-tops, needle-cases, pen-wipers, smelling-bottles, conversation-cards, bouquet-holders; real fruit, made artificially dazzling with gold leaf; imitation apples, pears, and walnuts, crammed with surprises....
Ghost stories obviously played a large part in Victorian Christmases, and Dickens doesn't disappoint. He ponders several ghost stories and tells us enough to tantalize us and have us wishing for more. In fact, I was surprised at how large a part fear seemed to play in Dickens' memories. And yet, like riding a roller coaster, it seems to be that delicious kind of fear where someplace deep down inside, you know it's all just for show and everything will be alright in the end.
Dickens also touches on things like music, pantomimes, food, and, at Christmas, Jesus Christ. It's lovely, and almost quaint, to read about Jesus in a Christmas story when these days He's an afterthought at best. In fact, the current crop of Christmas movies shown on TV would have us believing that Christmas is just another Valentine's Day with a different decorations. As in A Christmas Carol, Dickens doesn't drop the Bible on our heads, but it's there, enveloping us like a warm blanket, with a gentle reminder of what Christmas is really supposed to be about.
Not surprisingly, A Christmas Tree is also about nostalgia. Even though I didn't recognize many of the things Dickens referred to in his reflections, the overwhelming feeling of fondness and longing for the childlike wonder of the holiday cannot be missed. Thankfully, that's one thing about Christmas that hasn't changed over the centuries, and it comes across beautifully in A Christmas Tree.
For me, this story had two points of appeal. The first, which I'm sure Dickens never would have foreseen, was historic in nature. This was a fascinating look at what Christmas was like in Victorian England 169 years ago. A lot has changed! As I read, I spent a lot of time with my phone next to me, looking up so many things he mentioned that are unfamiliar to 21st century readers. What a delightful time capsule this was!
There were fiddles and drums; there were tambourines, books, work-boxes, paint-boxes, sweetmeat-boxes, peep-show boxes, and all kinds of boxes; there were trinkets for the elder girls, far brighter than any grown-up gold and jewels; there were baskets and pincushions in all devices; there were guns, swords, and banners; there were witches standing in enchanted rings of pasteboard, to tell fortunes; there were teetotums, humming-tops, needle-cases, pen-wipers, smelling-bottles, conversation-cards, bouquet-holders; real fruit, made artificially dazzling with gold leaf; imitation apples, pears, and walnuts, crammed with surprises....
Ghost stories obviously played a large part in Victorian Christmases, and Dickens doesn't disappoint. He ponders several ghost stories and tells us enough to tantalize us and have us wishing for more. In fact, I was surprised at how large a part fear seemed to play in Dickens' memories. And yet, like riding a roller coaster, it seems to be that delicious kind of fear where someplace deep down inside, you know it's all just for show and everything will be alright in the end.
Dickens also touches on things like music, pantomimes, food, and, at Christmas, Jesus Christ. It's lovely, and almost quaint, to read about Jesus in a Christmas story when these days He's an afterthought at best. In fact, the current crop of Christmas movies shown on TV would have us believing that Christmas is just another Valentine's Day with a different decorations. As in A Christmas Carol, Dickens doesn't drop the Bible on our heads, but it's there, enveloping us like a warm blanket, with a gentle reminder of what Christmas is really supposed to be about.
Not surprisingly, A Christmas Tree is also about nostalgia. Even though I didn't recognize many of the things Dickens referred to in his reflections, the overwhelming feeling of fondness and longing for the childlike wonder of the holiday cannot be missed. Thankfully, that's one thing about Christmas that hasn't changed over the centuries, and it comes across beautifully in A Christmas Tree.
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