2. The Fir Tree

Far away in the forest grew a little Fir Tree. Around him stood tall pines and firs so large that the little Fir felt very discontented, wishing so much to be like the other trees. “If I were tall like them,” sighed the Fir, “I would spread my branches so far the birds would build their nests in my boughs, and when the wind blew, I should bow grandly like them.” So unhappy was the little tree that he took no pleasure in the warm sunshine, the birds, or the bright clouds. One day in winter when the snow was on the ground, a little rabbit jumped right over the little tree’s head. Oh, that made him so angry! Two years after, the wood-cutters came and cut down several of the largest trees and carried them away. “Where do they take these trees?” the Fir Tree said; and a stork replied: “As I was flying here from Egypt I saw great masts on the ships. That is what large trees become.” “Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to be a mast and sail on the sea!” sighed the Fir Tree.

Christmastime came, and many young trees were cut down, some that were even smaller than the Fir Tree, and men carried them away in wagons. “Where do they take those trees?” the Fir Tree asked; and the sparrows chirped: “We know! we know! We peeped in at the windows in the town and saw little trees like those planted in the middle of a warm room, and made beautiful with gilded apples, gingerbread, toys, and a hundred lights.” “I wonder if anything like that will ever happen to me?” cried the discontented Fir Tree; “that would be better than crossing the sea. Oh, when will Christmas come?” The wind and air and sun and birds tried to make the Fir Tree happy, but he only grew more discontented with his lot. One day, just before Christmas, the wood-cutter came again, and this time the Fir Tree was the first to be cut down and carried off. But he could not think of happiness now, for he was sad at leaving his home in the forest. He knew that he would never again see his dear old friends, the trees, the bushes, the birds, and the flowers. That morning the Fir Tree was stuck upright in a tub that stood on a rich carpet in a splendid parlor. Some ladies came in and began to dress his boughs with very pretty things—sugar-plums, apples, oranges, walnuts, dolls; red, blue, and white candles; and to the top was fastened a glittering golden star that shone as brightly as any star in the sky. The tree looked very beautiful. “Oh,” sighed the tree, “I wish all the candles were lighted! Will the trees of the forest come to see me? Will the sparrows peep in at the windows? I wonder if I shall stay pretty like this always?” At last the candles were lighted; the folding doors opened; happy children trooped into the room shouting and dancing with joy at the sight of the wonderful Christmas tree. Older people came too, to look at the sight and enjoy the presents which were taken one after the other from the tree, until all the candles were burned low and put out and only the glittering star remained. The happy children danced about the room with their pretty toys, and no one cared for the tree or looked at him except the nurse, who peeped among his branches to see if an apple or a fig had been forgotten. All night the tree stood in darkness. In the morning the servants dragged the tree from the tub and placed him upstairs in the dark attic, where he stayed all winter, hidden away from sight and forgotten by every one. In the spring the tree was carried down-stairs and taken out into the yard. “Now I shall live again,” said the Fir Tree, and he spread out his branches. But alas! his leaves were all withered and yellow, yet the star of gold still hung in the top, glittering in the sunshine. A boy seeing the star ran up and pulled it off the tree. “Look what was sticking to this ugly old Christmas tree,” he cried, trampling on the branches until they cracked under his feet. A few minutes later the gardeners boy came up with an axe and chopped the tree into small pieces and threw them into the fire. And just as he was dying, the Fir Tree saw the little boy wearing the star on his breast and sighed, “The night I was crowned with that beautiful golden star was the happiest night of my life.” And he knew that night of happiness was the longed-for Christmas Eve.—Adapted from Hans Christian Andersen.