Various - Christmas Stories And Legends

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So discontented was the tree, that it took no pleasure in the warm
sunshine, the birds, or the rosy clouds that floated over it morning
and evening.

Sometimes in winter, when the snow lay white and glittering on the
ground, there was a little hare that would come springing along,
and jump right over the little tree's head; then how mortified it
would feel.

Two winters passed; and when the third arrived, the tree had grown so
tall that the hare was obliged to run round it. Yet it remained
unsatisfied, and would exclaim, "Oh! to grow, to grow; if I could but
keep on growing tall and old! There is nothing else worth caring for
in the world."

In the autumn the woodcutters came, as usual, and cut down several of
the tallest trees; and the young fir, which was now grown to its full
height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to the earth with a crash.

After the branches were lopped off, the trunks looked so slender and
bare that they could scarcely be recognized. Then they were placed,
one upon another, upon wagons, and drawn by horses out of the forest.
"Where could they be going? What would become of them?" The young fir
tree wished very much to know.

So in the spring, when the swallows and the storks came, it asked, "Do
you know where those trees were taken? Did you meet them?"

The swallows knew nothing; but the stork, after a little reflection,
nodded his head, and said, "Yes, I think I do. As I flew from Egypt, I
saw several new ships, and they had fine masts that smelt like fir.
These must have been the trees; and I assure you they were stately;
they sailed right gloriously!"

"Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea," said the fir
tree. "Tell me what is this sea, and what does it look like?"

"It would take too much time to explain, a great deal too much," said
the stork, flying quickly away.

"Rejoice in thy youth," said the sunbeam; "rejoice in thy fresh
growth, and in the young life that is in thee."

And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew watered it with tears; but
the fir tree regarded them not.

Christmas time drew near, and many young trees were cut down, some
that were even smaller and younger than the fir tree, who enjoyed
neither rest nor peace with longing to leave its forest home. These
young trees, which were chosen for their beauty, kept their branches,
and were also laid on wagons, and drawn by horses far away out of the
forest.

"Where are they going?" asked the fir tree. "They are not taller than
I am; indeed, one is not so tall. And why do they keep all their
branches? Where are they going?"

"We know, we know," sang the sparrows; "we have looked in at the
windows of the houses in the town, and we know what is done with them.
Oh! you cannot think what honor and glory they receive. They are
dressed up in the most splendid manner. We have seen them standing in
the middle of a warm room, and adorned with all sorts of beautiful
things;--honey cakes, gilded apples, playthings, and many hundreds of
wax tapers."

"And then," asked the fir tree, trembling in all its branches, "and
then what happens?"

"We did not see any more," said the sparrows; "but this was enough
for us."

"I wonder whether anything so brilliant will ever happen to me,"
thought the fir tree. "It would be better even than crossing the sea.
I long for it almost with pain. Oh, when will Christmas be here? I am
now as tall and well grown as those which were taken away last year.
Oh, that I were now laid on the wagon, or standing in the warm room,
with all that brightness and splendor around me! Something better and
more beautiful is to come after, or the trees would not be so decked
out. Yes, what follows will be grander and more splendid. What can it
be? I am weary with longing. I scarcely know what it is that I feel."

"Rejoice in our love," said the air and the sunlight. "Enjoy thine own
bright life in the fresh air."

But the tree would not rejoice, though it grew taller every day and,
winter and summer, its dark green foliage might be seen in the
forests, while passersby would say, "What a beautiful tree!"

A short time before Christmas the discontented fir tree was the first
to fall. As the axe cut sharply through the stem, and divided the
pith, the tree fell with a groan to the earth, conscious of pain and
faintness, and forgetting all its dreams of happiness, in sorrow at
leaving its home in the forest. It knew that it should never again see
its dear old companions, the trees, nor the little bushes and
many-colored flowers that had grown by its side; perhaps not even the
birds. Nor was the journey at all pleasant.

The tree first recovered itself while being unpacked in the courtyard
of a house, with several other trees; and it heard a man say, "We
only want one, and this is the prettiest. This is beautiful!"

Then came two servants in grand livery, and carried the fir tree into
a large and beautiful apartment. Pictures hung on the walls, and near
the great stove stood great china vases, with lions on the lids. There
were rocking chairs, silken sofas, large tables covered with pictures,
books, and playthings that had cost a hundred times a hundred dollars;
at least so said the children.

Then the fir tree was placed in a large tub, full of sand; but green
baize hung all around it, so that no one could know it was a tub; and
it stood on a very handsome carpet. Oh, how the fir tree trembled!
What was going to happen to him now? Some young ladies came in, and
the servants helped them to adorn the tree.

On one branch they hung little bags cut out of colored paper, and each
bag was filled with sweetmeats. From other branches hung gilded apples
and walnuts, and all around were hundreds of red, blue and white
tapers, which were fastened upon the branches. Dolls, exactly like
real men and women, were placed under the green leaves,--and the tree
had never seen such things before,--and at the top was fastened a
glittering star, made of gold tinsel. Oh, it was very beautiful. "This
evening," they all exclaimed, "how bright it will be!"

"Oh, that the evening were come," thought the tree, "and the tapers
lighted! Then I should know what else is going to happen. Will the
trees of the forest come to see me? Will the sparrows peep in at the
windows, I wonder, as they fly? Shall I grow faster here, and keep on
all these ornaments during summer and winter?" But guessing was of
very little use. His back ached with trying; and this pain is as bad
for a slender fir tree as headache is for us.

At last the tapers were lighted, and then what a glistening blaze of
splendor the tree presented! It trembled so with joy in all its
branches, that one of the candles fell among the green leaves and
burnt some of them. "Help! help!" exclaimed the young ladies; but
there was no danger, for they quickly extinguished the fire.

After this the tree tried not to tremble at all, though the fire
frightened him, he was so anxious not to hurt any of the beautiful
ornaments, even while their brilliancy dazzled him.

And now the folding doors were thrown open, and a troop of children
rushed in as if they intended to upset the tree, and were followed
more slowly by their elders. For a moment the little ones stood silent
with astonishment, and then they shouted for joy till the room rang;
and they danced merrily round the tree, while one present after
another was taken from it.

"What are they doing? What will happen next?" thought the tree. At
last the candles burned down to the branches, and were put out. Then
the children received permission to plunder the tree.

Oh, how they rushed upon it! There was such a riot that the branches
cracked, and had it not been fastened with the glistening star to the
ceiling, it must have been thrown down.

Then the children danced about with their pretty toys, and no one
noticed the tree, except the children's maid, who came and peeped
among the branches to see if an apple or a fig had been forgotten.

"A story, a story," cried the children, pulling a little fat man
toward the tree.

"Now we shall be in green shade," said the man, as he seated himself
under it, "and the tree will have the pleasure of hearing also; but I
shall only relate one story. What shall it be? Ivede-Avede, or
Humpty-Dumpty, who fell down stairs, but soon got up again, and at
last married a princess?"

"Ivede-Avede," cried some. "Humpty-Dumpty," cried others; and there
was a famous uproar. But the fir tree remained quite still, and
thought to himself, "Shall I have anything to do with all this? Ought
I to make a noise too?" but he had already amused them as much as they
wished.

Then the old man told them the story of Humpty-Dumpty;--how he fell
downstairs and was raised up again, and married a princess. And the
children clapped their hands and cried "Tell another, tell another,"
for they wanted to hear the story of Ivede-Avede; but this time they
had only Humpty-Dumpty. After this the fir tree became quite silent
and thoughtful. Never had the birds in the forest told such tales as
Humpty-Dumpty who fell down stairs, and yet married a princess.

"Ah, yes! so it happens in the world," thought the fir tree. He
believed it all, because it was related by such a pleasant man.

"Ah, well!" he thought, "who knows? Perhaps I may fall down too and
marry a princess;" and he looked forward joyfully to the next evening,
expecting to be again decked out with lights and playthings, gold and
fruit. "Tomorrow I will not tremble," thought he; "I will enjoy all my
splendor, and I shall hear the story of Humpty-Dumpty again, and
perhaps Ivede-Avede." And the tree remained quiet and thoughtful all
night.

In the morning the servants and the housemaid came in. "Now," thought
the fir tree, "all my splendor is going to begin again." But they
dragged him out of the room and upstairs to the garret and threw him
on the floor, in a dark corner where no daylight shone, and there they
left him. "What does this mean?" thought the tree. "What am I to do
here? I can hear nothing in a place like this;" and he leaned against
the wall and thought and thought.

And he had time enough to think, for days and nights passed, and no
one came near him; and when at last somebody did come, it was only to
push away some large boxes in a corner. So the tree was completely
hidden from sight as if it had never existed.

"It is winter now," thought the tree; "the ground is hard and covered
with snow, so that people cannot plant me. I shall be sheltered here,
I dare say, until spring comes. How thoughtful and kind everybody is
to me! Still, I wish this place were not so dark and so dreadfully
lonely, with not even a little hare to look at. How pleasant it was
out in the forest while the snow lay on the ground, when the hare
would run by, yes, and jump over me too, although I did not like it
then. Oh! it is terribly lonely here."

"Squeak, squeak," said a little mouse, creeping cautiously towards the
tree; then came another, and they both sniffed at the fir tree, and
crept in and out between the branches.

"Oh, it is very cold here," said the little mouse. "If it were not, we
would be very comfortable here, wouldn't we, old fir tree?"

"I am not old," said the fir tree. "There are many who are older than
I am."

"Where do you come from?" asked the mice, who were full of curiosity;
"and what do you know? Have you seen the most beautiful places in the
world, and can you tell us all about them? And have you been in the
storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelf and hams hang from the
ceiling? One can run about on tallow candles there; one can go in thin
and come out fat."

"I know nothing of that," said the fir tree; "but I know the wood
where the sun shines and the birds sing." And then the tree told the
little mice all about its youth. They had never heard such an account
in their lives; and after they had listened to it attentively, they
said, "What a number of things you have seen! You must have been very
happy."

"Happy!" exclaimed the fir tree; and then, as he reflected on what he
had been telling them, he said, "Ah, yes! after all, those were happy
days." But when he went on and related all about Christmas eve, and
how he had been dressed up with cakes and lights, the mice said, "How
happy you must have been, you old fir tree."

"I am not old at all," replied the tree; "I only came from the forest
this winter. I am now checked in my growth."

"What splendid stories you can tell," said the little mice. And the
next night four other mice came with them to hear what the tree had to
tell. The more he talked, the more he remembered, and then he thought
to himself, "Yes, those were happy days; but they may come again.
Humpty-Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married a princess. Perhaps
I may marry a princess too." And the fir tree thought of the pretty
little birch tree that grew in the forest; a real princess, a
beautiful princess, she was to him.

"Who is Humpty-Dumpty?" asked the little mice. And then the tree
related the whole story; he could remember every single word. And the
little mice were so delighted with it, that they were ready to jump to
the top of the tree. The next night a great many more mice made their
appearance, and on Sunday two rats came with them; but they said it
was not a pretty story at all, and the little mice were very sorry,
for it made them also think less of it.

"Do you know only that one story?" asked the rats.

"Only that one," replied the fir tree. "I heard it on the happiest
evening of my life; but I did not know I was so happy at the time."

"We think it is a very miserable story," said the rats. "Don't you
know any story about bacon or tallow in the storeroom?"

"No," replied the tree.

"Many thanks to you, then," replied the rats, and they went their
ways.

The little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed and
said, "It was very pleasant when the merry little mice sat around me
and listened while I talked. Now that is all past too. However, I
shall consider myself happy when someone comes to take me out of this
place."

But would this ever happen? Yes; one morning people came to clear up
the garret; the boxes were packed away, and the tree was pulled out of
the corner and thrown roughly on the floor; then the servants dragged
it out upon the staircase where the daylight shone.

"Now life is beginning again," said the tree, rejoicing in the
sunshine and fresh air. Then it was carried downstairs and taken into
the courtyard so quickly that it forgot to think of itself, and could
only look about, there was so much to be seen.

The court was close to a garden, where everything looked blooming.
Fresh and fragrant roses hung over the little palings. The linden
trees were in blossom; while the swallows flew here and there crying,
"Twit, twit, twit, my mate is coming;" but it was not the fir tree
they meant.

"Now I shall live," cried the tree joyfully, spreading out its
branches; but alas! they were all withered and yellow, and it lay in a
corner amongst weeds and nettles. The star of gold paper still stuck
in the top of the tree, and glittered in the sunshine.

In the same courtyard two of the merry children were playing who had
danced round the tree at Christmas time and had been so happy. The
youngest saw the gilded star and ran and pulled it off the tree. "Look
what is sticking to the ugly old fir tree," said the child, treading
on the branches till they crackled under his boots.

And the tree saw all the fresh, bright flowers in the garden, and
then looked at itself, and wished it had remained in the dark corner
of the garret. It thought of its fresh youth in the forest, of the
merry Christmas evening, and of the little mice who had listened to
the story of Humpty-Dumpty.

"Past! past!" said the poor tree. "Oh, had I but enjoyed myself while
I could have done so! but now it is too late."

Then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces, till a large
bundle lay in a heap on the ground. The pieces were placed in the
fire, and they blazed up brightly, while the tree sighed so deeply
that each sigh was like a little pistol shot. Then the children, who
were at play, came and seated themselves in front of the fire and
looked at it, and cried, "Pop, pop." But at each "pop," which was a
deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer day in the forest, or of
some winter night there when the stars shone brightly, and of
Christmas evening and of Humpty-Dumpty, the only story it had ever
heard, or knew how to relate,--till at last it was consumed.

The boys still played in the garden, and the youngest wore the golden
star on his breast with which the tree had been adorned during the
happiest evening of its existence. Now all was past; the tree's life
was past, and the story also past! for all stories must come to an end
some time or other.

[*] From "Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales," adapted by J. H. Stickney. By
permission of the publishers--Ginn and Company.

THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL[*]

Hans Andersen

It was dreadfully cold; it was snowing fast, and was almost dark, as
evening came on--the last evening of the year. In the cold and the
darkness, there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded
and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is
true; but they were much too large for her feet,--slippers that her
mother had used until then, and the poor little girl lost them in
running across the street when two carriages were passing terribly
fast. When she looked for them, one was not to be found, and a boy
seized the other and ran away with it, saying he would use it for a
cradle some day, when he had children of his own.

So on the little girl went with her bare feet, that were red and blue
with cold. In an old apron that she wore were bundles of matches, and
she carried a bundle also in her hand. No one had bought so much as a
bunch all the long day, and no one had given her even a penny.

Poor little girl! Shivering with cold and hunger she crept along, a
perfect picture of misery!

The snowflakes fell on her long flaxen hair, which hung in pretty
curls about her throat; but she thought not of her beauty nor of the
cold. Lights gleamed in every window, and there came to her the savory
smell of roast goose, for it was New Year's Eve. And it was of this
which she thought.

In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected beyond the
other, she sat cowering down. She had drawn under her little feet, but
still she grew colder and colder; yet she dared not go home, for she
had sold no matches, and could not bring a penny of money. Her father
would certainly beat her; and, besides, it was cold enough at home,
for they had only the houseroof above them; and, though the largest
holes had been stopped with straw and rags, there were left many
through which the cold wind whistled.

And now her little hands were nearly frozen with cold. Alas! a single
match might do her good if she might only draw it from the bundle, rub
it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. So at last she drew
one out. Whischt! How it blazed and burned! It gave out a warm, bright
flame like a little candle, as she held her hands over it. A wonderful
little light it was. It really seemed to the little girl as if she sat
before a great iron stove, with polished brass feet and brass shovel
and tongs. So blessedly it burned that the little maiden stretched out
her feet to warm them also. How comfortable she was! But lo! the flame
went out, the stove vanished, and nothing remained but the little
burned match in her hand.

She rubbed another match against the wall. It burned brightly, and
where the light fell upon the wall it became transparent like a veil,
so that she could see through it into the room. A snow-white cloth was
spread upon the table, on which was a beautiful china dinner service,
while a roast goose, stuffed with apples and prunes, steamed famously,
and sent forth a most savory smell. And what was more delightful
still, and wonderful, the goose jumped from the dish, with knife and
fork still in its breast, and waddled along the floor straight to the
little girl.

But the match went out then, and nothing was left to her but the
thick, damp wall.

She lighted another match. And now she was under a most beautiful
Christmas tree, larger and far more prettily trimmed than the one she
had seen through the glass doors at the rich merchant's. Hundreds of
wax tapers were burning on the green branches, and gay figures, such
as she had seen in the shop windows, looked down upon her. The child
stretched out her hands to them; then the match went out.

Still the lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher. She saw
them as stars in heaven, and one of them fell, forming a long trail of
fire.

"Now some one is dying," murmured the child softly; for her
grandmother, the only person who had loved her and who was now dead,
had told her that whenever a star falls a soul mounts up to God.

She struck yet another match against the wall, and again it was light;
and in the brightness there appeared before her the dear old
grandmother, bright and radiant, yet sweet and mild, and happy as she
had never looked on earth.

"Oh, grandmother," cried the child, "take me with you. I know you will
go away when the match burns out. You, too, will vanish, like the warm
stove, the splendid New Year's feast, the beautiful Christmas Tree."
And lest her grandmother should disappear, she rubbed the whole bundle
of matches against the wall.

And the matches burned with such a brilliant light that it became
brighter than noonday. Her grandmother had never looked so grand and
beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and both flew
together, joyously and gloriously, mounting higher and higher, far
above the earth; and for them there was neither hunger, nor cold, nor
care;--they were with God.

But in the corner, at the dawn of day, sat the poor girl, leaning
against the wall, with red cheeks and smiling mouth,--frozen to death
on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and cold she sat, with the
matches, one bundle of which was burned.

"She wanted to warm herself, poor little thing," people said. No one
imagined what sweet visions she had had, or how gloriously she had
gone with her grandmother to enter upon the joys of a new year.

[*] From "Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales." By permission of
publishers--Ginn & Company.

LITTLE PICCOLA[*]

Suggested by One of Mrs. Celia Thaxter's Poems

"Story-telling is a real strengthening spirit-bath."--_Froebel._

Piccola lived in Italy, where the oranges grow, and where all the year
the sun shines warm and bright. I suppose you think Piccola a very
strange name for a little girl; but in her country it was not strange
at all, and her mother thought it the sweetest name a little girl ever
had.

Piccola had no kind father, no big brother or sister, and no sweet
baby to play with and love. She and her mother lived all alone in an
old stone house that looked on a dark, narrow street. They were very
poor, and the mother was away from home almost every day, washing
clothes and scrubbing floors, and working hard to earn money for her
little girl and herself. So you see Piccola was alone a great deal of
the time; and if she had not been a very happy, contented little
child, I hardly know what she would have done. She had no playthings
except a heap of stones in the back yard that she used for building
houses and a very old, very ragged doll that her mother had found in
the street one day.

But there was a small round hole in the stone wall at the back of her
yard, and her greatest pleasure was to look through that into her
neighbor's garden. When she stood on a stone, and put her eyes close
to the hole, she could see the green grass in the garden, and smell
the sweet flowers, and even hear the water splashing into the
fountain. She had never seen anyone walking in the garden, for it
belonged to an old gentleman who did not care about grass and flowers.

One day in the autumn her mother told her that the old gentleman had
gone away, and had rented his house to a family of little American
children, who had come with their sick mother to spend the winter in
Italy. After this, Piccola was never lonely, for all day long the
children ran and played and danced and sang in the garden. It was
several weeks before they saw her at all, and I am not sure they ever
would have done so but one day the kitten ran away, and in chasing her
they came close to the wall and saw Piccola's black eyes looking
through the hole in the stones. They were a little frightened at
first, and did not speak to her; but the next day she was there again,
and Rose, the oldest girl, went up to the wall and talked to her a
little while. When the children found that she had no one to play with
and was very lonely, they talked to her every day, and often brought
her fruits and candies, and passed them through the hole in the wall.

One day they even pushed the kitten through; but the hole was hardly
large enough for her, and she mewed and scratched and was very much
frightened. After that the little boy said he would ask his father if
the hole might not be made larger, and then Piccola could come in and
play with them. The father had found out that Piccola's mother was a
good woman, and that the little girl herself was sweet and kind, so
that he was very glad to have some of the stones broken away and an
opening made for Piccola to come in.

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