~The Little Match Girl~

Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was
nearly quite dark, and evening-- the last evening
of the year. In this cold and 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 what was the good of that? 
 
They were very large slippers, which her mother
had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor
little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.
One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been
laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it;
he thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he
some day or other should have children himself.
So the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet,
that were quite red and blue from cold.
She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron,
and she held a bundle of them in her hand.
Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong
day; no one had given her a single farthing.

She crept along trembling with cold and hunger
--a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing!
The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair,
which fell in beautiful curls around her neck;
but of that, of course, she never once now thought.
From all the windows the candles were gleaming,
and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose,
for you know it was New Year's Eve; yes, of that
she thought. In a corner formed by two houses,
of which one advanced more than the other,
she seated herself down and cowered together.


Her little feet she had drawn close up to her,
but she grew colder and colder, and to go home
she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches
and could not bring a farthing of money: from her
father she would certainly get blows, and at home it
was cold too, for above her she had only the roof,
through which the wind whistled, even though the
largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags.

Her little hands were almost numbed with cold.
Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort,
if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle,
draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it.
She drew one out. "Rischt!" how it blazed, how it burnt!
It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held
her hands over it: it was a wonderful light.
It seemed really to the little maiden as though she
were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished
brass feet and a brass ornament at top.
The fire burned with such blessed influence;
it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already
stretched out her feet to warm them too;
but--the small flame went out, the stove vanished:
she had only the remains of the burnt-out match
in her hand.
She rubbed another against the wall:
it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall,
there the wall became transparent like a veil,
so that she could see into the room. On the table
was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a
splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose
was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and
dried plums. And what was still more capital to
behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish,
reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its
breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when
--the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold,
damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match.

 
Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent
Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated
than the one which she had seen through
the glass door in the rich merchant's house.
Thousands of lights were burning on the green
branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had
seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her.
The little maiden stretched out her hands towards
them when--the match went out.

The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher,
she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down
and formed a long trail of fire.
"Someone is just dead!" said the little girl;
for her old grandmother, the only person who had
loved her, and who was now no more, had told her,
that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.
 
She drew another match against the wall:
it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild,
and with such an expression of love.
"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you!
You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like
the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose,
and like the magnificent Christmas tree!"
And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly
against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of
keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches
gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than
at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother
been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden,
on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high,
so very high, and then above was neither cold,
nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.

But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn,
sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death on the last
evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child
there with her matches, of which one bundle had
been burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said.
No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful
things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the
splendor in which, with her grandmother
she had entered on the joys of a new year.

By Hans Christian Anderson