The Little Match Girl
By: Hans Christian Anderson (1805-1875)
One Of Anderson's lesser known short stories
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.
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