The Little Match Girl

It was terribly cold. It was snowing, and it was getting dark. It was the last evening of the year, New Year's Eve. In this cold and darkness a poor little girl was walking through the streets, bareheaded and barefoot. When she left home she had been wearing slippers, but what good were they! They were very big; they were her mother's old slippers. They were so big that the little girl lost them as she hurried across the street while two carriages rushed by at a terrible speed. One slipper could not be found, and a boy ran off with the other; he said he would use it as a cradle when he had children of his own.

So the little girl walked on with her bare feet, which were red and blue with cold. In her old apron she carried a lot of matches, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. No one had bought any from her all day, and no one had given her a single penny. Shivering with hunger and cold, she walked along, the poor little thing, a picture of misery. The snowflakes fell on her long fair hair, which curled so prettily over her shoulders, but she did not think about that. Lights were shining from all the windows, and there was a delicious smell of roast goose in the street, for it was New Year's Eve. Yes, she was thinking about that.

In a corner between two houses, where one stuck out a little further than the other, she sat down and huddled up. She drew her little legs up under her, but she only grew colder. She did not dare go home, for she had not sold any matches and was not bringing home a single penny. Her father would beat her. And it was cold at home too; they had only a roof over their heads, and the wind whistled in, even though the biggest cracks had been stuffed with straw and rags.

Her little hands were almost numb with cold. Oh, how good a match would feel! If only she dared to pull one out of the bundle, strike it against the wall and warm her fingers! She pulled one out. "Ritch!" How it sparkled, how it burned! A warm, bright flame, like a little candle, as she held her hand around it. It was a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl as if she were sitting in front of a big iron stove with shiny brass knobs and a brass pipe. The fire burned so beautifully and warmed so well! She stretched out her feet to warm them too, but the flame went out. The stove vanished, and she was left with the little burnt-out stick of the match in her hand.

She struck a second match. It burned and glowed, and where its light fell on the wall, the wall became as thin as a veil. She could see right into the room. The table was laid with a white cloth and fine china, and a roast goose stuffed with prunes and apples was steaming deliciously. And what was even better, the goose jumped off the dish and came waddling across the floor towards the poor girl, with the knife and fork still stuck in its back. But at that moment the match went out, and there was nothing left but the thick, cold wall.

She struck another match. Now she was sitting under the most beautiful Christmas tree. It was even bigger and more beautifully decorated than the one she had seen through the glass door of the rich merchant's house last Christmas. Thousands of candles were burning on the green branches, and colourful pictures like those in the shop windows looked down at her. The little girl stretched out both her hands, and the match went out. The candles on the Christmas tree rose higher and higher; now she saw that they were the bright stars in the sky. One of them fell and made a long, fiery streak across the sky.

"Now someone is dying," said the little girl. For her old grandmother, the only person who had ever loved her in the world, used to say that when a star falls, a soul is going up to God. She struck another match against the wall. It lit up everything around, and in the bright glow stood her old grandmother, shining, gentle and loving. "Grandmother!" cried the little girl. "Oh, take me with you! I know you'll go away when the match goes out; you'll vanish like the warm stove, the lovely roast goose and the great, wonderful Christmas tree!"

And she quickly struck all the matches left in the bundle, because she wanted to keep her grandmother with her. The matches burned with such a bright light that it was lighter than day. Her grandmother had never looked so beautiful or so tall. She took the little girl in her arms, and together they flew up in brightness and joy, high, high up, to where there was no cold, no hunger and no fear; they were with God.

But in the corner by the house, in the cold early morning, sat the little girl with red cheeks and a smile on her lips. In her hand she held a bundle of burnt-out matches. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one knew what beautiful things she had seen, or in what glory she and her grandmother had gone into the joy of the New Year.