The Little Match Girl

: Hans Andersens Fairy Tales

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

till 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 this of 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 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 house-roof above them, and though the largest holes

had been stopped with straw and rags, there were left many through which

the cold wind could whistle.




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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. Whisht! 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 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 now 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.