Fairy Tales

THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL

IT WAS SO AWFULLY cold. It was snowing, and it was beginning to get dark. And it was New Year’s Eve, the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness a poor little girl came walking down the street. She was both barefoot and bareheaded. She had been wearing slippers when she left home, but it hadn’t helped. They were very big slippers, used last by her mother. They were so big that the little girl lost them when she hurried across the street as two coaches rushed swiftly by. She couldn’t find the one slipper, and a boy ran off with the other. He said that he could use it for a cradle when he had children of his own.

The little girl walked along on her naked little feet that were red and blue from cold. In an old apron she had a bundle of matches, and she was carrying a bunch in her hand. No one had bought any the whole day, and no one had given her so much as a shilling. She walked, hungry and frozen, and looked so dejected, poor little thing! Flakes of snow fell on her long yellow hair that curled so lovely around her neck, but she wasn’t thinking about her appearance. Lights shone out from all the windows, and there was such a lovely smell of roasted goose in the street. It was New Year’s Eve, after all, and that’s what she was thinking about.

In a corner between two houses, one stuck out into the street a little further than the other, she sat down and huddled up. She had drawn her little legs up under herself, but she was still freezing more and more, and she didn’t dare go home since she hadn’t sold any matches, hadn’t earned a single shilling. Her father would hit her, and it was also cold at home. They had only a roof over their heads, and the wind blew through, even though the biggest cracks were stuffed with straw and rags. Her small hands were almost dead with cold. Oh, a little match could do a lot of good! If she only dared pull one from the bundle, strike it against the wall, and warm her fingers. She pulled one out, “ritsch!” How it sparked! How it burned! It was a warm, clear flame, like a little candle when she held her hand around it. But it was a strange light! It seemed to the little girl that she sat in front of a big iron stove with shiny brass knobs and brass fixtures. The fire burned so blessedly, warmed so well. But what’s this? The little one had already stretched her feet out to warm them too when the flame went out. The stove disappeared. She sat with a little stump of burned out match in her hand.

Another one was struck, it burned and sparkled, and where the light fell on the wall, the wall became transparent like a veil. She could look right into the living room where the table was set with a glossy white tablecloth, fine porcelain, and a splendid steaming roast goose, filled with prunes and apples! And what was even more marvelous: the goose sprang from the platter, waddled across the floor with the fork and knife in its back, right over to the poor girl. Then the match went out, and she could only see the thick cold wall.

It shone all around, and her old grandmother appeared in the glow.

She lit another one. Then she was sitting under the most beautiful Christmas tree. It was even bigger and better decorated than the one she had seen through the glass door of the rich merchant this past Christmas. Thousands of candles burned on the green branches, and colorful pictures, like those that graced store windows, looked down at her. The little girl reached both arms into the air—then the match went out. The many Christmas candles rose higher and higher. She could see that now they were the clear stars. One of them fell and made a long streak of fire in the sky.

“Now someone is dying!” said the little girl because her old grandmother, who was the only person who had been good to her but was now dead, had told her that whenever a star falls, a soul rises to God.

She struck another match against the brick wall. It shone all around, and her old grandmother appeared in the glow, so clear, shining, so gentle and kind.

“Grandma!” shouted the little one. “Oh, take me with you! I know you’ll be gone when the match goes out. Gone like the warm stove, the lovely roast goose, and the great splendid Christmas tree.” And quickly she struck the whole bundle of matches that were left. She wanted to keep grandmother there. The matches shone with such splendor that it was lighter than bright daylight. Grandmother had never been so tall and beautiful before. She lifted the little girl into her arms, and they flew in joy and glory—so high, so high. There was no cold, no hunger, no fear—they were with God!

In the corner by the house in the cold morning light the little girl was sitting with red cheeks and a smile on her lips—dead, frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. New Year’s Day dawned on the little corpse, sitting with her matches, almost all burned up. She had tried to warm herself, they said. No one knew the beauty she had seen, and in what radiance she with her old grandmother had gone into the joy of the New Year.