OriginalThe Little Match Girl
6 min readages 8–14
On the last evening of the old year, a poor barefoot girl wanders the frozen streets trying to sell matches while she shivers with cold and hunger, and as night deepens she strikes her matches one by one, each flame conjuring visions of warmth, food, and the grandmother she has lost. In the grip of winter's cold, the girl surrenders to the comfort of these fleeting visions until she finally passes into peace, leaving behind only a small frozen body and a bundle of burnt-out matches.
It was terribly cold; snow was falling, and it was nearly dark, for it was the last evening of the old year. In all that cold and darkness a poor little girl was walking through the streets, with bare head and naked feet. It is true she had been wearing slippers when she left home, but what good were they? They were very large slippers, so large because her mother had worn them until now. The little girl lost them as she darted across the street to get out of the way of two carriages that came rolling by at a terrible speed. One slipper could not be found again, and the other a boy snatched up and ran off with. So the little girl went on with her bare feet, which were red and blue with the cold. In an old red apron she carried a great many matches, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. All the long day no one had bought a single match from her, and no one had given her so much as a penny.
Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along, a picture of misery, the poor little thing.
The snowflakes settled on her long fair hair, which fell in pretty curls about her neck, but she gave them no thought at all. Lights were shining from every window, and there was a wonderful smell of roast goose in the air, for it was New Year's Eve — yes, that she remembered.
In a corner formed by two houses, one of which jutted out a little farther than the other, she sat down and huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet up under her, but she only grew colder, and she dared not go home, for she had not sold a single match and had not earned a penny. Her father would surely beat her; and besides, it was cold at home too, for they had only the roof over them, and the wind whistled through it even though the largest cracks had been stuffed with straw and rags.
Her little hands were almost numb with cold. Ah, a single burning match might do her so much good — if only she dared to draw one from the bundle, strike it against the wall, and warm her fingers. She drew one out. Scratch! How it sputtered and burned! It gave a warm, bright flame, like a little candle, as she cupped her hands around it. It was a wonderful little light. It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting before a great iron stove with polished brass feet and a brass ornament on top. How the fire glowed within it, how good and warm it felt! The little girl was just stretching out her feet to warm them too, when — the little flame went out, the stove vanished, and she was left with only the small burnt-out stub of the match in her hand.
She struck a second match against the wall. It flared up, and where its light fell the wall became as clear as a veil, so that she could see right into the room. A white cloth was spread over the table, and on it stood gleaming china and a roast goose, steaming beautifully, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was more wonderful still, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork stuck in its breast, straight toward the poor little girl. Then the match went out, and there was nothing before her but the thick, cold, damp wall.
She lit another match. Now she was sitting under a splendid Christmas tree, even larger and more beautifully decorated than the one she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant's house. Thousands of candles burned upon its green branches, and bright pictures, like the ones in the shop windows, looked down at her. The little girl stretched out her hands toward them — and the match went out. The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, until she saw that they were the stars in the sky. One of them fell, drawing a long streak of fire behind it.
"Now someone is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her and who was now dead, had told her that whenever a star falls, a soul is rising up to God.
She struck another match against the wall, and again there was a glow of light, and there in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, so gentle and full of love.
"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! I know you will go away when the match goes out — you will vanish like the warm stove, and the lovely roast goose, and the great, wonderful Christmas tree!" And she quickly struck the whole bundle of matches, for she longed to hold her grandmother fast. And the matches blazed up with such a light that it grew brighter than the middle of the day. Never had her grandmother looked so tall or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and together they flew upward in brightness and joy, high, high above the earth, far beyond it; and up there was neither cold, nor hunger, nor fear — they were with God.
But in the corner by the wall, in the cold hour of morning, the poor little girl still sat, with rosy cheeks and a smile upon her lips — frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. The New Year's sun rose over the little body. The child sat there, stiff and still, holding the matches, one bundle of which was burnt out. "She tried to warm herself," people said. No one imagined the beautiful things she had seen, nor in what glory she had gone with her grandmother into the joy of the New Year.