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.
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.