Once upon a time a little girl tried to make a living by selling matches in the
street. It was New Year's Eve and the snowed streets were deserted. From brightly
lit windows came the tinkle of laughter and the sound of singing. People were
getting ready to bring in the new year. But the poor little match seller sat
sadly beside the fountain. Her ragged dress and worn shawl did not keep out the
cold and she tried to keep her bare feet from touching the frozen ground. She
hadn't sold one box of matches all day and she was frightened to go home, for
her father would certainly be angry. It wouldn't be much warmer anyway, in the
draughty attic that was her home. The little girl's fingers were stiff with cold.
If only she could light a match! But what would her father say at such a waste.
Falteringly she took out a match and lit it. What a nice warm flame! The little
match seller cupped her hand over it, and as she did so, she magically saw in its
light a big brightly burning stove. She held out her hands to the heat, but just
then the match went out and the vision faded. The night seemed blacker than before
and it was getting colder. A shiver ran through the little girl's thin body. After
hesitating for a long time, she struck another match on the wall, and this time,
the glimmer turned the wall into a great sheet of crystal. Beyond that stood a fine
table laden with food and lit by a candlestick. Holding out her arms towards the
plates, the little match seller seemed to pass through the glass, but then the match
went out and the magic faded. Poor thing: in just a few seconds she had caught a
glimpse of everything that life had denied her: warmth and good things to eat.
Her eyes filled with tears and she lifted her gaze to the lit windows, praying that
she too might know a little of such happiness. She lit the third match and an even
more wonderful thing happened. There stood a Christmas tree hung with hundreds
of candles, glittering with tinsel and coloured balls. "Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed
the little match seller, holding up the match. Then, the match burned her finger
and flickered out. The light from the Christmas candles rose higher and higher.
Then one of the lights fell, leaving a trail behind it. "Someone is dying,"
murmured the little girl, as she remembered her beloved Granny who used to
say: "When a star falls, a heart stops beating!" Scarcely aware of what she was
doing, the little match seller lit another match. This time, she saw her grandmother.
A cold day dawned and a pale sun shone on the fountain and the icy road. Close by
lay the lifeless body of a little girl surrounded by spent matches. "Poor little
thing!" Exclaimed the passersby. She was trying to keep warm.