MOST TERRIBLY COLD it was; it snowed, and was
nearly quite dark, and evening—the last evening of the year. In this cold and
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 what was the good
of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so
large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across
the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.
One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other
had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would
do capitally for a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself.
So the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red
and blue from cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she
held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole
livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing.
She crept along trembling with cold and
hunger—a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing! The flakes of snow
covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautifulcurls around her neck; but
of that, of course, she never once now thought. From all the windows the
candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose, for you know
it was New Year’s Eve; yes, of that she thought.
In a corner formed by two houses, of which one
advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her
little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and
to go home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could not
bring a farthing of money: from her father she would certainly get blows, and
at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the
wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and
rags.
Her little hands were almost numbed with cold.
Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a
single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by
it. She drew one out. “Rischt!” how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm,
bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful
light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before
a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The
fire burned with such blessed influence; it warmed so delightfully. The little
girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but—the small flame went
out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burntout match in her
hand.
She rubbed another against the wall: it burned
brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became
transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was
spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the
roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums.
And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the
dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came
up to the poor little girl; when—the match went out and nothing but the thick,
cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting
under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more
decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich
merchant’s house.
Thousands of lights were burning on the green
branches, and gailycolored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows,
looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them
when—the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and
higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long
trail of fire.
“Someone is just dead!” said the little girl;
for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no
more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.
She drew another match against the wall: it was
again light, in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and
radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.
“Grandmother!” cried the little one. “Oh, take
me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm
stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!”
And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she
wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches
gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never
formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little
maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very
high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety—they were with
God.
But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn,
sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against
the wall— frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark
sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. “She
wanted to warm herself,” people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of
what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which,
with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.
Hans
Christian Andersen
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário