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
matchseller 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 matchseller
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 matchseller, 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 matchseller 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