 The little match girl by Hans Christian Anderson. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kamna. The little match girl by Hans Christian Anderson. Most terribly cold it was, it snored and was nearly quite dark and evening the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness they went along the street, a poor little girl, bare-headed 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 her 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 capitely for a cradle when he someday or other should have children himself. So the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet that were quite red and blue from gold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she had a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole live long day. No one had even given her a single farting. She crept along, trembling with cold hunger, a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing. The flakes of snow covered her long, fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her neck. But of that, of course, she never once now thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelled so deliciously of rosegoose, for, you know, it was New Year's Eve. Yes, of that she thought. In a corner formed by two houses, one of which advanced more than the other, she seated her head down and covered together. Her little feet she had drawn up close 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 farting 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 through the largest, cracks were stopped up at straw and rags. Her little hands were almost numb with cold. Oh, a match might afford her a world of comfort. If only she dared to take a single one out of the bundle, and draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one out. Shht, how it blazed, how it burned. It was a warm bright flame, like a candle, and she held her hands over it. It was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden, as though she was sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament on 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 star vanished. She had only the remains of the burned-out match in her head. 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 only see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth. Upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the rosegoes were 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. Then the match went out, and nothing but the thick, gold-dammed pole 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 Litch Motion's house. Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily colored pictures, such as 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 dead, said the little girl. For her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, who in who is now no more, had told her that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God. She drew another match against the wife. It was again light, and 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 stuff, like the delicious rosegoes, 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 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 enjoy 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 in the last evening of the old year. stiff and suck 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. End of the little match girl. Recorded by calm now.