| It was dreadfully cold,
snowing, and turning dark. It was the last evening of the year,
New Year's Eve. In this cold and darkness walked a little girl.
She was poor and both her head and feet were bare. Oh, she had
had a pair of slippers when she left home; but they had been
too big for her--in truth, they had belonged to her mother.
The little one had lost them while hurrying across the street
to get out of the way of two carriages that had been driving
along awfully fast. One of the slippers she could not find,
and the other had been snatched by a boy who, laughingly, shouted
that he would use it as a cradle when he had a child of his
own. |
Det var saa grueligt
koldt; det sneede og det begyndte at blive mørk Aften; det var
ogsaa den sidste Aften i Aaret, Nytaarsaften. I denne Kulde
og i dette Mørke gik paa Gaden en lille, fattig Pige med bart
Hoved og nøgne Fødder; ja hun havde jo rigtignok havt Tøfler
paa, da hun kom hjemme fra; men hvad kunde det hjælpe! det var
meget store Tøfler, hendes Moder havde sidst brugt dem, saa
store vare de, og dem tabte den Lille, da hun skyndte sig over
Gaden, i det to Vogne foer saa grueligt stærkt forbi; den ene
Tøffel var ikke at finde og den anden løb en Dreng med; han
sagde, at den kunde han bruge til Vugge, naar han selv fik Børn.
|
| Now the little girl
walked barefoot through the streets. Her feet were swollen and
red from the cold. She was carrying a little bundle of matches
in her hand and had more in her apron pocket. No one had bought
any all day, or given her so much as a penny. Cold and hungry,
she walked through the city; cowed by life, the poor thing!
The snowflakes fell on her long yellow hair that curled so prettily
at the neck, but to such things she never gave a thought. From
every window of every house, light shone, and one could smell
the geese roasting all the way out in the street. It was, after
all, New Year's Eve: and this she did think about. |
Der gik nu den lille
Pige paa de nøgne smaa Fødder, der vare røde og blaa af Kulde;
i et gammelt Forklæde holdt hun en Mængde Svovlstikker og eet
Bundt gik hun med i Haanden; Ingen havde den hele Dag kjøbt
af hende; Ingen havde givet hende en lille Skilling; sulten
og forfrossen gik hun og saae saa forkuet ud, den lille Stakkel!
Sneefnokkene faldt i hendes lange gule Haar, der krøllede saa
smukt om Nakken, men den Stads tænkte hun rigtignok ikke paa.
Ud fra alle Vinduer skinnede Lysene og saa lugtede der i Gaden
saa deiligt af Gaasesteg; det var jo Nytaarsaften, ja det tænkte
hun paa. |
| In a little recess between
two houses she sat down and tucked her feet under her. But now
she was even colder. She didn't dare go home because she had
sold no matches and was frightened that her father might beat
her. Besides, her home was almost as cold as the street. She
lived in an attic, right under a tile roof. The wind whistled
through it, even though they had tried to close the worst of
the holes and cracks with straw and old rags. Her little hands
were numb from cold. If only she dared strike a match, she could
warm them a little. She took one and struck it against the brick
wall of the house; it lighted! Oh, how warm it was and how clearly
it burned like a little candle. She held her hand around it.
How strange! It seemed that the match had become a big iron
stove with brass fixtures. Oh, how blessedly warm it was! She
stretched out her legs so that they, too, could get warm, but
at that moment the stove disappeared and she was sitting alone
with a burned-out match in her hand. |
Henne i en Krog mellem
to Huse, det ene gik lidt mere frem i Gaden end det andet, der
satte hun sig og krøb sammen; de smaa Been havde hun trukket
op under sig, men hun frøs endnu mere og hiem turde hun ikke
gaae, hun havde jo ingen Svovlstikker solgt, ikke faaet en eneste
Skilling, hendes Fader vilde slaae hende og koldt var der ogsaa
hjemme, de havde kun Taget lige over dem og der peeb Vinden
ind, skjøndt der var stoppet Straa og Klude i de største Sprækker.
Hendes smaa Hænder vare næsten ganske døde af Kulde. Ak! en
lille Svovlstikke kunde gjøre godt. Turde hun bare trække een
ud af Bundtet, stryge den mod Væggen og varme Fingrene. Hun
trak een ud, »ritsch!« hvor spruddede den, hvor brændte den!
det var en varm, klar Lue, ligesom et lille Lys, da hun holdt
Haanden om den; det var et underligt Lys! Den lille Pige syntes
hun sad foran en stor Jernkakkelovn med blanke Messingkugler
og Messingtromle; Ilden brændte saa velsignet, varmede saa godt!
nei, hvad var det! Den Lille strakte allerede Fødderne ud for
ogsaa at varme disse, - - da slukkedes Flammen, Kakkelovnen
forsvandt, - hun sad med en lille Stump af den udbrændte Svovlstikke
i Haanden. |
| She struck another match.
Its flame illuminated the wall and it became as transparent
as a veil: she could see right into the house. She saw the table
spread with a damask cloth and set with the finest porcelain.
In the center, on a dish, lay a roasted goose stuffed with apples
and prunes! But what was even more wonderful: the goose--although
a fork and knife were stuck in its back--had jumped off the
table and was waddling toward her. The little girl stretched
out her arms and the match burned out. Her hands touched the
cold, solid walls of the house. |
En ny blev strøget,
den brændte, den lyste, og hvor Skinnet faldt paa Muren, blev
denne gjennemsigtig, som et Flor; hun saae lige ind i Stuen,
hvor Bordet stod dækket med en skinnende hvid Dug, med fiint
Porcellain, og deiligt dampede den stegte Gaas, fyldt med Svedsker
og Æbler! og hvad der endnu var prægtigere, Gaasen sprang fra
Fadet, vraltede hen af Gulvet med Gaffel og Kniv i Ryggen; lige
hen til den fattige Pige kom den; da slukkedes Svovlstikken
og der var kun den tykke, kolde Muur at see. |
| She lit a third match.
The flame flared up and she was sitting under a Christmas tree
that was much larger and more beautifully decorated than the
one she had seen through the glass doors at the rich merchant's
on Christmas Eve. Thousands of candles burned on its green branches,
and colorful pictures like the ones you can see in store windows
were looking down at her. She smiled up at them; but then the
match burned itself out, and the candles of the Christmas tree
became the stars in the sky. A shooting star drew a line of
fire across the dark heavens. |
Hun tændte en ny. Da
sad hun under det deiligste Juletræ; det var endnu større og
mere pyntet, end det hun gjennem Glasdøren havde seet hos den
rige Kiøbmand, nu sidste Juul; tusinde Lys brændte paa de grønne
Grene og brogede Billeder, som de der pynte Boutikvinduerne,
saae ned til hende. Den Lille strakte begge Hænder i Veiret
- da slukkedes Svovlstikken; de mange Julelys gik høiere og
høiere, hun saae de vare nu de klare Stjerner, een af dem faldt
og gjorde en lang Ildstribe paa Himlen. |
| "Someone is dying,"
whispered the little girl. Her grandmother, who was dead, was
the only person who had ever loved or been kind to the child;
and she had told her that a shooting star was the soul of a
human being traveling to God. |
"Nu døer der Een!" sagde
den Lille, for gamle Mormoer, som var den eneste, der havde
været god mod hende, men nu var død, havde sagt: naar en Stjerne
falder, gaaer der en Sjæl op til Gud. |
| She struck yet another
match against the wall and in its blaze she saw her grandmother,
so sweet, so blessedly kind. |
Hun strøg igjen mod
Muren en Svovlstikke, den lyste rundt om, og i Glandsen stod
den gamle Mormoer, saa klar, saa skinnende, saa mild og velsignet.
|
| "Grandmother!" shouted
the little one. "Take me with you! I know you will disappear
when the match goes out, just like the warm stove, the goose,
and the beautiful Christmas tree." Quickly, she lighted all
the matches she had left in her hand, so that her grandmother
could not leave. And the matches burned with such a clear, strong
flame that the night became as light as day. Never had her grandmother
looked so beautiful. She lifted the little girl in her arms
and flew with her to where there is neither cold nor hunger
nor fear: up to God. |
"Mormoer!" raabte den
Lille, "0 tag mig med! jeg veed, Du er borte, naar Svovlstikken
gaaer ud; borte ligesom den varme Kakkelovn, den deilige Gaasesteg
og det store velsignede Juletræ!" - og hun strøg ihast den hele
Rest Svovlstikker, der var i Bundtet, hun vilde ret holde paa
Mormoer; og Svovlstikkerne lyste med en saadan Glands, at det
var klarere end ved den lyse Dag. Mormoer havde aldrig før været
saa smuk, saa stor; hun løftede den lille Pige op paa sin Arm,
og de fløi i Glands og Glæde, saa høit, saa høit; og der var
ingen Kulde, ingen Hunger, ingen Angst, - de vare hos Gud! |
| In the cold morning
the little girl was found. Her cheeks were red and she was smiling.
She was dead. She had frozen to death on the last evening of
the old year. The sun on New Year's Day shone down on the little
corpse; her lap was filled with burned-out matches. "She had
been trying to warm herself," people said. And no one knew the
sweet visions she had seen, or in what glory she and her grandmother
had passed into a truly new year. |
Men i Krogen ved Huset
sad i den kolde Morgenstund den lille Pige med røde Kinder,
med Smiil om Munden - død, frosset ihjel den sidste Aften i
det gamle Aar. Nytaarsmorgen gik op over det lille Liig, der
sad med Svovlstikkerne, hvoraf et Knippe var næsten brændt.
Hun har villet varme sig! sagde man; Ingen vidste, hvad smukt
hun havde seet, i hvilken Glands hun med gamle Mormoer var gaaet
ind til Nytaars Glæde! |
|