English Original
THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL
It was terribly cold. It was snowing, and almost dark, for it was the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness, a poor little girl walked bareheaded and barefoot through the streets. It is true she had worn slippers when she left home, but they were too large—her mother's old ones. As she hurried across the street to avoid two fast carriages, she lost them. One slipper was gone; a boy ran off with the other, saying it would make a fine cradle someday.
So the little girl walked on with her tiny naked feet, red and blue with cold. She carried matches in an old apron and held a bundle in her hand. No one had bought any all day; no one had given her a single coin.
Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along—a picture of misery. Snowflakes settled on her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls about her neck, but she did not think of her beauty. From every window, candles gleamed, and the delicious smell of roast goose filled the air, for it was New Year's Eve. Yes, she thought of that.
In a corner between two houses, she sat down and huddled. She drew her feet close, but grew colder still. She dared not go home, for she had sold no matches and earned no money. Her father would beat her, and at home it was cold too, with only a leaky roof overhead, its cracks stuffed with straw and rags.
Her little hands were almost numb. Oh, how a single match might comfort her! If only she dared take one, strike it on the wall, and warm her fingers. She drew one out. "Rischt!" How it blazed! It was a warm, bright flame like a candle. She held her hands over it—a wonderful light. To her, it seemed she sat before a large iron stove with polished brass feet and ornaments. The fire burned so blessedly, warming her delightfully. She stretched out her feet to warm them too, but—the flame went out, the stove vanished. Only the burnt match remained in her hand.
She struck another. It burned brightly, and where the light fell, the wall became transparent like a veil. She could see into a room where a snow-white tablecloth was spread. Upon it stood a splendid porcelain service, and a roast goose steamed famously, stuffed with apples and plums. Even better, the goose hopped from the dish, waddled across the floor with a knife and fork in its breast, right up to the girl—then the match went out. Only the thick, cold, damp wall remained.
She lit another match. Now she sat under a magnificent Christmas tree, larger and more decorated than the one she had seen through a rich merchant's glass door. Thousands of lights burned on its green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, like those in shop windows, looked down upon her. She reached out her hands—the match went out. The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, becoming stars in the sky. One fell, leaving a long trail of fire.
"Someone has just died," whispered the girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had loved her, had said that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.
She struck another match. In its glow stood her grandmother, bright, radiant, and loving.
"Grandmother!" cried the child. "Oh, take me with you! You vanish when the match goes out, like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the Christmas tree!"
She quickly struck the whole bundle against the wall, wanting to keep her grandmother near. The matches blazed with a light brighter than noon. Never had her grandmother looked so beautiful and tall. She took the little girl in her arms, and together they flew in joy and brightness, higher and higher, where there was no cold, no hunger, no fear—they were with God.
But in the corner, at the cold dawn, sat the poor girl with rosy cheeks and a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall—frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark she sat with her matches, one bundle burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one knew what beautiful things she had seen, or the splendor in which she and her grandmother had entered the joys of a new year.
中文翻译
卖火柴的小女孩
天气冷得可怕。雪下着，天几乎黑了，因为这是旧年的最后一夜。在这寒冷和黑暗中，一个可怜的小女孩光头赤脚地在街上走着。她离开家时确实穿着拖鞋，但那双拖鞋太大了——是她母亲的旧鞋。当她匆忙穿过街道躲避两辆飞驰的马车时，她把鞋弄丢了。一只不见了；一个男孩拿着另一只跑掉了，说将来可以做个好摇篮。
于是小女孩继续走着，她的小脚赤裸着，冻得又红又青。她把火柴放在一个旧围裙里，手里拿着一捆。一整天都没人买一根；没人给过她一个铜板。
她又冷又饿，颤抖着向前爬行——一幅凄惨的画面。雪花落在她长长的金发上，头发卷曲着垂在颈边，很美，但她没想到自己的美。每个窗口都闪烁着烛光，空气中飘着烤鹅的香味，因为这是除夕夜。是的，她想到了这个。
在两座房子之间的一个角落里，她坐下来蜷缩着。她把脚收拢，但感觉更冷了。她不敢回家，因为她一根火柴也没卖掉，没赚到钱。父亲会打她，而且家里也很冷，只有漏风的屋顶，裂缝用稻草和破布塞着。
她的小手几乎冻僵了。哦，哪怕一根火柴也能给她一点安慰！只要她敢拿出一根，在墙上划着，暖暖手指。她抽出一根。“哧！”它燃起来了！那是一朵温暖、明亮的火焰，像支蜡烛。她把手放在上面——一道奇妙的光。在她看来，仿佛坐在一个大铁炉前，炉子有擦亮的黄铜炉脚和装饰。火烧得那么欢，温暖着她。她伸出脚也想暖和一下，但是——火焰熄灭了，炉子消失了。只有烧过的火柴梗留在手里。
她又划了一根。它明亮地燃烧着，光照到的地方，墙壁变得像面纱一样透明。她能看到一个房间，里面铺着雪白的桌布。桌上摆着精美的瓷器，一只烤鹅正冒着热气，肚子里塞满了苹果和李子。更妙的是，鹅从盘子里跳下来，摇摇摆摆地在地板上走，胸前插着刀叉，径直朝女孩走来——然后火柴熄灭了。只剩下那堵又厚又冷又湿的墙。
她点燃了另一根火柴。现在她坐在一棵华丽的圣诞树下，比她从富商玻璃门里看到的那棵更大、装饰得更美。成千上万支蜡烛在绿枝上燃烧，色彩鲜艳的图画，像商店橱窗里的一样，俯视着她。她伸出手去——火柴熄灭了。圣诞树的烛光越升越高，变成了天上的星星。一颗星星落下来，划出一道长长的火光。
“又有一个人死了，”小女孩低声说，因为她慈爱的老祖母曾告诉她，一颗星星落下，就有一个灵魂升到上帝那里去。
她又划了一根火柴。在火光中，站着她的祖母，明亮、容光焕发、充满慈爱。
“祖母！”孩子叫道。“啊，请带我走吧！火柴一灭，您就不见了，就像那温暖的炉子、美味的烤鹅和美丽的圣诞树一样！”
她迅速把整捆火柴都划在墙上，想把祖母留住。火柴发出比正午还亮的光芒。祖母从未显得如此美丽和高大。她把小女孩抱在怀里，她们一起在光明和快乐中飞走了，越飞越高，飞到一个没有寒冷、没有饥饿、没有恐惧的地方——她们和上帝在一起。
但在那个角落，在寒冷的黎明时分，坐着那个可怜的女孩，脸颊通红，嘴角带着微笑，倚着墙——在旧年的最后一夜冻死了。她僵硬地坐在那里，手里拿着火柴，其中一捆已经烧光了。“她想暖和一下自己，”人们说。没有人知道她看到了多么美丽的东西，也不知道她和祖母是以怎样的荣光进入了新年的幸福之中。