Девочка со спичками

           Andwhatwasstillmorecapitaltobeholdwas,thegoosehoppeddownfromthedish,reeledaboutonthefloorwithknifeandforkinitsbreast,tillitcameuptothepoorlittlegirl;when—thematchwentoutandnothingbutthethick,cold,dampwallwasleftbehind.Shelightedanothermatch.NowthereshewassittingunderthemostmagnificentChristmastree:itwasstilllarger,andmoredecoratedthantheonewhichshehadseenthroughtheglassdoorintherichmerchant’shouse.

           Thousandsoflightswereburningonthegreenbranches,andgaily-coloredpictures,suchasshehadseenintheshop-windows,lookeddownuponher.Thelittlemaidenstretchedoutherhandstowardsthemwhen—thematchwentout.ThelightsoftheChristmastreerosehigherandhigher,shesawthemnowasstarsinheaven;onefelldownandformedalongtrailoffire.

           “Someoneisjustdead!”saidthelittlegirl;forheroldgrandmother,theonlypersonwhohadlovedher,andwhowasnownomore,hadtoldher,thatwhenastarfalls,asoulascendstoGod.

           Shedrewanothermatchagainstthewall:itwasagainlight,andinthelustretherestoodtheoldgrandmother,sobrightandradiant,somild,andwithsuchanexpressionoflove.

           “Grandmother!”criedthelittleone.“Oh,takemewithyou!Yougoawaywhenthematchburnsout;youvanishlikethewarmstove,likethedeliciousroastgoose,andlikethemagnificentChristmastree!”Andsherubbedthewholebundleofmatchesquicklyagainstthewall,forshewantedtobequitesureofkeepinghergrandmothernearher