一个寒冷刺骨的除夕之夜，天色已经很晚了。
雪在下着。

一个可怜的小女孩在漆黑冰冷的街道上漫无目的地走着；她没戴帽子，光着两只脚。
当然啦，她从家里出来的时候是穿着鞋子的，可是也不管什么用，因为鞋子太大了，本来是她母亲穿的。
可怜的小女孩跑过马路，躲避飞快驶来的两辆马车时，两只鞋子从脚上掉了下来。一只再也找不到了，另一只被一个男孩捡去，他拿着鞋子跑开，说将来有了自己的孩子要用它做摇篮。

And so, the little girl walked barefoot through the freezing night. Her tiny feet had already turned blue and purple from the cold. In her worn apron, she carried bundles of matches. Another small bundle remained in her hands.

All day long, no one had bought a single match from her. No one had given her even a coin.

Cold. Hungry. And terribly alone. Snowflakes settled softly upon her pale golden hair, which curled so beautifully around her face. But she no longer noticed such things. Warm light spilled from every window she passed. And through the streets drifted the rich scent of roasted goose. It was New Year’s Eve. How could she forget? At last, she found a corner between two houses, where one wall stretched slightly farther outward than the other.

There, she curled herself into the shadows, drawing her frozen feet beneath her body. But somehow, she only felt colder still.

She did not dare return home. She had sold no matches. Earned no money. Her father would surely beat her. And besides, home was hardly warmer than the street itself. Above them was only a broken roof, patched with straw and old cloth — yet the winter wind still slipped through every crack.

Her hands were nearly frozen numb. Ah... how comforting even a single little match might feel. If only she dared. At last, she pulled one match carefully from the bundle and struck it against the wall.

Scratch... A tiny flame flickered to life. She cupped it gently in her hands. To the little girl, the flame glowed like a small candle in the darkness.

And suddenly, it seemed to her as though she were sitting before a great iron stove, its brass feet and handles polished warm and bright.

A great fire seemed to burn inside the stove, warming her so gently, so completely. The little girl stretched her frozen feet toward the warmth. But suddenly, the flame went out. The stove vanished. And there she was again, sitting alone in the cold corner, holding nothing but the burnt remains of a match.

She lit another. The flame rose bright and trembling. Its glow fell softly against the wall beside her— and the wall became transparent, thin as mist. She could see directly into the room beyond.   

A table stood inside, covered with a snow-white cloth. Beautiful porcelain shimmered beneath the candlelight. And there, at the center of it all, was a steaming roast goose, filled with apples and prunes. Then something extraordinary happened. The goose suddenly leapt down from the table. With a knife and fork still stuck in its back, it waddled clumsily across the floor, straight toward the little girl.

It walked straight toward the little girl— And then the match went out. Once again, there was nothing before her but the cold, dark wall.

She struck another match. This time, she found herself sitting beneath a magnificent Christmas tree. It was even larger and more beautiful than the one she had glimpsed through the glass doors of a wealthy home the year before. Thousands of candles shimmered among its branches. And hanging from the tree were colorful pictures, like the ones she had admired in shop windows.

The little girl reached out her hands toward them— But the flame disappeared. The candles rose higher and higher into the darkness, until they became stars in the night sky. Then one star fell, leaving behind a long trail of light.

“Someone is dying,” the little girl whispered to herself. For her grandmother — the only person who had ever truly loved her — had once told her: “When a star falls, a soul rises to God.”

She lit another match against the wall. And this time, her grandmother appeared within the glow. So gentle. So peaceful. So full of light.

“Grandmother!” the little girl cried. “Oh, please take me with you!” “I know you will disappear when the match goes out，just like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the beautiful Christmas tree...”

In desperation, she struck the entire bundle of matches at once. The flames blazed brightly around her, shining like daylight. And within that radiant light, her grandmother seemed taller and more beautiful than ever before. She opened her arms and held the little girl close. Together, they rose upward into brightness and joy, far above the earth— where there was no more cold, no hunger, no sorrow. For they were now with God.

在寒冷的晨光中，可怜的小女孩坐在那里，坐在两座房子之间的墙角里，面颊红扑扑的，脸上带着微笑——死了。在旧年的最后一个夜晚冻死了。

新年的曙光照在这具小小的尸体上，那一把燃尽了的火柴梗还抓在她手里。

“She must have tried to keep herself warm,” people said. But no one knew what beautiful things she had seen. And no one could imagine the light-filled place she and her grandmother had entered together on that New Year’s night.