#THE STORY OF AN HOUR ANNOTATIONS WINDOWS#

'Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, 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 of keeping her grandmother near her. She drew another match against the wall: 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.15

'Someone is just dead!'12 said the little girl for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her,13 and who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.14 The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them nowĪs stars in heaven one fell down and formed a long trail of fire. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when-the match went out. Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree:11 it was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house.

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,10 till it came up to the poor little girl when-the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. 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 see into the room. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too but-the small flame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand.9 The fire burned with such blessed influence it warmed so delightfully. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. 'Rischt!' how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it.8 She drew one out. Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together.5 Her little feet she had drawn close up 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 farthing of money: from her father she would certainly get blows,6 and at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags.7

#THE STORY OF AN HOUR ANNOTATIONS WINDOWS#

From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New Year's Eve yes, of that she thought. 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. She crept along trembling with cold and hunger4-a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing! Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day no one had given her a single farthing.3 She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. So the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold. 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 capitally for a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. When she left home she had slippers2 on, it is true but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn so large were they and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast. MOST terribly cold it was it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening- the last evening of the year.1 In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet.

The story of an hour annotations