Reminiscing the works of Hans Christian Andersen
Posted: Friday, October 22, 2010
by Joel Hendon
http://hebronics.org/index.html
As one grows older, the inclination to reminisce grows stronger, and it is astounding, the things that come back into memory once you become involved. As I was browsing the web (there are many things I have saved in my computer memory) I pulled up a list under the heading of "classics" and just happened to take a look at Hans Christian Anderson. The couple of stories listed under his name came crashing into my brain. I could hardly remember even the titles. Yet I did remember the stories quite well and I began to re-read them.
The Little Match Seller: (1846) The scenario for this story is that it is New Year's evening, very cold and snow falling heavily. A little girl, bare headed and no shoes. In her apron, she carried several small bundles of matches and carried one bundle in her hand. She had been out all day and had been unable to sell any matches and no one had given her even a penny as they some ties did. Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along; poor little child, she looked the picture of misery (A sentence from the story).
All the houses had lights shining in the windows and she could smell the savory odor of roast goose and other foods being prepared for the next day.
In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold.(Ibid)
As she sat there, partially sheltered by the houses, she became so cold she could hardly move. Then she thought of her matches and decided to light one to warm a hand by.
She drew one out-"scratch!" how it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brass ornament. How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flame of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand.(ibid)
She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl. Then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her. (Ibid)
She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant's. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in the show-windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out. (ibid)
The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. "Someone is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God. (Ibid)
She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance. "Grandmother," cried the little one, "O take me with you; I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the large, glorious Christmas-tree." And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day, and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God. (ibid)
The next morning, villagers found the little girl lying in the snow with one hand holding a new bundle of matches, the other a bundle which had been burned. She had frozen to death but there was a smile on her lips. Some said she had tried to warm herself with the matches. The sunlight shone upon her and on the first day of a new year. This story, although fiction, could tug at your heartstrings. The talented Hans Christian Andersen produced this which became an immortal classic.
Andersen also wrote The Ugly Duckling, and although it is a fantasy even more so than the preceding one, concerning talking animals, it tugs at your heart also. Yet the one little ugly newborn into a hatching of ducks, ends with a very happy ending. I am glad that I re-read the two stories. They were not only able to furnish a feeling of nostalgia, but a delightful feeling as the two subjects, who suffered much for a long time, were finally victorious and ecstatically happy.
If any wish to read either of these two stories or numerous other exciting classics, you will find them here: CLASSICS FOR THE READER, a page I put together some years ago.
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)I love the story of The Ugly Duckling, but The Little Match Girl breaks my heart - sad how it is even more relevant today than ever.
Thanks again Jennifer. Yes eventhough one knows that the story is fiction, it is vivid enough to near about bring tears to the eyes.
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