The Girl with the Matchsticks – A Fairy Tale

It was an evening in the very depths of winter, and the Silbenwald lay still and sleeping beneath a thick blanket of snow. The fireflies had tucked themselves into the cracks of the bark, and the warm lanterns hanging from the old oak trees glowed softly through the gentle mist. In this wood there lived a little girl whom everyone called Clara. Clara was brave and curious, and she always carried a bundle of matchsticks with her, ready to bring light and warmth to anyone who needed it.

On this particular evening, Clara made her way through the Silbenwald with the bundle of matchsticks held firmly under her arm. She had not sold a single one all day, and her little fingers were as cold as snowflakes. But Clara was not sad — she looked up at the glowing lanterns among the trees and hummed quietly to herself. The fireflies heard her song and peeped out from their hiding places, blinking at her in a friendly way, as if to say: we are here with you, Clara.

Clara found an old, gnarled tree with a great round hollow in its side — just like a little wooden armchair. She settled herself into it, pulled her big red coat tightly around her, and thought things over. The matchsticks in her bundle gleamed golden in the lantern light. Clara said to herself: perhaps I shall strike just one tiny match, only to warm my fingers a little. The fireflies danced about her in excitement, as though they were already looking forward to the small, bright flame that was soon to come.

Clara struck the first match against the rough bark of the tree. Piff! A little flame leapt up, warm and golden as a tiny sun. And in that light — oh, wonder of wonders! — Clara suddenly saw a magnificent tiled stove standing right there among the trees. Its tiles shimmered blue and white, and it gave off a warmth that felt like being hugged from the inside. Clara stretched out her small hands and felt the cold creeping slowly, slowly away. Then the match went out — and the stove vanished like a dream into the mist.

Clara smiled and struck the second match. Piff! The warm little flame leapt up again — and this time Clara saw a beautiful table set right there in the Silbenwald. On it stood plates heaped with steaming food, fragrant loaves of bread, and a large bowl of apple sauce. And in the very centre: a golden roast goose, spreading its wings as if it longed to flutter over to Clara and say: eat, dear girl, you must be hungry! Clara laughed softly. The match went out and the table disappeared — but the smile on Clara's face stayed.

The third match — piff! — showed Clara something truly extraordinary. All at once the trees of the Silbenwald shimmered like enormous candles, and between their branches hung coloured lights like stars within reach. It was a magnificent tree of light in the heart of the forest, taller than any tree around it, glowing in every colour of the rainbow. Clara gazed up at it with wide, shining eyes and thought: the world can be this beautiful! When the match went out, the lights drifted gently away as fireflies, and left Clara's heart feeling warm and wonderfully wide.

Then the third match went out — and in the quiet that followed, Clara heard a familiar sound. A warm, loving voice whispered through the Silbenwald: Clara. The little girl looked up, and there — in the glow of the lanterns and the dancing fireflies — stood her grandmother. Grandmother wore a soft shawl about her shoulders and smiled so tenderly that all the mist around her turned to gold. She opened her arms wide, and Clara felt her heart give a little leap of joy.

Clara reached at once for the whole bundle of matchsticks — she could not bear for this picture to fade away. One after another she struck the matches, and every small flame made her grandmother appear clearer and more radiant than before. In her gentle voice, Grandmother said: come, my dear child, I shall take you to the cosiest corner of the Silbenwald, where it is always warm and where light and laughter never fade. Clara took hold of her grandmother's hands, and together they floated higher and higher among the glowing trees.

When the first rose-gold light of morning touched the Silbenwald, the woodland folk found Clara — sleeping deeply and peacefully in the hollow of the tree, the empty bundle beside her and a quiet smile upon her cheeks. The fireflies had arranged themselves in a ring of light all around her, and the warm lanterns burned more brightly than ever, as though the whole forest had stayed up to keep watch. The woodland folk whispered to one another: look how happily Clara is sleeping! She must have dreamt of something truly wonderful.

And do you know what the elf of the Silbenwald believes? Clara is with her grandmother, in the warmest, brightest place the Silbenwald has ever known — a place where light never goes out and love never ends. Every time you see a small light — a candle, a firefly, a star — that is a little hello from Clara. She wants you to know, just as she does: you are loved, you are safe, and you need never be afraid of the cold. Sleep well now, little one. The Silbenwald is shining for you.