More on "Stribor's Forest"

 

Last month I shared with you the story of "Stribor's Forest."  Now it's time to discuss the story further.

Ivana Brlic-Mazuranic (lived from 1874-1921).   Ivana was born to a prominent family, privately educated, married a wealthy man (in an arranged marriage) and had seven children.  She began by telling these stories to her children and resisted publishing her work for quite some time because, in those days, it was inappropriate for women to write. Fortunately, she later changed her mind. Her work was first published in French in 1913. The English translation of this collection entitled “Croation Tales of Long Ago” was published in 1924. It is a compilation of six stories, one of which is “Stribor’s Forest.”

These literary fairy tales were inspired by folklore, mythology and Christian morality just like the work of Hans Christian Anderson. In fact, Ivana is sometimes called the “Croation Anderson” or even the “Croation Tolkien” (although I think the Tolkien analogy is a bit of a stretch).  Both Hans and Ivana’s writing offer a moral lesson using the motifs found within folktales.  However, Ivana’s tales tend to be more uplifting and Anderson’s darker in tone.

Many of Ivana’s stories explore issues of motherhood and this one is no exception.  In our story she offers a portrait of a woman who is selfless, sacrificing everything for her son.   Nature also plays a significant role in many of her tales. The forest depicted in this story was inspired by those of her childhood where the Slavonian Oaks thrive.  This story is a journey like many others, but the magic of Stribor’s Forest can be good or bad depending upon the intention of the traveler. As you’ll discover this old woman has a profound choice to make. She’ll show herself to be a very wise crone indeed.

The story begins with the young man entering Stribor’s forest.  The forest is enchanted.  “Some of its magic was good and some was bad – to each according to his desserts.”  The forest looms ominously throughout the story.  It ultimately becomes the force that determines the worth of each of the characters in the tale. Each according to their desserts.

The forest was magical because it was under a spell or a curse.  It would remain enchanted until it was entered by “someone who preferred his sorrows to all the joys of this world.”  That’s a real head scratcher, isn’t it?  Who would ever prefer their sorrows to all the joys available in this world?  Now, you might say, “I think I’d prefer my sorrows to someone else’s.”  After all, it’s usually better to live with the devil you know, as they say. But this is ultimately the question and the moral of the story.  It’s something we are asked to grapple with.  But first, let’s see what the old woman does.

The story begins with a young man and his mother. The young man reveres his mother as a saint.  He loves and cherishes her, perhaps a bit too much. His view of his mother is too idealized to be sustained.  If you can remember back to an earlier podcast, “The Old Woman and the Tiger,” we see here a different scenario.  That Chinese folktale is a story of filial piety and a tiger who takes on the role of a dutiful, departed son. This story has a more predictable track, for the son, who begins by being dutiful, is soon overtaken by carnal desires.  While visiting the forest, he meets an enchanted snake who transforms into a beautiful woman with wily, evil ways and sexual alure.  He seems helpless, just as Samson was in the Bible. Ivana who draws on Christian morals and stories, plucks this character from the Garden of Eden – half snake, half Eve.

When the mother tries to warn her son about his bride, he rebels and calls her a witch. She knows what’s going on with this creature, because of her wisdom.  She alone can identify the snake because she uses her knowledge and experience to watch and observe. But the young man doesn’t listen to his mother and he doesn’t even check out what she says.  He just stays under her spell.  Now, this part of the story rings true, for most parents know it’s best not to criticize a child’s love interest.  It just tends to cement their bond and cast the parent out.

Obviously, this mother didn’t understand the unfolding dynamic which now descends upon her – such cruelty and abuse from her daughter in law and son. The mother’s whole reason for living was to serve and protect her child. But in return he gives her nothing.  All he does is laugh or stay silent as his snake bride torments and tortures his mother. Meanwhile, his mother doesn’t even pray to God for fear God will discover the sins of her son.

Now, we can say much about the son, and I could write volumes about the co-dependency of his mother. We all know women who are co-dependent.  It’s still a strong part of our culture.  Self-sacrifice is a virtue for mothers, not tough love (even when that’s the greatest love of all). We praise acts of codependency no matter the consequence to the child or the family. This is one of those sticky, so called “Christian” virtues, that appear in Ivana’s stories. The story cries out for women to aspire to such selflessness too.  Any takers? I certainly hope not! Kindness, caring and service to others is a virtue but not when you lose yourself in the process.  Can that even apply when your son and daughter in law follow you into the forest hoping to see your demise?

Sadly, this old woman is not saved by her son.  She is aided by the magic of this world, the Brownies who came out of the logs and especially Tintilinkie, who heard her cries and gave her advice.  He was the helper.  It’s magic that leads her to safety and ultimately transforms her life.  How might that magic be a metaphor that we can use in this life? Is it hope?  Imagination?  Potential for change?  The old woman embodies each of these. 

She finally meets Stribor who is a force of both magic and nature.  He listens to her story and then makes her an offer.  She can either choose to go back to the village of her youth and live there as she did 50 years ago OR stay as she is.  But that is the catch.  If she goes back to the past, she will no longer remember her son.  She declines the offer.

“I would rather abide in my misery and know that I have a son, than that you should give me all the riches and happiness in the world, and I forget my son,” she says.  And in so doing, the curse is broken.  The magic is gone, and her son is back to normal.  He asks for her forgiveness, which she grants for she is now the wise crone.  Her son marries the kind girl who gave his mother wood and the three live happily together.

But I think we should pause for just a moment to reflect on the choice she made. Most of us have a heavy heart.  It’s the nature of this world for us to suffer and experience sorrow. But would we exchange that sorrow for all the happiness in the world?  That’s the question we are left with in this story.  What most often haunts us and hurts us is not the misfortune and suffering we experience but the moments of beauty and grace that remain.  It’s the poignancy of “if only” or “what if.” Think of your most difficult experiences.  Are there any memories left from death, divorce or illness to hold on to? The true magic of Stribor’s forest is accepting our sorrow as proof that we once loved so much that it hurts. It’s this love we always want to remember.

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Illustration by Vladimir Kirin.

"Stribor’s Forest" by Ivana Brlić-Mažuranić

 

 

Ivana Brlic-Mazuranic (1874-1921) Is considered to be the best Croation writer for children.  She was born to a prominent family and began writing early.  She married a wealthy man and had seven children.  Her work was first published in French in 1913. This story comes from her collection “Croation Tales from Long Ago.”  This work is considered her masterpiece for the stories are inspired by motifs taken from Slavic mythology and folktales. Like writer Hans Christian Anderson, her work has a Christian sense of morality.

 

          One day a young man went into Stribor’s Forest and did not know that the Forest was enchanted and that all manner of magic abode there. Some of its magic was good and some was bad—to each one according to his deserts.

          Now this Forest was to remain enchanted until it should be entered by someone who preferred his sorrows to all the joys of this world.

          The young man set to and cut wood, and presently sat down on a stump to rest, for it was a fine winter’s day. And out of the stump slipped a snake and began to fawn upon him. Now this wasn’t a real snake, but a human being transformed into a snake for its sins, and it could only be set free by one who was willing to wed it. The snake sparkled like silver in the sun as it looked up into the young man’s eyes.

          “Dear me, what a pretty snake! I should rather like to take it home,” said the young man in fun.

          “Here’s the silly fool who is going to help me out of my trouble,” thought the sinful soul within the snake. So she made haste and turned herself at once out of a snake into a most beautiful woman standing there before the young man. Her sleeves were white and embroidered like butterflies’ wings, and her feet were tiny like a countess’s. But because her thoughts had been evil, the tongue in her mouth remained a serpent’s tongue.

          “Here I am! Take me home and marry me!” said the snake-woman to the youth.

          Now if this youth had only had presence of mind and remembered quickly to brandish his hatchet at her and call out: “I certainly never thought of wedding a piece of forest magic,” why, then the woman would at once have turned again into a snake, wriggled back into the stump, and no harm done to anybody.

          But he was one of your good-natured, timid and shy youths; moreover, he was ashamed to say “No” to her, when she had transformed herself all on his account. Besides, he liked her because she was pretty, and he couldn’t know in his innocence what had remained inside her mouth.

          So, he took the woman by the hand and led her home. Now that youth lived with his old Mother, and he cherished his mother as though she were the image of a saint.

          “This is your daughter-in-law,” said the youth, as he entered the house with the Woman.

          “The Lord be thanked, my son,” replied his mother, and looked at the pretty girl. But the mother was old and wise, and knew at once what was inside her daughter-in-law’s mouth.

          The daughter-in-law went out to change her dress, and the mother said to her son:

          “You have chosen a very pretty bride, my boy; only beware, lest she be a snake.”

          The youth was dumbfounded with astonishment. How could his mother know that the other had been a snake? And his heart grew angry within him as he thought: “Surely my mother is a witch.” And from that moment he hated his mother.

          So the three began to live together, but badly and discordantly. The daughter-in-law was ill-tempered, spiteful, greedy and proud.

          Now there was a mountain peak there as high as the clouds, and one day the daughter-in-law bade the old Mother go up and fetch her snow from the summit for her to wash in.

          “There is no path up there,” said the mother. “Take the goat and let her guide you. Where she can go up, there you can tumble down,” said the daughter-in-law.

          The son was there at the time, but he only laughed at the words, simply to please his wife.

          This so grieved the mother that she set out at once for the peak to fetch the snow, because she was tired of life. As she went her way, she thought to ask God to help her; but she changed her mind and said: “For then God would know that my son is undutiful.”

          But God gave her help all the same, so that she safely brought the snow back to her daughter-in-law from the cloud-capped peak.

          Next day the daughter-in-law gave her a fresh order:

          “Go out on to the frozen lake. In the middle of the lake there is a hole. Catch me a carp there for dinner.”

          “The ice will give way under me, and I shall perish in the lake,” replied the old Mother.

          “The carp will be pleased if you go down with him,” said the daughter-in-law.

          And again, the son laughed, and the mother was so grieved that she went out at once to the lake. The ice cracked under the old woman, and she wept so that the tears froze on her face. But yet she would not pray to God for help; she would keep it from God that her son was sinful.

          “It is better that I should perish,” thought the mother as she walked over the ice.

          But her time had not yet come. And therefore, a gull flew over her head, bearing a fish in its beak. The fish wriggled out of the gull’s beak and fell right at the feet of the old woman. The Mother picked up the fish and brought it safely to her daughter-in-law.

          On the third day the mother sat by the fire and took up her son’s shirt to mend it. When her daughter-in-law saw that, she flew at her, snatched the shirt out of her hands, and screamed:

          “Stop that, you blind old fool! That is none of your business.”

          And she would not let the mother mend her son’s shirt.

          Then the old woman’s heart was altogether saddened, so that she went outside, sat in that bitter cold on the bench before the house, and cried to God:

          “Oh God, help me!”

          At that moment she saw a poor girl coming towards her. The girl’s bodice was all tom and her shoulder blue with the cold, because the sleeve had given way. But still the girl smiled, for she was bright and sweet-tempered. Under her arm she carried a bundle of kindling-wood.

          “Will you buy wood for kindling, Mother?” asked the girl.

          “I have no money, my dear; but if you like I will mend your sleeve,” sadly returned the old Mother, who was still holding the needle and thread with which she had wanted to mend her son’s shirt.

          So the old Mother mended the girl’s sleeve, and the girl gave her a bundle of kindling-wood, thanked her kindly, and went on happy because her shoulder was no longer cold.

           That evening the daughter-in-law said to the mother:

          “We are going out to supper with godmother. Mind you have hot water for me when I come back.”

          The daughter-in-law was greedy and always on the look-out to get invited for a meal.

          So, the others went out, and the old woman was left alone. She took out the kindling-wood which the poor girl had given her, lit the fire on the hearth, and went into the shed for wood.

          As she was in the shed fetching the wood, she suddenly heard something in the kitchen a-bustling and a-rustling— “hist, hist!”

          “Whoever is that?” called the old Mother from the shed.

          “Brownies! Brownies!” came the answer from the kitchen in voices so tiny, for all the world like sparrows chirping under the roof.

          The old woman wondered what on earth was going on there in the dark and went into the kitchen. And when she got there the kindling-chips just flared up on the hearth, and round the flame there were Brownies dancing in a ring—all tiny little men no bigger than half an elf. They wore little fur coats; their caps and shoes were red as flames; their beards were grey as ashes, and their eyes sparkled like live coal.

          More and more of them danced out of the flames, one for each chip. And as they appeared, they laughed and chirped, turned somersaults on the hearth, twittered with glee, and then took hands and danced in a ring.

          And how they danced! Round the hearth, in the ashes, under the cupboard, on the table, in the jug, on the chair! Round and round! Faster and faster! They chirped and they chattered, chased and romped all over the place. They scattered the salt; they spilt the barm; they upset the flour—all for sheer fun. The fire on the hearth blazed and shone, crackled and glowed; and the old woman gazed and gazed. She never regretted the salt nor the barm, but was glad of the jolly little folk whom God had sent to comfort her.

          It seemed to the old woman as though she were growing young again. She laughed like a dove; she tripped like a girl; she took hands with the Brownies and danced. But all the time there was the load on her heart, and that was so heavy that the dance stopped at once.

          “Little brothers,” said the mother to the Brownies, “can you not help me to get a sight of my daughter-in-law’s tongue, so that when I can show my son what I have seen with my own eyes, he will perhaps come to his senses?”

          And the old woman told the Brownies all that had happened. The Brownies sat round the edge of the hearth, their little feet thrust under the grate, each wee mannikin beside his neighbor,and listened to the old woman, all wagging their heads in wonder. And as they wagged their heads, their red caps caught the glow of the fire, and you’d have thought there was nothing there but the fire burning on the hearth.

          When the old woman had finished her story, one of the Brownies called out, and his name was Wee Tintilinkie:

          “I will help you! I will go to the sunshiny land and bring you magpies’ eggs. We will put them under the sitting hen, and when the magpies are hatched your daughter-in-law will betray her-self. She will crave for little magpies like any ordinary forest snake, and so put out her tongue.”

          All the Brownies twittered with joy because Wee Tintilinkie had thought of something so clever. They were still at the height of their glee when in came the daughter-in-law from supper with a cake for herself.

          She flew to the door in a rage to see who was chattering in the kitchen. But just as she opened the door, the door went bang! The flame leapt, up jumped the Brownies, gave one stamp all-round the hearth with their tiny feet, rose up above the flames, flew up to the roof,—the boards in the roof creaked a bit, and the Brownies were gone!

          Only Wee Tintilinkie did not run away but hid among the ashes.

          When the flame leapt so unexpectedly and the door banged to, the daughter-in-law got a start, so that for sheer fright she plumped on the floor like a sack. The cake broke in her hand; her hair came down, combs and all; her eyes goggled, and she called out angrily:

          “What was that, you old wretch?”

          “The wind blew up the flame when the door opened,” said the mother, and kept her wits about her.

          “And what is that among the ashes?” said the daughter-in-law again. For from the ashes peeped the red heel of Wee Tintilinkie’s shoe.

          “That is a live ember,” said the Mother.

          However, the daughter-in-law would not believe her, but all dishevelled as she was, she got up and went over to see close to what was on the hearth. As she bent down with her face over the ashes Wee Tintilinkie quickly let out with his foot, so that his heel caught the daughter-in-law on the nose. The Woman screamed as if she were drowning in the sea; her face was all over soot, and her tumbled hair all smothered with ashes.

          “What was that, you miserable old woman?” hissed the daughter-in-law.

          “A chestnut bursting in the fire,” answered the mother; and Wee Tintilinkie in the ashes almost split with laughter.

          While the daughter-in-law went out to wash, the mother showed Wee Tintilinkie where the daughter-in-law had set the hen, so as to have little chickens for Christmas. That very night Wee Tintilinkie fetched magpies’ eggs and put them under the hen instead of hens’ eggs.

          The daughter-in-law bade the mother take good care of the hen and to tell her at once whenever the chickens were hatched. Because the daughter-in-law intended to invite the whole village to come and see that she had chickens at Christmas, when nobody else had any.

          In due time the magpies were hatched. The Mother told her daughter-in-law that the chickens had come out, and the daughter-in-law invited the village. Gossips and neighbors came along, both great and small, and the old woman’s son was there too. The Wife told her mother-in-law to fetch the nest and bring it into the passage.

          The Mother brought in the nest, lifted off the hen, and behold, there was something chirping in the nest. The naked magpies scrambled out, and hop, hop, hopped all over the passage.

          When the Snake-Woman so unexpectedly caught sight of copies, she betrayed herself. Her serpent’s nature craved its prey; she darted down the passage after the little magpies and shot out her thin quivering tongue at them as she used to do in the Forest.

          Gossips and neighbors screamed and crossed themselves, and took their children home, because they realized that the woman was indeed a snake from the Forest.

          But the mother went up to her son full of joy. “Take her back to where you brought her from, my son. Now you have seen with your own eyes what it is you are cherishing in your house;” and the mother tried to embrace her son.

          But the son was utterly infatuated, so that he only hardened himself the more against the village, and against his mother, and against the evidence of his own eyes. He would not turn away the Snake-Woman, but cried out upon his mother:

          “Where did you get young magpies at this time of year, you old witch? Be off with you out of my house!”

          Eh, but the poor Mother saw that there was no help for it. She wept and cried, and only begged her son not to turn her out of the house in broad daylight for all the village to see what manner of son she had reared.

          So, the son allowed his Mother to stay in the house until nightfall.

          When evening came, the old Mother put some bread into her bag, and a few of those kindling-chips which the poor girl had given her, and then she went weeping and sobbing out of her son’s house.

          But as the mother crossed the threshold, the fire went out on the hearth, and the crucifix fell from the wall. Son and daughter-in-law were left alone in the darkened cottage. And now the son felt that he had sinned greatly against his mother, and he repented bitterly. But he did not dare to speak of it to his wife, because he was afraid. So, he just said:

          “Let’s follow Mother and see her die of cold.” Up jumped the wicked daughter-in-law, over-joyed, and fetched their fur coats, and they dressed and followed the old woman from afar.

          The poor Mother went sadly over the snow, by night, over the fields. She came to a wide stubble- field, and there she was so overcome by the cold that she could go no farther. So, she took the kindling-wood out of her bag, scraped the snow aside, and lit a fire to warm herself by.

          But lo! No sooner had the chips caught fire than the Brownies came out of them, just the same as on the household hearth!

          They skipped out of the fire and all round in the snow, and the sparks flew about them in all directions into the night.

          The poor old woman was so glad she could almost have cried for joy because they had not forsaken her on her way. And the Brownies crowded round her, laughed and whistled.

          “Oh, dear Brownies,” said the mother, “I don’t want to be amused just now; help me in my sore distress!”

          Then she told the Brownies how her silly son had grown still more bitter against her since even he and all the village had come to know that his wife truly had a serpent’s tongue:

          “He has turned me away; help me if you can.”

          For a while the Brownies were silent, for a while their little shoes tapped the snow, and they did not know what to advise.

          At last Wee Tintilinkie said:

          “Let’s go to Stribor, our master. He always knows what to do.”

          And at once Wee Tintilinkie shinned up a haw-thorn-tree; he whistled on his fingers, and out of the dark and over the stubble-field there came trotting towards them a stag and twelve squirrels! They set the old Mother on the stage, and the Brownies got on the twelve squirrels, and off they went to Stribor’s Forest.

          Away and into the night they rode. The stag had mighty antlers with many points, and at the end of each point there burned a little star. The stag gave light on the way, and at his heels sped the twelve squirrels, each squirrel with eyes that shone like two diamonds. They sped and they fled, and far behind them toiled the daughter-in-law and her husband, quite out of breath.

          So, they came to Stribor’s Forest, and the stag carried the old woman through the forest.

          Even in the dark the daughter-in-law knew that this was Stribor’s Forest, where she had once before been enchanted for her sins. But she was so full of spite that she could not think of her new sins nor feel fear because of them, but triumphed all the more to herself and said: “Surely the simple old woman will perish in this Forest amid all the magic! ” and she ran still faster after the stag.

          But the stag carried the mother before Stribor. Now Stribor was lord of that Forest. He dwelt in the heart of the Forest, in an oak so huge that there was room in it for seven golden castles, and a village all fenced about with silver. In front of the finest of the castles sat Stribor himself on a throne, arrayed in a cloak of scarlet.

          “Help this old woman, who is being destroyed by her serpent daughter-in-law,” said the Brownies to Stribor, after both they and the mother had bowed low before him. And they told him the whole story. But the son and daughter-in-law crept up to the oak, and looked and listened through a wormhole to see what would happen.

          When the Brownies had finished, Stribor said to the old woman:

          “Fear nothing, Mother! Leave your daughter-in-law. Let her continue in her wickedness until it shall bring her again to the state from which she freed herself too soon. As for yourself, I can easily help you. Look at yonder village, fenced about with silver.”

          The Mother looked, and lo! It was her own native village, where she had lived when she was young, and in the village there was holiday and merry-making. Bells were ringing, fiddles playing, flags waving, and songs resounding.

          “Cross the fence, clap your hands, and you will at once regain your youth. You will remain in your village to be young and blithe once more as you were fifty years ago,” said Stribor.

          At that the old woman was glad as never before in her life. She ran to the fence; already her hand was on the silver gate, when she suddenly bethought herself of something, and asked Stribor:

          “And what will become of my son?”

          “Don’t talk foolishness, old woman!” replied Stribor. “How would you know about your son? He will remain in this present time, and you will go back to your youth. You will know nothing about any son!”

          When the old woman heard that, she considered sadly. And then she turned slowly away from the gate, went back to Stribor, bowed low before him, and said: “I thank you, kind lord, for all the favor you would show me. But I would rather abide in my misery and know that I have a son than that you should give me all the riches and happiness in the world, and I forget my son.”

          As the mother said this, the whole Forest rang again. There was an end to the magic in, because the mother preferred her sorrows to all the joys of this world.

          The entire Forest quaked, the earth fell in, and the huge oak, with its castles and its silver-fenced village, sank underground. Stribor and the Brownies wished, the daughter-in-law gave a shriek, turned into a snake, wriggled away down a hole, and Mother and Son were left alone side by side in the middle of the Forest.

          The son fell on his knees before his mother, kissed the hem of her garment and her sleeve, and then he lifted her up in his arms and carried her back to their home, which they happily reached by daybreak.

          The son prayed God and his mother to forgive him. God forgave him, and his mother had never been angry with him.

          Later on, the young man married that poor but sweet girl who had brought the Brownies to their house. They are all three living happily together to this day, and Wee Tintilinkie loves to visit their hearth on a winter’s evening.

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Ivana Brlic-Mazuranic, Croatian Tales of Long Ago (New York: Frederick A. Stokes Co.,1922).  Illustrations by Vladimir Kirin.

 

 

"The Little Match Girl": Andersen's New Year's Message

Arthur Rackham, illustrator of "Fairy Tales" (1932).

The Little Match Girl

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Evening came on, the last evening of the year. In the cold and gloom a poor little girl, bareheaded and barefoot, was walking through the streets. Of course, when she had left her house she'd had slippers on, but what good had they been? They were very big slippers, way too big for her, for they belonged to her mother. The little girl had lost them running across the road, where two carriages had rattled by terribly fast. One slipper she'd not been able to find again, and a boy had run off with the other, saying he could use it very well as a cradle someday when he had children of his own. And so the little girl walked on her naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron, she carried several packages of matches, and she held a box of them in her hand. No one had bought any from her all day long, and no one had given her a cent.

Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along, a picture of misery, poor little girl! The snowflakes fell on her long fair hair, which hung in pretty curls over her neck. In all the windows lights were shining, and there was a wonderful smell of roast goose, for it was New Year's eve. Yes, she thought of that!

In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected farther out into the street than the other, she sat down and drew up her little feet under her. She was getting colder and colder but did not dare to go home, for she had sold no matches, nor earned a single cent, and her father would surely beat her. Besides, it was cold at home, for they had nothing over them but a roof through which the wind whistled even though the biggest cracks had been stuffed with straw and rags.

Her hands were almost dead with cold. Oh, how much one little match might warm her! If she could only take one from the box and rub it against the wall and warm her hands. She drew one out. R-r-ratch! How it sputtered and burned! It made a warm, bright flame, like a little candle, as she held her hands over it; but it gave a strange light! It really seemed to the little girl as if she were sitting before a great iron stove with shining brass knobs and a brass cover. How wonderfully the fire burned! How comfortable it was! The youngster stretched out her feet to warm them too; then the little flame went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the burnt match in her hand.

She struck another match against the wall. It burned brightly, and when the light fell upon the wall it became transparent like a thin veil, and she could see through it into a room. On the table a snow-white cloth was spread, and on it stood a shining dinner service. The roast goose steamed gloriously, stuffed with apples and prunes. And what was still better, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled along the floor with a knife and fork in its breast, right over to the little girl. Then the match went out, and she could see only the thick, cold wall. She lighted another match. Then she was sitting under the most beautiful Christmas tree. It was much larger and much more beautiful than the one she had seen last Christmas through the glass door at the rich merchant's home. Thousands of candles burned on the green branches, and colored pictures like those in the printshops looked down at her. The little girl reached both her hands toward them. Then the match went out. But the Christmas lights mounted higher. She saw them now as bright stars in the sky. One of them fell down, forming a long line of fire.

"Now someone is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star fell down a soul went up to God.

She rubbed another match against the wall. It became bright again, and in the glow the old grandmother stood clear and shining, kind and lovely.

"Grandmother!" cried the child. "Oh, take me with you! I know you will disappear when the match is burned out. You will vanish like the warm stove, the wonderful roast goose and the beautiful big Christmas tree!"

And she quickly struck the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother with her. And the matches burned with such a glow that it became brighter than daylight. Grandmother had never been so grand and beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and both of them flew in brightness and joy above the earth, very, very high, and up there was neither cold, nor hunger, nor fear-they were with God.

But in the corner, leaning against the wall, sat the little girl with red cheeks and smiling mouth, frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. The New Year's sun rose upon a little pathetic figure. The child sat there, stiff and cold, holding the matches, of which one bundle was almost burned.

"She wanted to warm herself," the people said. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, and how happily she had gone with her old grandmother into the bright New Year.

Hans Christian Andersen was a Danish writer who lived from 1805-1875.  Some scholars regard him as the father of the modern fairy tale.  His parents were working-class people whose real-life struggles became the theme found in many of his stories. In fact, an anecdote from his mother’s childhood became the essence of this story. While Andersen was influenced by Danish folklore motifs, his themes were strongly Christian. 

I first learned this story as a child: not the literary, but the film version.  Either way, it packs a punch.  The story is both poignant and haunting.  It’s the tale of a young girl living in poverty and abuse. She is forced to spend her days on the street selling matches. The story mirrors an experience Andersen’s mother lived.  Andersen writes, “As a young girl, her parents chased her out to beg, and when she had no luck, she spent a whole day crying under a bridge by the river in Odense.  As a child, I could imagine all of this so clearly and I wept about it.”

In this story, the protagonist is abandoned and fearful of returning home with no money. The young girl dies of hypothermia on the street alone.  Anderson often crafts pictures of suffering. In fact, the word “little” in the title spells the character’s doom.  This is true for many stories, “Little Red Riding Hood” for example.

Many children lived in the streets in mid-nineteenth century Europe. Child labor was common. Children were expected to work for long hours in dangerous conditions. Selling matches, flowers, or newspapers was an easier option than begging outright which was illegal.

The story contrasts the "haves" and "have nots." Andersen’s sympathies were always with the downtrodden and the little match girl gives us a figure who is innocent and worthy of help. He also portrays a metaphoric contrast with his emphasis on light and darkness throughout the story. The young child peers from the darkness into windows seeing the light of family life she will never have.

Sadly, her pleas to the passersby go unheard.  The poor were condemned in Victorian time.  Rather than return home and receive a beating, the young girl found a secluded place to sit between two buildings.  As she lit each match, her greatest desires were projected on the wall – food, a Christmas tree, and her grandmother.

We can assume that her grandmother was the only one to be loving and kind to her. As Kirsten Mlmkjaer points out, Andersen’s grandmothers and other elderly women often “shift and shimmer between the human, the spectral and the divine.”  In doing so, Andersen provides an archetypal image that moves between conscious and unconscious awareness. The child continues to light the matches to keep her grandmother’s memory alive for as long as she can.  She dies with the vision that she and her grandmother are celebrating the holidays in heaven.  Deathbed visions are common and not only the stuff of fairy tales. 

In fact, many years ago, when my loved one was struggling with drug addiction, I had a similar dream.  It was night.  A young girl was sitting on a bench with her deceased grandmother.  The streetlight shone on the empty bus before them. The door opened. I knew when I woke that my loved one’s journey could be a fatal one.   

Andersen’s story is a moralistic tale about the cruelty of the world, it arouses compassion for the poor. Nevertheless, it asks little of us.  In Victorian times it was believed that God marked an individual’s fate.  In essence, being poor was God’s will.  Rosellen Brown writes “That Andersen would let his heroine die was shocking and - to some of us stories are exciting because they roil up our emotions, disturb our equilibrium even if they make us miserable – I would say satisfying.” Certainly Andersen portrays the reality of many of these children, but he did nothing to rile his readers’ emotions enough for them to take action.

It’s easy to believe we don’t live in a society with the sheer injustice found in these stories, but sadly this is not true.  The pandemic has left many people unemployed and without housing.  Black, Native and Latino children have fared the worse.  Do we turn away from those in need determining them “unworthy” or do we hold Christmas in our hearts instead?  Andersen’s story portrays the result of apathy.  Dickens calls us to action.

Andersen’s happy ending was for the child to be taken to heaven where she would no longer suffer.  Even being rescued from her plight and escaping death would not be as wonderful to him. But I disagree. I’d much prefer another ending to this story. Perhaps an old housemaid, a wise crone that is, sees the child as she presses her nose against the window. The maid brings her in, warms her toes, and feeds her empty belly.  She tells her mistress that she needs some help in the kitchen.  The little girl lives in the house and never returns to her abusive father.  I wish I could say that she lives happily ever after but that would be a true fairy tale. In this version, she simply lives “better.”

Real-life children are suffering and struggling this holiday. Sadly, the poor are still with us 175 years after the writing of these stories.  But hopefully, we’ve lost our attraction to children dying a romantic death. Perhaps we can bring them in from the cold, offer them a turkey dinner, and let them live instead.  May no child die alone and abandoned any holiday season.  Along with Scrooge, may we always hold Christmas in our hearts.

For more on this story and its comparison to Charles Dicken's A Christmas Carol, listen to this month's podcast (S2, #5). "The Little Match Girl" by Hans Christian Andersen, trans. Jean Hersholt.