Prevod

It hissed and seethed as the fire blazed beneath the pot: this was the tallow candle’s cradle—and out of that warm cradle slipped the candle, perfectly formed, cast in one piece, gleaming white and slender. It was fashioned in such a way that everyone who saw it believed it must hold the promise of a bright and radiant future—and the promise they all saw in it, it truly would keep and fulfil.

The sheep—a lovely little sheep—was the candle’s mother, and the melting pot was its father. From its mother it had inherited its dazzling white body and an inkling of life; but from its father it had received a longing for the blazing fire that would one day course through its very marrow and bones—and “light” its way through life.

Yes, this was how it had been created and had grown, when, full of the finest, brightest hopes, it ventured out into life. There it met a remarkable number of fellow creatures with whom it became acquainted; for it wanted to learn about life—and perhaps in doing so find the place where it belonged best. But it thought far too well of the world; the world cared only for itself and not at all for the tallow candle, for it could not understand what use the candle might be. So it sought to use it for its own advantage, handling it in all the wrong ways, and black fingers left ever larger stains upon the pure colour of innocence. Little by little that colour vanished altogether, completely covered by the grime of the world around it, which had come into far too close a contact with it—much closer than the candle could bear, since it had been unable to distinguish the clean from the unclean. Yet in its innermost heart it was still innocent and unspoiled.

Then its false friends saw that they could not reach its innermost heart—and angrily threw the candle away as a useless thing. But its black outer crust kept all the good away: they were afraid of being tainted by the blackness, of getting stains upon themselves—and so they kept their distance.

Now the poor tallow candle stood all alone and forsaken, not knowing which way to turn. It saw itself rejected by the good, and now discovered that it had been nothing but a tool for furthering evil. It felt infinitely wretched because it had spent its life to no purpose; indeed, perhaps it had even blackened the better things it had come into contact with. It could not understand why or for what purpose it had been created, why it should live upon the earth—and perhaps destroy itself and others.

More and more, deeper and deeper it pondered, but the more it thought, the greater its despondency grew, for it could find nothing good, no true meaning for itself—or see the purpose it had been given at birth. It was as though the black covering had veiled its eyes as well.

But then it met a little flame, a tinderbox, which knew the candle better than the tallow candle knew itself; for the tinderbox saw so clearly—straight through the outer crust—and found so much good within. And so it drew near, and bright hopes awoke in the candle; it caught fire, and its heart melted within it.

The flame shone forth—like the joyful torch of a wedding. Everything around it grew bright and clear, and it lit the way for those about it, its true friends—and now, by the candle’s light, they sought the truth and found it.

But its body, too, was strong enough to feed and sustain the blazing fire. Drop after drop, like the first stirrings of new life, rolled round and plump down its stem, covering with their bodies the grime of the past.

They were not only the bodily but also the spiritual fruits of that union. And the tallow candle had found its rightful place in life—and shown itself to be a true light, shining long for its own delight and that of its fellow creatures—