安徒生童话故事第23篇：荞麦The Buckwheat
引导语：关于安徒生的荞麦童话故事，下面是小编收集的中文与英文的版本，欢迎大家阅读!
荞麦
在一阵大雷雨以后，当你走过一块荞麦田的时候，你常常会发现这里的荞麦又黑又焦，好像火焰在它上面烧过一次似的。这时种田人就说：“这是它从闪电得来的。”但为什么它会落得这个结果?我可以把麻雀告诉我的话告诉你。麻雀是从一棵老柳树那儿听来的。这树立在荞麦田的旁边，而且现在还立在那儿。它是一株非常值得尊敬的大柳树，不过它的年纪很老，皱纹很多。它身体的正中裂开了，草和荆棘就从裂口里长出来。这树向前弯，枝条一直垂到地上，像长长的绿头发一样。
周围的田里都长着麦子，长着裸麦和大麦，也长着燕麦——是的，有最好的燕麦。当它成熟了的.时候，看起来就像许多落在柔软的树枝上的黄色金丝鸟。这麦子立在那儿，微笑着。它的穗子越长得丰满，它就越显得虔诚，谦卑，把身子垂得很低。
可是另外有一块田，里面长满了荞麦。这块田恰恰是在那株老柳树的对面。荞麦不像别的麦子，它身子一点也不弯，却直挺挺地立着，摆出一副骄傲的样子。
“作为一根穗子，我真是长得丰满，”它说。“此外我还非常漂亮：我的花像苹果花一样美丽：谁看到我和我的花就会感到愉快。你这老柳树，你知道还有什么别的比我们更美丽的东西吗?”
柳树点点头，好像想说：“我当然知道!”
不过荞麦骄傲地摆出一副架子来，说：
“愚蠢的树!它是那么老，连它的肚子都长出草来了。”
这时一阵可怕的暴风雨到来了：田野上所有的花儿，当暴风雨在它们身上经过的时候，都把自己的叶子卷起来，把自己细嫩的头儿垂下来，可是荞麦仍然骄傲地立着不动。
“像我们一样。把你的头低下来呀，”花儿们说。
“我不须这样做，”荞麦说。
“像我们一样，把你的头低下来呀、”麦子大声说。“暴风的安琪儿现在飞来了。他的翅膀从云块那儿一直伸到地面;你还来不及求情，他就已经把你砍成两截了。”
“对，但是我不愿意弯下来，”荞麦说。
“把你的花儿闭起来，把你的叶子垂下来呀，”老柳树说。“当云块正在裂开的时候，你无论如何不要望着闪电：连人都不敢这样做，因为人们在闪电中可以看到天，这一看就会把人的眼睛弄瞎的。假如我们敢于这样做，我们这些土生的植物会得到什么结果呢?——况且我们远不如他们。”
“远不如他们!”荞麦说。“我倒要瞧瞧天试试看。”它就这样傲慢而自大地做了。电光掣动得那么厉害，好像整个世界都烧起来了似的。
当恶劣的天气过去以后，花儿和麦子在这沉静和清洁的空气中站着，被雨洗得焕然一新。可是荞麦却被闪电烧得像炭一样焦黑。它现在成为田里没有用的死草。
那株老柳树在风中摇动着枝条;大颗的水滴从绿叶上落下来，好像这树在哭泣似的。于是麻雀便问：“你为什么要哭呢?你看这儿一切是那么令人感到愉快：你看太阳照得多美，你看云块飘得多好。你没有闻到花儿和灌木林散发出来的香气吗?你为什么要哭呢，老柳树?”
于是柳树就把荞麦的骄傲、自大以及接踵而来的惩罚讲给它们听。
我现在讲的这个故事是从麻雀那儿听来的。有一天晚上我请求它们讲一个童话，它们就把这件事情讲给我听。
荞麦英文版：
The Buckwheat
VERY often, after a violent thunder-storm, a field of buckwheat appears blackened and singed, as if a flame of fire had passed over it. The country people say that this appearance is caused by lightning; but I will tell you what the sparrow says, and the sparrow heard it from an old willow-tree which grew near a field of buckwheat, and is there still. It is a large venerable tree, though a little crippled by age. The trunk has been split, and out of the crevice grass and brambles grow. The tree bends for-ward slightly, and the branches hang quite down to the ground just like green hair. Corn grows in the surrounding fields, not only rye and barley, but oats,—pretty oats that, when ripe, look like a number of little golden canary-birds sitting on a bough. The corn has a smiling look and the heaviest and richest ears bend their heads low as if in pious humility. Once there was also a field of buckwheat, and this field was exactly opposite to old willow-tree. The buckwheat did not bend like the other grain, but erected its head proudly and stiffly on the stem. “I am as valuable as any other corn,” said he, “and I am much handsomer; my flowers are as beautiful as the bloom of the apple blossom, and it is a pleasure to look at us. Do you know of anything prettier than we are, you old willow-tree?”
And the willow-tree nodded his head, as if he would say, “Indeed I do.”
But the buckwheat spread itself out with pride, and said, “Stupid tree; he is so old that grass grows out of his body.”
There arose a very terrible storm. All the field-flowers folded their leaves together, or bowed their little heads, while the storm passed over them, but the buckwheat stood erect in its pride. “Bend your head as we do,” said the flowers.
“I have no occasion to do so,” replied the buckwheat.
“Bend your head as we do,” cried the ears of corn; “the angel of the storm is coming; his wings spread from the sky above to the earth beneath. He will strike you down before you can cry for mercy.”
“But I will not bend my head,” said the buckwheat.
“Close your flowers and bend your leaves,” said the old willow-tree. “Do not look at the lightning when the cloud bursts; even men cannot do that. In a flash of lightning heaven opens, and we can look in; but the sight will strike even human beings blind. What then must happen to us, who only grow out of the earth, and are so inferior to them, if we venture to do so?”
“Inferior, indeed!” said the buckwheat. “Now I intend to have a peep into heaven.” Proudly and boldly he looked up, while the lightning flashed across the sky as if the whole world were in flames.
When the dreadful storm had passed, the flowers and the corn raised their drooping heads in the pure still air, refreshed by the rain, but the buckwheat lay like a weed in the field, burnt to blackness by the lightning. The branches of the old willow-tree rustled in the wind, and large water-drops fell from his green leaves as if the old willow were weeping. Then the sparrows asked why he was weeping, when all around him seemed so cheerful. “See,” they said, “how the sun shines, and the clouds float in the blue sky. Do you not smell the sweet perfume from flower and bush? Wherefore do you weep, old willow-tree?” Then the willow told them of the haughty pride of the buckwheat, and of the punishment which followed in consequence.
This is the story told me by the sparrows one evening when I begged them to relate some tale to me.
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