引導語：關於安徒生的蕎麥童話故事，下面是小編收集的中文與英文的版本，歡迎大家閱讀!
蕎麥
在一陣大雷雨以後，當你走過一塊蕎麥田的時候，你常常會發現這裏的蕎麥又黑又焦，好像火焰在它上面燒過一次似的。這時種田人就說：“這是它從閃電得來的。”但爲什麼它會落得這個結果?我可以把麻雀告訴我的話告訴你。麻雀是從一棵老柳樹那兒聽來的。這樹立在蕎麥田的旁邊，而且現在還立在那兒。它是一株非常值得尊敬的大柳樹，不過它的年紀很老，皺紋很多。它身體的正中裂開了，草和荊棘就從裂口裏長出來。這樹向前彎，枝條一直垂到地上，像長長的綠頭髮一樣。
周圍的田裏都長着麥子，長着裸麥和大麥，也長着燕麥——是的，有最好的燕麥。當它成熟了的.時候，看起來就像許多落在柔軟的樹枝上的黃色金絲鳥。這麥子立在那兒，微笑着。它的穗子越長得豐滿，它就越顯得虔誠，謙卑，把身子垂得很低。
可是另外有一塊田，裏面長滿了蕎麥。這塊田恰恰是在那株老柳樹的對面。蕎麥不像別的麥子，它身子一點也不彎，卻直挺挺地立着，擺出一副驕傲的樣子。
“作爲一根穗子，我真是長得豐滿，”它說。“此外我還非常漂亮：我的花像蘋果花一樣美麗：誰看到我和我的花就會感到愉快。你這老柳樹，你知道還有什麼別的比我們更美麗的東西嗎?”
柳樹點點頭，好像想說：“我當然知道!”
不過蕎麥驕傲地擺出一副架子來，說：
“愚蠢的樹!它是那麼老，連它的肚子都長出草來了。”
這時一陣可怕的暴風雨到來了：田野上所有的花兒，當暴風雨在它們身上經過的時候，都把自己的葉子捲起來，把自己細嫩的頭兒垂下來，可是蕎麥仍然驕傲地立着不動。
“像我們一樣。把你的頭低下來呀，”花兒們說。
“我不須這樣做，”蕎麥說。
“像我們一樣，把你的頭低下來呀、”麥子大聲說。“暴風的安琪兒現在飛來了。他的翅膀從雲塊那兒一直伸到地面;你還來不及求情，他就已經把你砍成兩截了。”
“對，但是我不願意彎下來，”蕎麥說。
“把你的花兒閉起來，把你的葉子垂下來呀，”老柳樹說。“當雲塊正在裂開的時候，你無論如何不要望着閃電：連人都不敢這樣做，因爲人們在閃電中可以看到天，這一看就會把人的眼睛弄瞎的。假如我們敢於這樣做，我們這些土生的植物會得到什麼結果呢?——況且我們遠不如他們。”
“遠不如他們!”蕎麥說。“我倒要瞧瞧天試試看。”它就這樣傲慢而自大地做了。電光掣動得那麼厲害，好像整個世界都燒起來了似的。
當惡劣的天氣過去以後，花兒和麥子在這沉靜和清潔的空氣中站着，被雨洗得煥然一新。可是蕎麥卻被閃電燒得像炭一樣焦黑。它現在成爲田裏沒有用的死草。
那株老柳樹在風中搖動着枝條;大顆的水滴從綠葉上落下來，好像這樹在哭泣似的。於是麻雀便問：“你爲什麼要哭呢?你看這兒一切是那麼令人感到愉快：你看太陽照得多美，你看雲塊飄得多好。你沒有聞到花兒和灌木林散發出來的香氣嗎?你爲什麼要哭呢，老柳樹?”
於是柳樹就把蕎麥的驕傲、自大以及接踵而來的懲罰講給它們聽。
我現在講的這個故事是從麻雀那兒聽來的。有一天晚上我請求它們講一個童話，它們就把這件事情講給我聽。
蕎麥英文版：
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.
