DANSK

Boghveden

ENGLISH

The buckwheat


Tit og ofte, når man efter et tordenvejr går forbi en ager, hvor boghveden gror, ser man, at den er blevet ganske sort og afsvedet; det er ligesom en ildlue var gået hen over den, og bondemanden siger da: "Det har den fået af lynilden!" men hvorfor har den fået det? - Jeg skal fortælle, hvad gråspurven har sagt mig, og gråspurven har hørt det af et gammelt piletræ, der stod ved en boghvedeager og står der endnu. Det er sådant et ærværdigt stort piletræ, men runkent og gammelt, det er revnet lige midt i og der vokser græs og brombærranker ud af revnen; træet hælder forover og grenene hænger lige ned mod jorden, ligesom om de kunne være et grønt, langt hår.
Very often, after a violent thunder-storm, a field of buckwheat appears blackened and singed, as if a flame of fir had passed over it. The country people say that this appearance is caused by lightning; but I will tell you what th sparrow says, and the sparrow heard it from an old willow-tree which grew near a field of buckwheat, and is ther still. It is a large venerable tree, though a little crippled by age. The trunk has been split, and out of the crevic grass and brambles grow. The tree bends for-ward slightly, and the branches hang quite down to the ground jus like green hair


På alle markerne rundt om voksede korn, både rug, byg og havre, ja den dejlige havre, der ser ud, når den er moden, ligesom en hel mængde små gule kanariefugle på en gren. Kornet stod så velsignet, og jo tungere det var des dybere bøjede det sig i from ydmyghed.
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.


Men der var også en ager med boghvede, og den ager var lige ud for det gamle piletræ; boghveden bøjede sig slet ikke, som det andet korn, den knejste stolt og stiv!
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.


"Jeg er vel så rig, som akset," sagde den, "jeg er desuden meget smukkere; mine blomster er skønne, som æbletræets blomster, det er en lyst at se på mig og mine! kender du nogen prægtigere end os, du gamle piletræ!"
"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?"


Og piletræet nikkede med hovedet, ligesom det ville sige: "Jo det gør jeg rigtignok!" men boghveden struttede af bare hovmod og sagde: "Det dumme træ, det er så gammelt at der vokser græs i maven på det!"
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."


Nu trak der et skrækkeligt ondt vejr op; alle markens blomster foldede deres blade, eller bøjede deres fine hoveder, mens stormen fór hen over dem; men boghveden knejsede i sin stolthed.
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.


"Bøj dit hoved, som vi!" sagde blomsterne.
"Bend your head as we do," said the flowers.


"Det behøver jeg slet ikke!" sagde boghveden.
"I have no occasion to do so," replied the buckwheat.


"Bøj dit hoved, som vi!" råbte kornet! "nu kommer stormens engel flyvende! han har vinger, der når oppe fra skyerne og lige ned til jorden, og han hugger dig midt over, før du kan bede ham være dig nådig!"
"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."


"Ja men jeg vil ikke bøje mig!" sagde boghveden.
"But I will not bend my head," said the buckwheat.


"Luk dine blomster og bøj dine blade!" sagde det gamle piletræ, "se ikke op mod lynet, når skyen brister, selv menneskene tør det ikke, thi i lynet kan man se ind i Guds himmel, men det syn kan selv gøre menneskene blinde, hvad ville der da ikke ske med os jordens vækster, vovede vi det, vi, som er langt ringere!"
"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?"


"Langt ringere!" sagde boghveden. "Nu vil jeg just se ind i Guds himmel!" og den gjorde det i overmod og stolthed. Det var, som hele verden stod i ildslue, således lynede det.
"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.


Da det onde vejr siden var forbi, stod blomster og korn i den stille rene luft, så forfriskede af regnen, men boghveden var brændt kulsort i lynet, den var nu en død, unyttig urt på marken.
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.


Og det gamle piletræ bevægede sine grene i vinden og der faldt store vanddråber fra de grønne blade, ligesom om træet græd, og spurvene spurgte: "Hvorfor græder du? her er jo så velsignet! se hvor solen skinner, se hvor skyerne går, kan du mærke den duft fra blomster og buske! hvorfor græder du, gamle piletræ!"
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?"


Og piletræet fortalte om boghvedens stolthed, overmod og straf! den følger altid. Jeg som fortæller historien har hørt den af spurvene! - de fortalte mig det en aften, da jeg bad dem om et eventyr.
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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