离开首都十来里的地方，有一座旧的地主庄园。它的墙很厚，有塔和山墙。
不过只是夏天，这里才有一个很富有并有地位的人家到这儿居住。这是这家人拥有的所有庄园中最漂亮的一座；从外面看，它就像是新盖起来的，里面的设备很舒适方便。门上的石头上刻着家族的族徽，族徽和窗子的四周用美丽的玫瑰盘缠着。庄园前是一大片草坪，像地毯那样平坦，这儿有红山楂，有白山楂，有珍稀的花种，就连花房外面也是如此。这家人雇了一位勤劳聪颖的园丁。看管花园、果园和菜园，真是令人赏心悦目。紧挨着园子的老园子还有一部分保持着原样，老园子里有黄杨树篱笆，黄杨丛被修剪成冠状或金字塔形状。在黄杨丛后面，生长着两棵高大的树。树几乎总是光秃秃的，使人容易想到可能是一阵狂风或者是龙卷风肆虐过它们，卷起大堆垃圾甩到它们的身上。不过，这一堆堆垃圾都是鸟窝。
记不起多少年以前，这里便有一群喧闹的白嘴鸦和乌鸦筑巢。这地方简直成了一座鸟城，鸟成了主人，是房产的所有者，是庄园最古老的家族。下面住的人不关它们的事，不过它们能容忍这些在地上行走的生灵，尽管这些家伙不时朝它们放枪，把鸟儿的背震麻，吓得它们都飞了起来，惊慌地“呱！呱！”乱叫。
园丁经常向主人建议，把这两棵老树伐倒。它们看上去不雅观。砍倒它们，大家便顺理成章地摆脱了这些鸟儿的喧闹，它们会另觅地方的。可是主人既不愿意伐树，也不愿摆脱这些鸟儿。那是庄园少不了的东西，是古时遗留下来的，是绝对不能去掉的。
“这两棵树是鸟儿继承下来的产业，让它们留着吧，我的好拉森！”
园丁的名字叫拉森，不过这个名字在这个故事里并不怎么重要。
“听着，小拉森，您的活动场所还不够吗？整个花园，温室、果园、菜地？”
他有了这些，他以很大的热情和勤劳照料、管理、培育着这些园地，主人承认这点。但是他们却并不对他隐讳，他们在别的人家吃到的水果、看到的花儿比自己园子里的更好。这使园丁很伤心，因为他希望他的最好，他做的事是最出色的。他心地善良，忠于职守。
一天主人把他叫去，用温和却是主人的口气对他说，那天他们在朋友家吃到一种苹果和一种梨，汁很多，味道好极了，他们和所有的客人都赞不绝口。那些水果显然不是本国产的，但是如果我们的气候允许的话，应该引进，在这里落户。他们知道这些水果是从城里最大的水果商那里买来的。园丁应骑马进城去打听清楚，这些苹果和梨是哪里来的，再去订购点幼苗或者能嫁接的枝子来。
园丁很熟悉那个水果商，他代表主人把庄园里多余的水果卖给的人正是他。
园丁进了城，问那个水果商，他是从哪里进的这些备受赞扬的苹果和梨。
“是您自己的园子里的！”水果商说道，并且把苹果和梨拿给他看。他认出了这些水果。
啊，他，园丁，多高兴呀！他匆匆回来告诉主人，苹果和梨都是他们自己花园里产的。
主人完全不相信这话。“这是不可能的，拉森！您能让水果商写个书面证明吗？”
他当然可以，他带回来了书面证明。
“这就太值得注意了！”主人说道。
后来，每天主人的餐桌上都摆着大盘自己园子里产的苹果和梨，他们还整桶整桶地把水果送给城里城外的朋友。是啊，甚至还送到外国去。这真是快乐的事！不过他们要补充说明一下，连续两年的夏天，天气都出奇的好，很适合水果的生长，全国都有好收成。
过了一些时候，有一天主人到宫里去赴宴。第二天主人把园丁叫了去，说他们在宴会上吃到了一种多汁的西瓜，是陛下温室里种出来的。
“您得到宫廷园丁那里去一趟，好拉森，弄点这种价值昂贵的西瓜种子来！”
“可是宫廷园丁是从我们这里弄去的种子呀！”花园匠说道，他很高兴。
“那么，那人一定精心培育并改良了这种水果了！”主人回答道。“那瓜的味道好极了！”
“是的，我感到骄傲！”园丁说道。“我要对高贵的主人说，宫廷园丁今年种的西瓜收成不好。他看到了我们的西瓜长得好，尝了尝，于是便定了三个，带进宫里去了。”
“拉森！别以为那些西瓜是我们园子里的！”
“我相信！”园丁说道。他到宫廷园丁那里，向他要来书面证明，说皇室宴会餐桌上的西瓜就是这个庄园里产的。这使主人大吃一惊。他没有保密，而是把证明拿出来给人看。是啊！他们西瓜种送给了远近各地，就像以前送枝子送苗一样。
关于那些枝苗，他们听说长得很好，结出的果子很鲜美，而且用他们庄园的名字命名，所以，这个名字可以在英文、德文和法文里读到。
这是谁也没有料到的事。
“但愿园丁别太认为自己了不起了！”主人说道。
园丁的态度大不相同：他正在为使自己扬名成为全国最好的园丁而奋斗。每年他都尝试着培育出新的园艺品种，他做到了。然而他常常听别人说，他最早培育出来的那两种水果，苹果和梨是真正好的品种。后来培育出来的都差远了。西瓜的确很不错，但那是完全不同的一类。草莓也可以说是还不错，但是却不见得比其他人培育的好。有一年他的水萝卜没有成功，于是人人只谈论他的水萝卜，再不谈他培育的其他的好东西。
主人在说这话的时候似乎松了一口气：
“今年不行了，小拉森！”他们很高兴说一句，“今年不行了。”
每个星期拉森都要到厅里去送一两次鲜花。每次都布置得极有品味，颜色搭配得十分和谐，显得格外典雅艳丽。“您很有品味，拉森！”主人说，“这是上帝赐给您的一件礼物，不是您本身具有的！”
有一天，园丁拿进来一个很大的水晶盆，里面放有一片睡莲叶子，叶子上有一朵像向日葵花那样鲜亮的大蓝花，长长的粗梗浸在水里。
“印度斯坦的莲花！”主人叫了起来。
他们从未见过这样的花。白天它被放在阳光中，晚上则放在灯光之下。看到它的人都觉得它出奇的可爱和珍贵。是的，甚至这个国家年轻妇女中最高贵的那位——公主，都这么说。她非常聪慧和善良。
主人荣幸地把花送给了她，花便随着公主来到宫里。于是主人去花园亲自摘一朵同样的花，要是那样的花还可以找到的话。可是那花却找不到了。所以他们叫来了园丁，问他这朵蓝花是从哪里来的：
“我们怎么找也找不到！”他们说道。“我们到温室去过，到花园里四处都去过了！”
“的确，花不在那儿！”园丁说道。“那只是菜园子里的一种不值一提的花！可是它是多么漂亮啊，是不是？它看去就像是一朵仙人掌的蓝花，然而它只是一种类似豆荚子的蝶形花罢了。”
“您本该早对我们讲的！”主人说道。“我们以为那是一种外来的珍奇花。您让我们在年轻的公主面前出了丑！她在我们这儿看到了那朵花，觉得它很美，却不认识它。她的植物知识很丰富，可是那门科学和菜园子里长的菜却不相干。您怎么想得出在厅里摆上这种花！这让我们出了丑。”
于是这朵从菜园子里摘来的蓝色的美丽的花便被请出了主人的客厅①，那不是它呆的地方。是啊，主人还对公主道了歉，说那只是一种菜花，是园丁一时兴起摆出来的。不过，已经狠狠地教训过他了。
“真遗憾，不该训斥他！”公主说道。“他打开了我们的眼界，让我们见识了根本不注意的、漂亮的花。他给我们展示了一种美，那是我们没有找到的！只要这种类似豆荚子的蝶形花还在开，宫廷的园丁必须每天给我的屋子里送一朵这样的花来。”
事情就这样决定了。
主人对园丁说，他又可以每天送一朵这样的花进去了。“实话说它们是漂亮的！”他们说道：“非常奇特！”园丁受到称赞。
“拉森很喜欢这一套！”主人说，“他被宠坏了！”秋天，刮起了暴风。夜里，风更猛烈了，树林边上的许多大树都被连根拔起。这对主人最不幸——他们是这么说的，而让园丁最高兴的是，暴风把那两棵大树连同鸟窝一起都掀倒了。在暴风中可以听到白嘴鸦和乌鸦的哀叫，它们用翅膀击打着玻璃窗，庄园里的人都这么说。
“现在您高兴了，拉森！”主人说道；“暴风把树吹倒了，鸟都飞进树林里去了。这里一切旧景都没有了，任何痕迹也都没有了！我们觉得悲伤！”
园丁没有说什么。但是他心里盘算着他一直想做的事；很好地利用这块他以前不能掌握的美丽的、阳光充沛的土地，他要把它建成花园的骄傲和主人的欢乐。
被刮倒的大树砸毁了那些老黄杨树篱笆，毁掉了修剪出来的图饰。他在这里种上了一大片植物，都是本国的，是从田野和树林里移来的植物。
任何一位园丁都没有想到要在富有的庄园里种那么多的植物，他却种下了。他依照它们喜阳或是喜阴的习性，分别栽种在不同的地方。他以极大的爱心照料着它们，它们因此长得很繁茂。
日德兰荒野上的刺柏丛的形状、颜色和意大利柏树的一样，光亮多刺、无论冬夏总是碧绿的冬青，长得很美观。前面种的是各种蕨类，有的看去像棕榈的孩子；有的像我们称之为“维纳斯女神的秀发”的那种美丽纤秀的铁线蕨的父母。这里有人们不屑一顾的牛蒡，新鲜的牛蒡很美丽，简直可以扎在花束里。牛蒡是种在旱地上的，在低洼潮湿的地方则种上酸模，这也是一种不被人看重的植物，然而它的纤秀的梗子和宽大的叶子却美得像一幅画似的。有一人多高，上面开着一朵又一朵的花，像一座有许多分叉的大烛台一样的毛蕊花也从田野里移来了。这里还有车前草、报春花、铃兰花、野马蹄莲和秀丽的三瓣酢浆草，这儿真是一片胜景。
在前面，用铁丝架子支撑着种了一排从法国移植来的梨树苗。它们得到充分的阳光和精心的照料，不久便可以结出味美汁多的大果实，就像在它们的本土上一样。
竖起一根高大的旗杆代替那两棵光秃秃的老树，上面飘着红底白十字丹麦国旗。紧靠着旗杆还有另一根杆，夏天和收获季节，葎草藤开着芬芳的花缠绕在上面。但是在冬天，却按着古老的风俗习惯在上面系上一束燕麦，好让天空中的小鸟能在欢快的圣诞节饱餐一顿。
“好拉森越老越多愁善感了！”主人说道。“不过他对我们很忠实、很真诚！”
新年的时候，首都的一家画刊登了一张关于这个古庄园的画片。从画上可以看到旗杆和为小鸟过欢快的圣诞节而系上的燕麦束。刊物说，古老习俗在这里得到保护和继承，是一个很好的作法，和这个古老庄园非常相称。
“拉森所作的一切，”主人说道，“都受到了人们的赞扬。他是一个很幸运的人！我们用了他，几乎也感到骄傲！”但是，他们一点儿也不为此而骄傲！他们觉得自己是主人，他们可以辞掉拉森。但是他们没有这样做，他们都是好心肠的人。像他们这类人，好心肠的也不少，这对每个拉森都是一件值得高兴的事。
是啊，这就是“园丁和主人”的故事。
现在你可以琢磨琢磨它了。
①安徒生显然忘记，那花此前已经送给年轻的公主了。
About one Danish mile from the capital stood an old manor-house, with thick walls, towers, and pointed gable-ends. Here lived, but only in the summer-season, a rich and courtly family. This manor-house was the best and the most beautiful of all the houses they owned. It looked outside as if it had just been cast in a foundry, and within it was comfort itself. The family arms were carved in stone over the door; beautiful roses twined about the arms and the balcony; a grass-plot extended before the house with red-thorn and white-thorn, and many rare flowers grew even outside the conservatory. The manor kept also a very skillful gardener. It was a real pleasure to see the flower-garden, the orchard, and the kitchen-garden. There was still to be seen a portion of the manor’s original garden, a few box-tree hedges cut in shape of crowns and pyramids, and behind these two mighty old trees almost always without leaves. One might almost think that a storm or water-spout had scattered great lumps of manure on their branches, but each lump was a bird’s-nest. A swarm of rooks and crows from time immemorial had built their nests here. It was a townful of birds, and the birds were the manorial lords here. They did not care for the proprietors, the manor’s oldest family branch, nor for the present owner of the manor,—these were nothing to them; but they bore with the wandering creatures below them, notwithstanding that once in a while they shot with guns in a way that made the birds’ back-bones shiver, and made every bird fly up, crying “Rak, Rak!”
The gardener very often explained to the master the necessity of felling the old trees, as they did not look well, and by taking them away they would probably also get rid of the screaming birds, which would seek another place. But he never could be induced either to give up the trees or the swarm of birds the manor could not spare them, as they were relics of the good old times, that ought always to be kept in remembrance.
“The trees are the birds’ heritage by this time!” said the master. “So let them keep them, my good Larsen.” Larsen was the gardener’s name, but that is of very little consequence in this story. “Haven’t you room enough to work in, little Larsen? Have you not the flower-garden, the green-houses, the orchard and the kitchen-garden!” He cared for them, he kept them in order and cultivated them with zeal and ability, and the family knew it; but they did not conceal from him that they often tasted fruits and saw flowers in other houses that surpassed what he had in his garden, and that was a sore trial to the gardener, who always wished to do the best, and really did the best he could. He was good-hearted, and a faithful servant.
The owner sent one day for him, and told him kindly that the day before, at a party given by some friends of rank, they had eaten apples and pears which were so juicy and well-flavored that all the guests had loudly expressed their admiration. To be sure, they were not native fruits, but they ought by all means to be introduced here, and to be acclimatized if possible. They learned that the frtiit was bought of one of the first fruit-dealers in the city, and the gardener was to ride to town and find out about where they came from, and then order some slips for grafting. The gardener was very well acquainted with the dealer, because he was the very person to whom he sold the fruit that grew in the manor-garden, beyond what was needed by the family. So the gardener went to town and asked the fruit-dealer where he had found those apples and pears that were praised so highly.
“They are from your own garden,” said the fruit-dealer, and he showed him, both the apples and pears, which he recognized. Now, how happy the gardener felt! He hastened back to his master, and told him that the apples and pears were all from his own garden. But he would not believe it.
“It cannot be possible, Larsen. Can you get a written certificate of that from the fruit-dealer?” And that he could; and brought him a written certificate.
“That is certainly wonderful!” said the family.
And now every day were set on the table great dishes filled with beautiful apples and pears from their own garden; bushels and barrels of these fruits were sent to friends in the city and country, nay, were even sent abroad. It was exceedifigly pleasant; but when they talked with the gardener they said that the last two seasons had been remarkably favorable for fruits, and that fruits had done well all over the country.
Some time passed. The family were at dinner at court. The next day the gardener was sent for. They had eaten melons at the royal table which they found very juicy and well-flavored; they came from his Majesty’s green-house. “You must go and see the court-gardener, and let him give you some seeds of those melons.”
“But the gardener at the court got his melon-seeds from us,” said the gardener, highly delighted.
“But then that man understands how to bring the fruit to a higher perfection,” was the answer. “Each particular melon was delicious.”
“Well; then, I really may feel proud,” said the gardener. “I must tell your lordship that the gardener at the court did not succeed very well with his melons this year, and so, seeing how beautiful ours looked, he tasted them and ordered from me three of them for the castle.”
“Larsen, do not pretend to say that those were melons from our garden.”
“Really, I dare say as much,” said the gardener, who went to the court-gardener and got from him a written certificate to the effect that the melons on the royal. table were from the manor. That was certainly a great surprise to the family, and they did not keep the story to themselves. Melon-seeds were sent far and wide, in the same way as had been done with the slips, which they were now hearing had begun to take, and to bear fruit of an excellent kind. The fruit was named after the manor, and the name was written in English, German, and French.
This was something they never had dreamed of.
“We are afraid that the gardener will come to think too much of himself,” said they; but he looked on it in another way: what he wished was to get the reputation of being one of the best gardeners in the country, and to produce every year something exquisite out of all sorts of garden stuff, and that he did. But he often had to hear that the fruits which he first brought, the apples and pears, were after all the best. All other kinds of fruits were inferior to these. The melons, too, were very good, but they belonged to quite another species. His strawberries were very excellent, but by no means better than many others; and when it happened one year that his radishes did not succeed, they only spoke of them, and not of other good things he had made succeed.
It really seemed as if the family felt some relief in saying “It won’t turn out well this year, little Larsen!” They seemed quite glad when they could say “It won’t turn out well!”
The gardener used always twice a week to bring them fresh flowers, tastefully arranged, and the colors by his arrangements were brought out in stronger light.
“You have good taste, Larsen,” said the owner, “but that is a gift from our Lord, not from yourself.”
One day the gardener brought a great crystal vase with a floating leaf of a white water-lily, upon which was laid, with its long thick stalk descending into the water, a sparkling blue flower as large as a sunflower.
“The sacred lotos of Hindostan!” exclaimed the family. They had never seen such a flower; it was placed every day in the sunshine, and in the evening under artificial light. Every one who saw it found it wonderfully beautiful and rare; and that said the most noble young lady in the country, the wise and kind-hearted princess. The lord of the manor deemed it an honor to present her with the flower, and the princess took it with her to the castle. Now the master of the house went down to the garden to pluck another flower of the same sort, but he could not find any. So he sent for the gardener, and asked him where he kept the blue lotos. “I have been looking for it in vain,” said he. “I went into the conservatory, and round about the flower-garden.”
“No, it is not there!” said the gardener. “It is nothing else than a common flower from the kitchen-garden, but do you not find it beautiful? It looks as if it was the blue cactus, and yet it is only a kitchen-herb. It is the flower of the artichoke!”
“You should have told us that at the time!” said the master. “We supposed of course that it was a strange and rare flower. You have made us ridiculous in the eyes of the young princess! She saw the flower in our house and thought it beautiful. She did not know the flower, and she is versed in botany, too, but then that has nothing to do with kitchen-herbs. How could you take it into your head, my good Larsen, to put such a flower up in our drawing-room? It makes us ridiculous.”
And the magnificent blue flower from the kitchen-garden was turned out of the drawing-room, which was not at all the place for it. The master made his apology to the princess, telling her that it was only a kitchen-herb which the gardener had taken into his head to exhibit, but that he had been well reprimanded for it.
“That was a pity,” said the princess, “for he has really opened our eyes to see the beauty of a flower in a place where we should not have thought of looking for it. Our gardener shall every day, as long as the artichoke is in bloom, bring one of them up into the drawing-room.”
Then the master told his gardener that he might again bring them a fresh artichoke-flower. “It is, after all, a very nice flower,” said he, “and a truly remarkable one.” And so the gardener was praised again. “Larsen likes that,” said the master; “he is a spoiled child.”
In the autumn there came up a great gale, which increased so violently in the night that. several large trees in the outskirts of the wood were torn up by the roots; and to the great grief of the household, but to the gardener’s delight, the two big trees blew down, with all their birds’-nests on them. In the manor-house they heard during the storm the screaming of rooks and crows, beating their wings against the windows.
“Now I suppose you are happy, Larsen,” said the master: “the storm has felled the trees, and the birds have gone off to the woods; there is nothing left from the good old days; it is all gone, and we are very sorry for it.”
The gardener said nothing, but he thought of what he long had turned over in his mind, how he could make that pretty sunny spot very useful, so that it could become an ornament to the garden and a pride to the family. The great trees which had been blown down had shattered the venerable hedge of box, that was cut into fanciful shapes.
Here he set out a multitude of plants that were not to be seen in other gardens. He made an earthen wall, on which he planted all sorts of native flowers from the fields and woods. What no other gardener had ever thought of planting in the manor-garden he planted, giving each its appropriate soil, and the plants were in sunlight or shadow according as each species required. He cared tenderly for them, and they grew up finely. The juniper-tree from the heaths of Jutland rose in shape and color like the Italian cypress; the shining, thorny Christ-thorn, as green in the winter’s cold as in the summer’s sun, was splendid to see. In the foreground grew ferns of various species: some of them looked as if they were children of the palm-tree; others, as if they were parents of the pretty plants called “Venus’s golden locks” or “Maiden-hair.” Here stood the despised burdock, which is so beautiful in its freshness that it looks well even in a bouquet. The burdock stood in a dry place, but below in the moist soil grew the colt’s-foot, also a despised plant, but yet most picturesque, with its tall stem and large leaf. Like a candelabrum with a multitude of branches six feet high, and with flower over against flower, rose the mullein, a mere field plant. Here stood the woodroof and the lily of the valley, the wild calla and the fine three-leaved wood-sorrel. It was a wonder to see all this beauty!
In the front grew in rows very small peartrees from French soil, trained on wires. By plenty of sun and good care they soon bore as juicy fruits as in their own country. Instead of the two old leafless trees was placed a tall flag-staff, where the flag of Dannebrog was displayed; and near by stood another pole, where the hop-tendril in summer or harvest-time wound its fragrant flowers; but in winter-time, after ancient custom, oat-sheaves were fastened to it, that the birds of the air might find here a good meal in the happy Christmas-time.
“Our good Larsen is growing sentimental as he grows old,” said the family; “but he is faithful, and quite attached to us.”
In one of the illustrated papers there was a picture at New Year’s of the old manor, with the flag-staff and the oat-sheaves for the birds of the air, and the paper said that the old manor had preserved that beautiful old custom, and deserved great credit for it.
“They beat the drum for all Larsen’s doings,” said the family. “He is a lucky fellow, and we may almost be proud of having such a man in our service.”
But they were not a bit proud of it. They were very well aware that they were the lords of the manor; they could give Larsen warning, in fact, but they did not. They were good people, and fortunate it is for every Mr. Larsen that there are so many good people like them.
Yes, that is the story of the gardener and the manor. Now you may think a little about it.