“Everything!” said the emperor, standing there in his royal clothing that he’d put on himself. He was holding the sword, heavy with gold, up to his heart.
“I ask you this one thing. Don’t tell anyone that you have a little bird that tells you everything. Then things will go even better.”
And the nightingale flew away.
Soon after the servants entered the room to see to their dead emperor—there they stood, and the emperor said, “Good morning.”
THE GARDENER AND THE GENTRY
ABOUT FIVE MILES FROM the capital there was an old manor house with thick walls, towers, and corbie gables.
A rich, noble family lived there, but only in the summer. This manor was the best and most beautiful of all the properties they owned. It looked like new outside and was full of comfort and coziness inside. The family coat of arms was engraved in stone above the estate gate, and beautiful roses were entwined around the crest and bay windows. A carpet of grass was spread out in front of the manor house. There were red and white hawthorn and rare flowers, even outside the greenhouse.
The family also had a very capable gardener. It was a delight to see the flower garden, and the fruit orchard and vegetable garden. Next to this there was still a remnant of the original old garden—some box hedges—clipped to form crowns and pyramids. Behind these stood two huge old trees. They were always almost leafless, and you could easily have believed that a stormy wind or a waterspout had spread big clumps of manure over them, but every clump was a bird nest.
A huge flock of shrieking rooks and crows had built nests here from times immemorial. It was an entire city of birds, and the birds were the masters, the occupiers of the property, the oldest family on the estate, and the real masters of the manor. None of the people down there concerned them, but they tolerated these crawling creatures, except that sometimes they banged with their guns, so it tickled the birds’ backbones and caused every bird to fly up in fear and cry, “scum, scum!”
The gardener often talked to the master and mistress about having the old trees cut down. They didn’t look good, and if they were gone, they would most likely be rid of the screaming birds, who would go elsewhere. But the master and mistress didn’t want to be rid of either the trees or the birds because they were from old times. Anything from old times was something the estate could and should not lose.
“Those trees are the birds’ inheritance, my good Larsen. Let them keep them.” The gardener’s name was Larsen, but that’s neither here nor there.
“Larsen, don’t you have enough room to work? The whole flower garden, the greenhouses, fruit and vegetables gardens?”
He did have those, and he cared for, watched over, and cultivated them with zeal and skill, and the master and mistress acknowledged that, but they didn’t conceal from him that they often ate fruits and saw flowers when visiting that surpassed what they had in their own gardens. That saddened the gardener because he always strived to do the best he could. He was good-hearted and good at his job.
One day the master and mistress called him in and told him in a gentle and lordly manner that the day before they had eaten some apples and pears at distinguished friends that were so juicy and so delicious that they and all the other guests had expressed their greatest admiration. The fruits were certainly not domestic, but they should be imported, and should be grown here if the climate would allow it. They knew that the fruits had been bought in town at the best greengrocer’s. The gardener was to ride into town and find out where the apples and pears had come from and then write for grafts.
The gardener knew the greengrocer well because he was the very one to whom, on the master’s behalf, he sold the surplus fruit that grew in the estate gardens.
And the gardener went to town and asked the greengrocer where he had gotten those highly acclaimed apples and pears.
“They’re from your own garden!” said the greengrocer and showed him both the apples and pears that he immediately recognized.
Well, how happy this made the gardener! He hurried back to the master and mistress and told them that both the apples and pears were from their own garden.
But the master and mistress simply couldn’t believe it. “It’s not possible, Larsen! Can you get this confirmed in writing from the greengrocer?”
And he could and did do that. He brought the written certification.
“This is really strange!” said the master and mistress.
Every day big platters of the magnificent apples and pears from their own garden appeared on the table. Bushels and barrels full of these fruits were sent to friends in town and out of town, even to foreign countries! What a pleasure! But of course they had to add that it had been two amazingly good summers for the fruit trees. Good fruit was being produced all over the country.
Some time passed. The master and mistress were invited to dinner at court. The day after this they called in the gardener. They had gotten melons at the table from the royal greenhouses that were so juicy and tasty.
“You must go to the royal gardener, dear Larsen, and get us some of the seeds of those priceless melons!”
“But the royal gardener got the seeds from us!” said the gardener, quite pleased.
“Well, then that man has the knowledge to bring fruit to a higher level of development!” said the master. “Each melon was remarkable.”
“Well, I can be proud then,” said the gardener. “I must tell your lordship that the royal gardener didn’t have luck with his melons this year, and when he saw how splendid ours were and tasted them, he ordered three of them for the castle.”
“Larsen! You’re not telling me those were melons from our garden?!”
“I think so!” said the gardener, who went to the royal gardener and got written confirmation that the melons on the kingly table came from the manor.
It really was a surprise for the master and his lady, and they didn’t keep quiet about the story. They showed the certificate, and melon seeds were sent around widely, just as the pear and apple grafts had been earlier.
And word was received that they grew and produced exceptional fruit, and these melon seeds were named after the noble estate, so that that name could now be read in English, German, and French.
No one could have imagined this!
“Just so the gardener doesn’t get a swollen head about this,” said the master and mistress.
But the gardener took it all in a different way. He just wanted to establish his name as one of the country’s best gardeners, to try each year to bring forth something superior in all the types of garden plants, and he did that. But often he was told that the very first fruits he had produced, the apples and pears, were really the best. All later types were inferior to them. The melons had certainly been very good, but that was something completely different. The strawberries could be called exceptional, but yet not better than those other noble families had, and when the radishes didn’t turn out one year, only those unfortunate radishes were discussed, none of the other good things that were produced.
It was almost as if the master and mistress felt a relief in saying, “Things didn’t work out this year, Larsen!” They were quite happy to be able to say, “It didn’t work out this year.”
A couple of times a week the gardener brought fresh flowers up to the living room, and they were always so beautifully arranged. The colors seemed to be more vibrant through the arrangement.
“You have taste, Larsen,” said the master and mistress. “It’s a gift, given by the Lord, not of your own doing.”
One day the gardener brought a large crystal saucer in which a lily pad was floating. On top of this was placed a shining blue flower, as big as a sunflower with its long thick stem trailing down in the water.