The Ugly Duckling

It was lovely out in the country. It was summer. The wheat stood golden, the oats were green, and the hay was stacked in cobs down on the green meadows. The stork strode about on his long red legs and chattered away in Egyptian, for that was the language he had learned from his mother. All around the fields and meadows lay great forests, and deep in the forests were deep lakes. Yes, it truly was lovely out in the country. There in the sunshine stood an old country house surrounded by deep canals, and from its walls right down to the water grew great burdock leaves, so tall that a small child could stand upright beneath the tallest of them. It was as wild in there as in the very heart of the woods, and here, on her nest, sat a duck who had to hatch her ducklings. But she was growing weary of it, for the little ones were slow in coming, and she seldom had visitors. The other ducks liked far better to swim about in the canals than to climb up and sit under a burdock leaf for a chat with her.

At last, one egg after another cracked open. “Peep, peep,” said each little one, for all the yolks had come alive and were poking out their heads.

“Quack, quack,” said the mother, and they all scrambled up as best they could and looked about on every side under the green leaves. Their mother let them look as much as they liked, for green is good for the eyes. “How big the world is!” said all the ducklings, for they had far more room now than they had inside the egg.

“Do you think this is the whole world?” said the mother. “Why, it stretches far beyond the other side of the garden, right into the parson’s field, though I have never been so far myself. You are all here, aren’t you?” she went on, standing up. “No, not all of you. The biggest egg is still lying there. How long is this going to take? I am quite tired of it now,” and she sat back down again.

“Well, how are things going?” asked an old duck who had come to pay her a visit.

“This one egg is taking such a long time,” said the sitting duck. “It simply won’t crack. But do look at the others. Aren’t they the prettiest ducklings you ever saw? They are the very image of their father — the scoundrel never comes to visit me.”

“Let me see the egg that won’t crack,” said the old duck. “Believe me, it’s a turkey egg. I was fooled just the same way once, and oh, the worry and trouble I had with the young ones, for they’re afraid of the water! I couldn’t get them in. I quacked and I clucked, but it was no use. Let me see the egg. Yes, that’s a turkey egg. Leave it lying there and go teach the other children to swim.”

“I think I’ll sit on it a little longer,” said the duck. “I’ve sat so long already, I may as well sit a few days more.”

“Suit yourself,” said the old duck, and off she went.

At last the big egg cracked. “Peep, peep,” said the young one, and out he crawled. He was very large and ugly. The duck looked him over. “That is a tremendously big duckling,” she said. “None of the others looks like that. Could it really be a turkey chick? Well, we’ll soon find out. Into the water he goes, even if I have to push him in myself.”

The next day the weather was fine and glorious, and the sun shone on all the green burdock leaves. So the mother duck went down to the canal with her whole family. Splash! In she jumped. “Quack, quack,” she said, and one duckling after another plopped in after her. The water closed over their heads, but up they came again in an instant and swam along beautifully; their legs paddled by themselves, and every one of them was in the water — even the ugly gray one swam along with the rest.

“No, that is no turkey,” she said. “Look how nicely he uses his legs, how straight he holds himself! He is my own child, and really quite handsome once you look at him properly. Quack, quack! Come along with me now. I’ll take you into the great world and introduce you at the duck yard. But keep close to me so that no one steps on you, and watch out for the cats!”

So they came into the duck yard. There was a terrible commotion, for two families were fighting over an eel’s head — and in the end the cat got it anyway.

“You see, that’s the way of the world,” said the mother duck, whetting her beak, for she would have liked the eel’s head herself. “Now use your legs,” she said. “Look lively, and bow your necks to that old duck over there. She is the grandest of them all — she has Spanish blood, which is why she’s so plump — and do you see, she has a red rag tied round her leg? That is something wonderfully fine, the greatest honor a duck can receive. It means she must not be lost, that man and beast alike will know her. Look sharp now! Don’t turn your toes in — a well-bred duckling sets its feet wide apart, just like father and mother. There, like that. Now bow your necks and say quack.”

And so they did. But the other ducks all around looked them over and said out loud, “Look at that! Now we’re to have this crowd tagging along, as if there weren’t enough of us already! And ugh — what a sight that one duckling is. We won’t stand for him!” And at once a duck flew over and bit him in the neck.

“Leave him alone,” said the mother. “He isn’t doing anyone any harm.”

“Yes, but he’s too big and odd-looking,” said the biting duck, “and so he must be knocked about.”

“Those are pretty children the mother has,” said the old duck with the rag on her leg, “all lovely but that one. He didn’t turn out well. I wish she could make him over again.”

“That can’t be done, your grace,” said the mother duck. “He is not handsome, but he has a good heart and swims as beautifully as any of the others — better, I dare say. I think he will grow up handsome, and in time perhaps a little smaller. He lay too long in the egg, and so he never got the right shape.” And she plucked at his neck and smoothed his feathers. “Besides, he’s a drake,” she said, “so it doesn’t matter so much. I think he’ll grow strong. He’ll make his way in the world.”

“The other ducklings are charming,” said the old duck. “Now make yourselves at home, and if you find an eel’s head, you may bring it to me.”

And so they were at home. But the poor duckling who had crept out of the egg last of all, and who looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed and made fun of by the ducks and by the hens alike. “He’s too big!” they all said, and the turkey cock, who had come into the world with spurs and therefore believed himself an emperor, puffed himself up like a ship in full sail and charged straight at him, gobbling and turning quite red in the head. The poor duckling did not know where to stand or where to go. He was miserable because he was so ugly and was mocked by the whole duck yard.

So it went the first day, and afterward it grew worse and worse. The poor duckling was chased by everyone. Even his own sisters were unkind to him and always said, “If only the cat would catch you, you ugly creature!” And his mother said, “If only you were far away!” The ducks bit him, the hens beat him, and the girl who fed the animals kicked at him with her feet.

So he ran off and flew over the fence, and the little birds in the bushes flew up in fright. “That is because I am so ugly,” thought the duckling, and he shut his eyes and ran on all the same, until he came out at the great moor where the wild ducks lived. There he lay the whole night, tired and full of sorrow.

Toward morning the wild ducks flew up and looked at their new comrade. “What sort of a duck are you?” they asked, and the duckling turned this way and that, greeting them as best he could.

“You are terribly ugly,” said the wild ducks, “but that’s no concern of ours, so long as you don’t marry into our family.” Poor thing! He certainly had no thought of marrying; all he wanted was to be allowed to lie among the reeds and drink a little of the moor water.

There he lay two whole days, and then two wild geese — or rather two wild ganders — came along. They had not been out of the egg long, and so they were rather bold.

“Listen, friend,” they said. “You’re so ugly that we quite like you. Will you come along and be a bird of passage? Not far from here, on another moor, there are some sweet, lovely wild geese, all young ladies, every one of them able to say quack. You might make your fortune there, ugly as you are.”

“Bang! Bang!” it sounded just then, and both wild ganders fell dead into the reeds, and the water turned blood-red. “Bang! Bang!” it sounded again, and whole flocks of wild geese rose up out of the reeds. Then the shots cracked once more. It was a great hunt. The hunters lay all around the moor; some were even sitting up in the branches that stretched far out over the reeds. The blue smoke drifted like clouds in among the dark trees and far out over the water, and into the moor came the hunting dogs — splash, splash — bending the reeds and the rushes on every side. What a fright it was for the poor duckling! He turned his head to tuck it under his wing, and at that very moment a fearfully big dog stood right beside him, its tongue hanging long from its mouth and its eyes glaring dreadful and ugly. It thrust its snout right up to the duckling, showed its sharp teeth, and — splash, splash — off it went again without seizing him.

“Oh, thank goodness,” sighed the duckling. “I am so ugly that even the dog won’t bite me!”

And so he lay quite still while the shot whistled through the reeds and gun after gun cracked out.

It was late in the day before things grew quiet, but the poor young thing still did not dare to rise. He waited several hours more before he looked about him, and then he hurried away from the moor as fast as he could. He ran over field and meadow, and such a storm blew up that he could hardly make any headway.

Toward evening he reached a small, wretched farm cottage. It was so rickety that it did not know which way to fall, and so it stayed standing. The storm raged so around the duckling that he had to sit down and brace himself against it, and it grew worse and worse. Then he noticed that the door had come off one of its hinges and hung so crooked that he could slip through the gap into the room — and that is what he did.

Here lived an old woman with her cat and her hen. The cat, whom she called Sonny, could arch his back and purr; he could even give off sparks, but only if you stroked him the wrong way. The hen had very short little legs, and so she was called Chickie Shortlegs. She laid good eggs, and the woman loved her like her own child.

In the morning the strange duckling was spotted at once, and the cat began to purr and the hen to cluck.

“What is that?” said the woman, looking about her; but her sight was not good, and so she thought the duckling was a fat duck that had lost its way. “What a rare catch!” she said. “Now I can have duck eggs — if only it isn’t a drake. We shall have to find out.”

And so the duckling was taken on trial for three weeks, but no eggs came. Now the cat was master of the house and the hen was mistress, and they always said “We and the world,” for they believed themselves to be one half of it — and by far the better half. The duckling thought one might hold another opinion too, but the hen would not stand for it.

“Can you lay eggs?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then have the goodness to hold your tongue.”

And the cat said, “Can you arch your back, purr, and give off sparks?”

“No.”

“Then you have no right to an opinion when sensible people are talking.”

So the duckling sat in the corner in low spirits. Then the fresh air and the sunshine came streaming in, and he was seized with such a strange longing to swim on the water that he could not help telling the hen about it.

“What’s got into you?” she asked. “You have nothing to do, and so you get such fancies! Lay eggs, or purr, and they’ll pass.”

“But it is so lovely to swim on the water,” said the duckling, “so wonderful to feel it close over your head as you dive down to the bottom!”

“Oh, a great pleasure indeed!” said the hen. “You must have gone mad. Ask the cat — he is the cleverest creature I know — ask him whether he likes to swim on the water or to dive under it. I won’t speak of myself. Ask our mistress, the old woman; there is no one in the world wiser than she. Do you suppose she has any wish to swim and let the water close over her head?”

“You don’t understand me,” said the duckling.

“We don’t understand you? Then who is to understand you, I’d like to know! You surely don’t think yourself wiser than the cat and the woman — to say nothing of me! Don’t put on airs, child, and thank your Maker for all the kindness you’ve been shown. Haven’t you come into a warm room, into company you might learn something from? But you’re a chatterer, and no pleasant thing to be around. Believe me, I mean well by you. I tell you unpleasant truths, and that is how you know your true friends. Just see to it that you lay eggs, or learn to purr and give off sparks!”

“I think I’ll go out into the wide world,” said the duckling.

“Yes, do that,” said the hen.

And so the duckling went. He swam on the water and dived beneath it, but every animal overlooked him because of his ugliness.

Then came the autumn. The leaves in the woods turned yellow and brown, and the wind caught them so that they danced about. Up in the air it grew very cold; the clouds hung heavy with hail and snowflakes, and on the fence the raven stood crying “Caw! Caw!” with the cold — the very thought of it was enough to make you shiver. Things were truly hard for the poor duckling. One evening, as the sun was setting so beautifully, a whole flock of grand, great birds came out of the bushes. The duckling had never seen any so lovely. They were dazzling white, with long, graceful necks — they were swans. They gave a strange cry, spread their splendid long wings, and flew away from the cold country toward warmer lands and open seas. Up, up they rose, so high, and the ugly young duckling felt so very strange. He turned round and round in the water like a wheel, stretched his neck high into the air after them, and gave a cry so loud and strange that it frightened even himself. Oh, he could not forget those beautiful, happy birds! And the moment they were out of sight, he dived right down to the bottom, and when he came up again he was quite beside himself. He did not know what the birds were called, nor where they were flying, but he loved them as he had never loved anyone. He did not envy them at all — how could it ever occur to him to wish for such loveliness? He would have been glad enough if even the ducks had only let him stay among them — the poor, ugly creature!

The winter grew cold, very cold. The duckling had to swim about in the water to keep it from freezing over completely, but every night the hole he swam in grew smaller and smaller. It froze so hard that the ice crackled, and the duckling had to keep his legs going the whole time to keep the hole from closing. At last he grew weak, lay quite still, and froze fast in the ice.

Early the next morning a peasant came by. When he saw what had happened, he went over, broke the ice apart with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. There he came back to life.

The children wanted to play with him, but the duckling thought they meant to hurt him, and in his fright he flew straight into the milk pan so that the milk splashed all over the room. The woman clapped her hands, and then he flew into the butter cask, then down into the flour barrel and out again. What a sight he was! The woman shrieked and struck at him with the fire tongs, and the children tumbled over one another trying to catch him, laughing and shrieking. It was lucky the door stood open, so that he could slip out among the bushes into the newly fallen snow, and there he lay, quite worn out.

But it would be too sad to tell of all the hardship and misery the duckling had to endure through that harsh winter. He was lying in the moor among the reeds when the sun began to shine warm again. The larks were singing; it was glorious spring.

Then all at once the duckling could beat his wings. They rushed more strongly than before and carried him powerfully away, and before he quite knew it he found himself in a great garden, where the elder trees breathed out their fragrance and bent their long green branches down to the winding canals. Oh, it was so lovely there, so fresh with spring! And out from the thicket in front came three splendid white swans, rustling their feathers and swimming lightly on the water. The duckling knew the magnificent birds, and a strange sorrow came over him.

“I will fly to them, to those royal birds! And they will strike me dead for daring, ugly as I am, to come near them. But it doesn’t matter! Better to be killed by them than to be nipped by the ducks, beaten by the hens, kicked by the girl who tends the poultry yard, and left to suffer want through the winter!” And he flew out onto the water and swam toward the splendid swans. They saw him and came rushing at him with rustling feathers. “Only kill me,” said the poor creature, and he bowed his head down toward the surface of the water and waited for death. But what did he see in the clear water? He saw his own reflection below him — no longer a clumsy, dark-gray bird, ugly and disagreeable, but a swan himself.

It does not matter at all to be born in a duck yard, so long as you have lain in a swan’s egg.

He felt truly glad of all the hardship and trouble he had endured, for only now could he rightly know his good fortune amid all the splendor around him. And the great swans swam about him and stroked him with their beaks.

Into the garden came some little children, who threw bread and grain into the water, and the smallest cried, “There’s a new one!” And the other children joined in with joy: “Yes, a new one has come!” They clapped their hands and danced about and ran to their father and mother, and more bread and cake were thrown into the water, and they all said, “The new one is the loveliest of all — so young and splendid!” And the old swans bowed before him.

Then he felt quite bashful and tucked his head under his wing; he did not know what to do with himself. He was far too happy, and yet not at all proud. He thought of how he had been persecuted and mocked, and now he heard everyone say that he was the most beautiful of all the beautiful birds. Even the elder tree bent its branches down into the water toward him, and the sun shone warm and gentle. Then his feathers rustled, his slender neck lifted, and from the fullness of his heart he cried, “I never dreamed of such happiness when I was still the ugly duckling!”