The Ugly Duckling

It was glorious out in the country. It was summer, and the corn stood yellow, the oats green, and the hay was piled in stacks down on the meadows. The stork walked 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 in the middle of the forests were deep lakes. Yes, it really was glorious out in the country. There in the sunshine stood an old manor house with deep canals around it, and from its walls right down to the water grew great burdock leaves, so tall that a small child could stand upright under the tallest of them. It was as wild in among them as in the depths of a wood.

In this snug place a duck sat on her nest, hatching her ducklings. She was almost tired of it before they came, for it was taking a long time, and she seldom had a visitor. The other ducks would far rather swim about in the canals than climb the bank and sit under a burdock leaf to have a gossip with her.

At last one egg cracked, and then another. “Peep, peep,” they said, for every yolk had come alive and was pushing out its head.

“Quack, quack,” said the mother, and then they all bustled about as well as they could and looked on every side under the green leaves. Their mother let them look as much as they liked, because green is good for the eyes.

“How big the world is,” said all the young ones, for now they had a great deal more room than they had had inside the egg.

“Do you think this is the whole world?” said their mother. “It reaches far beyond the other side of the garden, right into the parson’s field, though I have never been so far myself. Are you all out?” she went on, and stood up. “No, I have not got you all. The biggest egg is still lying there. How long is this to go on? I am nearly tired of it.” And she settled herself down again.

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

“One egg is taking a very long time,” said the duck on the nest. “It will not crack. But just look at the others. Are they not the sweetest ducklings anyone ever saw? Every one of them is the image of their father, and the wretch never comes to visit me.”

“Let me see the egg that will not crack,” said the old duck. “Believe me, that is a turkey’s egg. I was taken in the same way once, and I had all the worry and trouble in the world with the young ones, for they are afraid of the water. I could not get them in. I quacked at them and I snapped at them, and it did no good at all. Let me see the egg. Yes, that is a turkey’s egg. Leave it lying there and teach your other children to swim.”

“I shall sit on it a little longer,” said the duck. “I have sat so long already that I may as well sit a few days more.”

“Please yourself,” said the old duck, and away she went.

At last the big egg cracked. “Peep, peep,” said the young one, and out he crawled. He was very big and very ugly. The duck looked at him. “That is a tremendously large duckling,” she said. “Not one of the others looks like that. Can he really be a turkey chick? Well, we shall soon find out. Into the water he goes, if I have to push him in myself.”

The next day the weather was fine and beautiful, and the sun shone on all the green burdock. The mother duck took her whole family down to the canal. 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 a moment and swam splendidly. Their legs went of their own accord, and every one of them was in the water, the ugly grey one swimming along with the rest.

“No, that is no turkey,” she said. “Look how well he uses his legs, how straight he holds himself. He is my own child, and he is really quite handsome when you look at him properly. Quack, quack! Come along with me now and I will lead you out into the great world and present you in the duck yard. Only keep close to me, so that nobody treads on you, and keep well clear of the cat.”

And so they came into the duck yard. There was a dreadful noise inside, for two families were fighting over an eel’s head, and in the end it was the cat who got it.

“There, you see, that is the way of the world,” said the mother duck, and she whetted her beak, for she would have liked the eel’s head herself. “Now use your legs,” she said. “Let me see you bustle about, and bow your necks to that old duck over there. She is the grandest of all here. She is of Spanish blood, which is why she is so plump, and do you see the red rag around her leg? That is something quite wonderful, the greatest honour a duck can be given. It means that nobody wishes to lose her, and that beast and man alike are to know her. Bustle now. Do not turn your toes in. A well brought up duckling sets its feet wide apart, just as father and mother do. Look, like this. Now bow your necks and say quack.”

And they did. But the other ducks all around looked at them and said quite loudly, “Look at that. Now we are to have this lot as well, as if there were not enough of us already. And what a fright that one duckling is. We will not put up with him.” And at once a duck flew over and bit him in the neck.

“Leave him alone,” said the mother. “He is doing nobody any harm.”

“Yes, but he is too big and too odd,” said the duck who had bitten him, “and so he must be knocked about.”

“Those are pretty children the mother has,” said the old duck with the rag around her leg. “All of them handsome but that one. He has not turned out well. I do wish she could make him over again.”

“That cannot be done, your grace,” said the mother duck. “He is not handsome, but he has a thoroughly good nature, and he swims as beautifully as any of the others. I may even say a little better. I think he will grow handsome, and in time he will grow smaller. He lay too long in the egg, and that is why his shape is not quite right.” And she preened the back of his neck and smoothed his feathers. “Besides, he is a drake,” she said, “so it does not matter so much. I think he will be strong. He will make his way.”

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

And so they were at home.

But the poor duckling who had come out of the egg last of all, and who looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed about and made fun of, and that by the hens as much as by the ducks. “He is too big,” they all said. And the turkey cock, who had come into the world with spurs and therefore believed himself to be an emperor, puffed himself up like a ship in full sail and went straight at him, gobbling until his head was quite red. The poor duckling did not know where to stand or where to walk. He was wretched because he looked so ugly and because the whole duck yard laughed at him.

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

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

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

“You are extremely ugly,” said the wild ducks, “but that is all the same to us, so long as you do not marry into our family.” Poor thing! He had certainly not been thinking of marrying. All he wanted was leave to lie among the rushes and drink a little of the moor water.

There he lay two whole days. Then two wild geese came along, or rather two wild ganders. They had not been out of the egg very long, and that was why they were so pert.

“Listen, friend,” they said. “You are so ugly that we like you very well. Will you come along with us and be a bird of passage? Close by, on another moor, there are some sweet and lovely wild geese, all of them young ladies, and every one of them can say quack. You are in a fair way to make your fortune there, ugly as you are.”

“Bang! Bang!” It rang out just then, and both wild ganders fell dead among the rushes, and the water turned red with blood. “Bang! Bang!” it rang out again, and whole flocks of wild geese rose up out of the rushes, and then the guns cracked once more. There was a great hunt on. The sportsmen lay all around the moor, and some were even sitting up in the branches of the trees that stretched far out over the reeds. The blue smoke drifted like clouds in among the dark trees and far out over the water. Into the moor came the hunting dogs, splash, splash, and the reeds and the rushes bent to 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 terrible big dog stood close beside him, his tongue hanging far out of his mouth and his eyes shining horribly. He thrust his muzzle right up to the duckling, showed him his sharp teeth, and then, splash, splash, off he went again without seizing him.

“Oh, thank goodness,” sighed the duckling. “I am so ugly that not even the dog will bite me.”

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

It was late in the day before all was quiet, but even then the poor young thing dared not get up. 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 get along at all.

Towards evening he reached a poor little cottage. It was so tumbledown that it did not know which way to fall, and so it went on standing. The storm whirled around the duckling so hard 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 into the room through the gap, and that is what he did.

A woman lived there with her tom cat and her hen. The cat, whom she called Sonny, could arch his back and purr, and he could even throw out sparks, though for that you had to stroke 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 noticed 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 is not a drake. We shall have to find out.”

So the duckling was taken on trial for three weeks, but no eggs came. And 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 half of it, and much the better half at that. The duckling thought a person might well hold another opinion, but the hen would not hear of it.

“Can you lay eggs?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then you will have the goodness to hold your tongue.”

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

“No.”

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

And the duckling sat in the corner and was out of spirits. Then the fresh air and the sunshine came in through the door, 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 has come over you?” she asked. “You have nothing to do, and that is why you get these fancies. Lay eggs, or learn to purr, and they will soon pass off.”

“But it is so lovely to swim on the water,” said the duckling, “so lovely to let it close over your head and dive down to the bottom.”

“Yes, a great pleasure that must be,” said the hen. “You have gone quite mad. Ask the cat about it. He is the cleverest creature I know. Ask him whether he likes to swim on the water or to dive under it. I will not speak of myself. Ask our mistress, the old woman. There is nobody in the world cleverer than she is. Do you suppose she has any wish to swim and to let the water close over her head?”

“You do not understand me,” said the duckling.

“We do not understand you? Then who is to understand you, I should like to know? You will hardly set yourself up as cleverer than the cat and the woman, and I say nothing of myself. Do not give yourself airs, child, and be thankful for all the good that has been done for you. Have you not come into a warm room, and into company you might learn something from? But you are a chatterer, and there is no pleasure in your company. You may believe me, I mean well by you. I tell you unpleasant things, and that is how a person knows a true friend. Just see that you learn to lay eggs, or to purr and throw out sparks.”

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

“Yes, do,” said the hen.

And the duckling went. He swam on the water and he dived under it, but every creature passed him by because he was so ugly.

Now autumn came. The leaves in the wood turned yellow and brown, and the wind caught them and danced them about, and up in the air it was very cold. The clouds hung heavy with hail and snowflakes, and the raven stood on the fence and cried, “Caw, caw,” from sheer cold. It made you shiver only to think of it. The poor duckling was truly having a hard time of it.

One evening, just as the sun was setting so beautifully, a whole flock of great, glorious birds came out of the bushes. The duckling had never seen any so lovely. They were dazzling white, with long, supple necks. They were swans. They gave a strange cry of their own, spread their splendid long wings and flew away from the cold country to warmer lands and open lakes. They rose so high, so high, and the ugly young duckling felt very strange indeed. He turned round and round in the water like a wheel, stretched his neck high in the air after them, and gave a cry so loud and so strange that it frightened him. Oh, he could not forget those beautiful, happy birds, and the moment they were out of his sight he dived down to the very 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 in the least. How could it ever have entered his head to wish for such loveliness for himself? He would have been glad enough if only the ducks had put up with him, poor ugly creature.

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

Early in the morning a farmer came by, and when he saw what had happened he went over, broke the ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. There the duckling came to himself again.

The children wanted to play with him, but the duckling thought they meant to do him harm, and in his fright he flew straight into the milk pan, so that the milk splashed out into the room. The woman clapped her hands, and at that he flew into the butter cask, and then down into the meal barrel and out again. What a sight he was! The woman screamed and struck at him with the fire tongs, and the children tumbled over one another trying to catch him, laughing and shrieking. It was a good thing that 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.

It would be far too sad to tell of all the want and misery the duckling had to bear through that hard winter. He was lying out on the moor among the rushes when the sun began to shine warm again. The larks were singing. It was glorious spring.

Then all at once the duckling could lift his wings. They beat more strongly than before and carried him powerfully away, and before he rightly knew it he found himself in a great garden where the apple trees stood in blossom and the elders gave out their scent and bent their long green branches down to the winding canals. Oh, it was lovely here, and so fresh with spring. And out of the thicket in front of him came three splendid white swans, rustling their feathers and swimming lightly on the water. The duckling knew the glorious creatures, and a strange sadness came over him.

“I will fly over to them, to those royal birds. And they will strike me dead, because I, who am so ugly, dare to come near them. But it does not matter. Better to be killed by them than to be nipped by the ducks, beaten by the hens, kicked by the girl who keeps the poultry yard, and to suffer want through the winter.”

And he flew out onto the water and swam towards the splendid swans. They caught sight of him and came rushing at him with their feathers ruffled.

“Kill me, then,” said the poor creature, and he bent his head down to the surface of the water and waited for death.

But what did he see in the clear water? He saw his own likeness beneath him, and it was no clumsy dark grey bird, ugly and unpleasant to look at. It was a swan.

It does not matter in the least being born in a duck yard, if only you have lain in a swan’s egg.

He felt glad now of all the hardship and trouble he had endured, for only now did he rightly understand his good fortune and the splendour that was greeting him. And the great swans swam around him and stroked him with their beaks.

Some little children came into the garden and threw bread and grain into the water, and the smallest of them cried, “There is a new one!” And the other children shouted with delight, “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 every one of them said, “The new one is the most beautiful of all. So young, and so splendid.” And the old swans bowed their heads before him.

Then he felt quite ashamed and tucked his head under his wing, and he did not know what to do with himself. He was far too happy, and yet not the least bit proud. He thought of how he had been hunted and mocked, and now he heard them all say that he was the loveliest of all those lovely birds. Even the elder tree bent its branches down to him in the water, and the sun shone warm and mild. Then his feathers rustled, his slender neck lifted, and out of a full heart he cried, “I never dreamed of such happiness as this when I was the ugly duckling.”