The Ugly Duckling

The Ugly Duckling

It was summer in the land of Denmark, and though for most of the year

the country looks flat and ugly, it was beautiful now. The wheat was

yellow, the oats were green, the hay was dry and delicious to roll in,

and from the old ruined house which nobody lived in, down to the edge

of the canal, was a forest of great burdocks, so tall that a whole

family of children might have dwelt in them and never have been found

out.

It was under these burdocks that a duck had built herself a warm nest,

and was not sitting all day on six pretty eggs. Five of them were

white, but the sixth, which was larger than the others, was of an ugly

grey colour. The duck was always puzzled about that egg, and how it

came to be so different from the rest. Other birds might have thought

that when the duck went down in the morning and evening to the water to

stretch her legs in a good swim, some lazy mother might have been on

the watch, and have popped her egg into the nest. But ducks are not

clever at all, and are not quick at counting, so this duck did not

worry herself about the matter, but just took care that the big egg

should be as warm as the rest.

This was the first set of eggs that the duck had ever laid, and, to

begin with, she was very pleased and proud, and laughed at the other

mothers, who were always neglecting their duties to gossip with each

other or to take little extra swims besides the two in the morning and

evening that were necessary for health. But at length she grew tired

of sitting there all day. ‘Surely eggs take longer hatching than they

did,’ she said to herself; and she pined for a little amusement also.

Still, she knew that if she left her eggs and the ducklings in them to

die none of her friends would ever speak to her again; so there she

stayed, only getting off the eggs several times a day to see if the

shells were cracking--which may have been the very reason why they did

not crack sooner.

She had looked at the eggs at least a hundred and fifty times, when, to

her joy, she saw a tiny crack on two of them, and scrambling back to

the nest she drew the eggs closer the one to the other, and never moved

for the whole of that day. Next morning she was rewarded by noticing

cracks in the whole five eggs, and by midday two little yellow heads

were poking out from the shells. This encouraged her so much that,

after breaking the shells with her bill, so that the little creatures

could get free of them, she sat steadily for a whole night upon the

nest, and before the sun arose the five white eggs were empty, and ten

pairs of eyes were gazing out upon the green world.

Now the duck had been carefully brought up, and did not like dirt, and,

besides, broken shells are not at all comfortable things to sit or walk

upon; so she pushed the rest out over the side, and felt delighted to

have some company to talk to till the big egg hatched. But day after

day went on, and the big egg showed no signs of cracking, and the duck

grew more and more impatient, and began to wish to consult her husband,

who never came.

‘I can’t think what is the matter with it,’ the duck grumbled to her

neighbour who had called in to pay her a visit. ‘Why I could have

hatched two broods in the time that this one has taken!’

‘Let me look at it,’ said the old neighbour. ‘Ah, I thought so; it is

a turkey’s egg. Once, when I was young, they tricked me to sitting on

a brood of turkey’s eggs myself, and when they were hatched the

creatures were so stupid that nothing would make them learn to swim. I

have no patience when I think of it.’

‘Well, I will give it another chance,’ sighed the duck, ‘and if it does

not come out of its shell in another twenty-four hours, I will just

leave it alone and teach the rest of them to swim properly and to find

their own food. I really can’t be expected to do two things at once.’

And with a fluff of her feathers she pushed the egg into the middle of

the nest.

All through the next day she sat on, giving up even her morning bath

for fear that a blast of cold might strike the big egg. In the

evening, when she ventured to peep, she thought she saw a tiny crack in

the upper part of the shell. Filled with hope, she went back to her

duties, though she could hardly sleep all night for excitement. When

she woke with the first steaks of light she felt something stirring

under her. Yes, there it was at last; and as she moved, a big awkward

bird tumbled head foremost on the ground.

There was no denying it was ugly, even the mother was forced to admit

that to herself, though she only said it was ‘large’ and ‘strong.’

‘You won’t need any teaching when you are once in the water,’ she told

him, with a glance of surprise at the dull brown which covered his

back, and at his long naked neck. And indeed he did not, though he was

not half so pretty to look at as the little yellow balls that followed

her.

When they returned they found the old neighbour on the bank waiting for

them to take them into the duckyard. ‘No, it is not a young turkey,

certainly,’ whispered she in confidence to the mother, ‘for though it

is lean and skinny, and has no colour to speak of, yet there is

something rather distinguished about it, and it holds its head up well.’

‘It is very kind of you to say so,’ answered the mother, who by this

time had some secret doubts of its loveliness. ‘Of course, when you

see it by itself it is all right, though it is different, somehow, from

the others. But one cannot expect all one’s children to be beautiful!’

By this time they had reached the centre of the yard, where a very old

duck was sitting, who was treated with great respect by all the fowls

present.

‘You must go up and bow low before her,’ whispered the mother to her

children, nodding her head in the direction of the old lady, ‘and keep

your legs well apart, as you see me do. No well-bred duckling turns in

its toes. It is a sign of common parents.’

The little ducks tried hard to make their small fat bodies copy the

movements of their mother, and the old lady was quite pleased with

them; but the rest of the ducks looked on discontentedly, and said to

each other:

‘Oh, dear me, here are ever so many more! The yard is full already;

and did you ever see anything quite as ugly as that great tall

creature? He is a disgrace to any brood. I shall go and chase him

out!’ So saying she put up her feathers, and running to the big

duckling bit his neck.

The duckling gave a loud quack; it was the first time he had felt any

pain, and at the sound his mother turned quickly.

‘Leave him alone,’ she said fiercely, ‘or I will send for his father.

He was not troubling you.’

‘No; but he is so ugly and awkward no one can put up with him,’

answered the stranger. And though the duckling did not understand the

meaning of the words, he felt he was being blamed, and became more

uncomfortable still when the old Spanish duck who ruled the fowlyard

struck in:

‘It certainly is a great pity he is so different from these beautiful

darlings. If he could only be hatched over again!’

The poor little fellow drooped his head, and did not know where to

look, but was comforted when his mother answered:

‘He may not be quite as handsome as the others, but he swims better,

and is very strong; I am sure he will make his way in the world as well

as anybody.’

‘Well, you must feel quite at home here,’ said the old duck waddling

off. And so they did, all except the duckling, who was snapped at by

everyone when they thought his mother was not looking. Even the

turkey-cock, who was so big, never passed him without mocking words,

and his brothers and sisters, who would not have noticed any difference

unless it had been put into their heads, soon became as rude and unkind

as the rest.

At last he could bear it no longer, and one day he fancied he saw signs

of his mother turning against him too; so that night, when the ducks

and hens were still asleep, he stole away through an open door, and

under cover of the burdock leaves scrambled on by the bank of the

canal, till he reached a wide grassy moor, full of soft marshy places

where the reeds grew. Here he lay down, but he was too tired and too

frightened to fall asleep, and with the earliest peep of the sun the

reeds began to rustle, and he saw that he had blundered into a colony

of wild ducks. But as he could not run away again he stood up and

bowed politely.

‘You are ugly,’ said the wild ducks, when they had looked him well

over; ‘but, however, it is no business of ours, unless you wish to

marry one of our daughters, and that we should not allow.’ And the

duckling answered that he had no idea of marrying anybody, and wanted

nothing but to be left alone after his long journey.

So for two whole days he lay quietly among the reeds, eating such food

as he could find, and drinking the water of the moorland pool, till he

felt himself quite strong again. He wished he might stay were he was

for ever, he was so comfortable and happy, away from everyone, with

nobody to bite him and tell him how ugly he was.

He was thinking these thoughts, when two young ganders caught sight of

him as they were having their evening splash among the reeds, looking

for their supper.

‘We are getting tired of this moor,’ they said, ‘and to-morrow we think

of trying another, where the lakes are larger and the feeding better.

Will you come with us?’

‘Is it nicer than this?’ asked the duckling doubtfully. And the words

were hardly out of his mouth, when ‘Pif! pah!’ and the two new- comers

were stretched dead beside him.

At the sound of the gun the wild ducks in the rushes flew into the air,

and for a few minutes the firing continued.

Luckily for himself the duckling could not fly, and he floundered along

through the water till he could hide himself amidst some tall ferns

which grew in a hollow. But before he got there he met a huge creature

on four legs, which he afterwards knew to be a dog, who stood and gazed

at him with a long red tongue hanging out of his mouth. The duckling

grew cold with terror, and tried to hide his head beneath his little

wings; but the dog snuffed at him and passed on, and he was able to

reach his place of shelter.

‘I am too ugly even for a dog to eat,’ said he to himself. ‘Well, that

is a great mercy.’ And he curled himself up in the soft grass till the

shots died away in the distance.

When all had been quiet for a long time, and there were only stars to

see him, he crept out and looked about him.

He would never go near a pool again, never, thought he; and seeing that

the moor stretched far away in the opposite direction from which he had

come, he marched bravely on till he got to a small cottage, which

seemed too tumbledown for the stones to hold together many hours

longer. Even the door only hung upon one hinge, and as the only light

in the room sprang from a tiny fire, the duckling edged himself

cautiously in, and lay down under a chair close to the broken door,

from which he could get out if necessary. But no one seemed to see him

or smell him; so he spend the rest of the night in peace.

Now in the cottage dwelt an old woman, her cat, and a hen; and it was

really they, and not she, who were masters of the house. The old

woman, who passed all her days in spinning yarn, which she sold at the

nearest town, loved both the cat and the hen as her own children, and

never contradicted them in any way; so it was their grace, and not

hers, that the duckling would have to gain.

It was only next morning, when it grew light, that they noticed their

visitor, who stood trembling before them, with his eye on the door

ready to escape at any moment. They did not, however, appear very

fierce, and the duckling became less afraid as they approached him.

‘Can you lay eggs?’ asked the hen. And the duckling answered meekly:

‘No; I don’t know how.’ Upon which the hen turned her back, and the

cat came forward.

‘Can you ruffle your fur when you are angry, or purr when you are

pleased?’ said she. And again the duckling had to admit that he could

do nothing but swim, which did not seem of much use to anybody.

So the cat and the hen went straight off to the old woman, who was

still in bed.

‘Such a useless creature has taken refuge here,’ they said. ‘It calls

itself a duckling; but it can neither lay eggs nor purr! What had we

better do with it?’

‘Keep it, to be sure!’ replied the old woman briskly. ‘It is all

nonsense about it not laying eggs. Anyway, we will let it stay here

for a bit, and see what happens.’

So the duckling remained for three weeks, and shared the food of the

cat and the hen; but nothing in the way of eggs happened at all. Then

the sun came out, and the air grew soft, and the duckling grew tired of

being in a hut, and wanted with all his might to have a swim. And one

morning he got so restless that even his friends noticed it.

‘What is the matter?’ asked the hen; and the duckling told her.

‘I am so longing for the water again. You can’t think how delicious it

is to put your head under the water and dive straight to the bottom.’

‘I don’t think I should enjoy it,’ replied the hen doubtfully. ‘And I

don’t think the cat would like it either.’ And the cat, when asked,

agreed there was nothing she would hate so much.

‘I can’t stay here any longer, I Must get to the water,’ repeated the

duck. And the cat and the hen, who felt hurt and offended, answered

shortly:

‘Very well then, go.’

The duckling would have liked to say good- bye, and thank them for

their kindness, as he was polite by nature; but they had both turned

their backs on him, so he went out of the rickety door feeling rather

sad. But, in spite of himself, he could not help a thrill of joy when

he was out in the air and water once more, and cared little for the

rude glances of the creatures he met. For a while he was quite happy

and content; but soon the winter came on, and snow began to fall, and

everything to grow very wet and uncomfortable. And the duckling soon

found that it is one thing to enjoy being in the water, and quite

another to like being damp on land.

The sun was setting one day, like a great scarlet globe, and the river,

to the duckling’s vast bewilderment, was getting hard and slippery,

when he heard a sound of whirring wings, and high up in the air a flock

of swans were flying. They were as white as snow which had fallen

during the night, and their long necks with yellow bills were stretched

southwards, for they were going--they did not quite know whither--but

to a land where the sun shone all day. Oh, if he only could have gone

with them! But that was not possible, of course; and besides, what

sort of companion could an ugly thing like him be to those beautiful

beings? So he walked sadly down to a sheltered pool and dived to the

very bottom, and tried to think it was the greatest happiness he could

dream of. But, all the same, he knew it wasn’t!

And every morning it grew colder and colder, and the duckling had hard

work to keep himself warm. Indeed, it would be truer to say that he

never was warm at all; and at last, after one bitter night, his legs

moved so slowly that the ice crept closer and closer, and when the

morning light broke he was caught fast, as in a trap; and soon his

senses went from him.

A few hours more and the poor duckling’s life had been ended. But, by

good fortune, a man was crossing the river on his way to his work, and

saw in a moment what had happened. He had on thick wooden shoes, and

he went and stamped so hard on the ice that it broke, and then he

picked up the duckling and tucked him under his sheepskin coat, where

his frozen bones began to thaw a little.

Instead of going on his work, the man turned back and took the bird to

his children, who gave him a warm mess to eat and put him in a box by

the fire, and when they came back from school he was much more

comfortable than he had been since he had left the old woman’s cottage.

They were kind little children, and wanted to play with him; but,

alas! the poor fellow had never played in his life, and thought they

wanted to tease him, and flew straight into the milk-pan, and then into

the butter-dish, and from that into the meal- barrel, and at last,

terrified at the noise and confusion, right out of the door, and hid

himself in the snow amongst the bushes at the back of the house.

He never could tell afterwards exactly how he had spent the rest of the

winter. He only knew that he was very miserable and that he never had

enough to eat. But by-and-by things grew better. The earth became

softer, the sun hotter, the birds sang, and the flowers once more

appeared in the grass. When he stood up, he felt different, somehow,

from what he had done before he fell asleep among the reeds to which he

had wandered after he had escaped from the peasant’s hut. His body

seemed larger, and his wings stronger. Something pink looked at him

from the side of a hill. He thought he would fly towards it and see

what it was.

Oh, how glorious it felt to be rushing through the air, wheeling first

one way and then the other! He had never thought that flying could be

like that! The duckling was almost sorry when he drew near the pink

cloud and found it was made up of apple blossoms growing beside a

cottage whose garden ran down to the banks of the canal. He fluttered

slowly to the ground and paused for a few minutes under a thicket of

syringas, and while he was gazing about him, there walked slowly past a

flock of the same beautiful birds he had seen so many months ago.

Fascinated, he watched them one by one step into the canal, and float

quietly upon the waters as if they were part of them.

‘I will follow them,’ said the duckling to himself; ‘ugly though I am,

I would rather be killed by them than suffer all I have suffered from

cold and hunger, and from the ducks and fowls who should have treated

me kindly.’ And flying quickly down to the water, he swam after them

as fast as he could.

It did not take him long to reach them, for they had stopped to rest in

a green pool shaded by a tree whose branches swept the water. And

directly they saw him coming some of the younger ones swam out to meet

him with cries of welcome, which again the duckling hardly understood.

He approached them glad, yet trembling, and turning to one of the older

birds, who by this time had left the shade of the tree, he said:

‘If I am to die, I would rather you should kill me. I don’t know why I

was ever hatched, for I am too ugly to live.’ And as he spoke, he

bowed his head and looked down into the water.

Reflected in the still pool he saw many white shapes, with long necks

and golden bills, and, without thinking, he looked for the dull grey

body and the awkward skinny neck. But no such thing was there.

Instead, he beheld beneath him a beautiful white swan!

‘The new one is the best of all,’ said the children when they came down

to feed the swans with biscuit and cake before going to bed. ‘His

feathers are whiter and his beak more golden than the rest.’ And when

he heard that, the duckling thought that it was worth while having

undergone all the persecution and loneliness that he had passed

through, as otherwise he would never have known what it was to be

really happy.

[Hans Andersen.]