The Ugly Duckling

Once upon a time, a duck lived under the big burdock leaves beside a pond. She had been sitting on her nest for so long that her feet had gone numb, and still her babies wouldn’t hatch.

At last — crack! crack! — the shells split open, and out popped little yellow heads.

“Peep, peep!” squeaked the ducklings.

“Quack, quack!” said their mother happily. “Aren’t you the loveliest little things! Is everyone here?”

No, not everyone. The biggest egg lay there, whole and unbroken.

An old duck from next door came over to look and shook her head.

“Oh, my dear, that must be a turkey egg. I was fooled like that once myself. Leave it, and take the little ones down to the water.”

“Oh no,” said the mother. “I’ve sat this long, so I can sit a little longer.”

And so she did. Then at last — crack! — out of the big egg climbed a chick. He was big, gray and clumsy, with a long neck.

“Peep!” he said.

His mother took one look and blinked.

“My, what a great big thing you are... And you look nothing like your brothers. Could you be a turkey after all?”

The next morning she led her children to the pond. Splash! In she went. Splash, splash! In went all the ducklings after her. And the gray one paddled more smoothly than any of them.

“No, not a turkey,” the mother said with a smile. “Just look at him swim! He’s mine, my very own. And if you look closely, he’s even rather sweet.”

Then the mother took her children to the farmyard. Oh, what a racket! The hens were clucking, the geese were honking, and the turkey puffed himself up like a drum and turned red right down to his beak.

“More of them!” everyone chattered. “And what is that scarecrow? We don’t want him here!”

One duck rushed over and pecked the duckling on the neck.

“Leave him alone!” said his mother. “He isn’t bothering anyone.”

“Too big and too odd,” quacked a grand old duck with a red rag tied around her leg. “All your children are lovely except that one.”

From then on, the poor duckling had no peace. The hens pecked him, the geese pinched him, and the turkey chased him, gobbling crossly. Even his own brothers and sisters shouted:

“Go away, you ugly thing!”

One day the duckling couldn’t bear it any longer. He took a running start, flapped his little wings — flutter! — and flew right over the fence. The little birds in the bushes fluttered up in fright.

That’s because I’m so ugly, thought the duckling, and he shut his eyes and ran on.

He ran until he came to a big marsh where the wild ducks lived.

“And who might you be?” they asked in surprise. “My, you’re ugly! Still, we don’t mind, as long as you don’t come courting our daughters.”

That had never even crossed the duckling’s mind. All he wanted was to sit quietly in the reeds for a while and drink a little marsh water.

Then suddenly — bang! bang! — the air above the marsh boomed like thunder. The hunters had come. The wild geese rose screaming into the sky, and through the sedge — splish, splash! — bounded an enormous dog. Tongue lolling, he stuck his nose right in the duckling’s face, snorted, and dashed off.

“Oh,” sighed the duckling. “I’m so ugly that even the dog didn’t want me.”

When all was quiet again, he wandered off wherever his feet would take him, and toward evening he came to a little old cottage. Its door hung crooked, and the duckling slipped quietly through the gap.

In the cottage lived an old woman with her cat, Purrkin, and her hen, Shortlegs. The old woman squinted, because her eyes were poor.

“Well, what a wonder! A little duck has wandered in! Now I’ll have duck eggs too.”

But the days went by, and there were no eggs. The cat and the hen looked down their noses at the duckling.

“Can you arch your back and purr?” asked the cat.

“No.”

“Well, can you lay eggs?” asked the hen.

“No.”

“Then sit still and keep quiet while clever folk are talking.”

The duckling sat in a corner, feeling sad. He longed so much to be out on the water!

“Oh, if only I could go for a swim,” he whispered. “Dive in head first, all the way down to the bottom...”

“What nonsense!” clucked the hen. “Go and ask the cat if he likes diving. Or ask the old woman!”

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

“We don’t understand?! Why, we’re the cleverest ones in the whole house!”

So the duckling said goodbye and set off into the wide world.

Autumn came. The leaves turned yellow, the wind whirled them over the water, and the clouds hung low and heavy. The duckling swam and dived all on his own.

One evening, as the sun was setting like a big red ball, a flock of magnificent birds rose up from the reeds. They were the whitest white, with long, graceful necks. They spread their great wings and flew away to warmer lands.

The duckling spun around in the water, stretched out his neck, and let out a cry so strange and so loud that it frightened even him. He didn’t know what those birds were. But he loved them as he had never loved anyone before. And he wasn’t the least bit jealous. How could a duckling like him ever be so beautiful?

Then winter came, fierce and freezing. The duckling swam round and round in circles to keep his little patch of open water from freezing over. But every night it grew smaller and smaller, until at last the ice caught the duckling by the feet.

In the morning a farmer came walking by. He saw the poor thing, stamped his boot — crack! — broke the ice, and carried the duckling home, tucked inside his coat.

In the warm cottage the duckling thawed out and came back to life. The children rushed over to play with him, but he thought they meant to hurt him. In a fright he flapped his wings and — plop! — landed right in the milk jug. Splosh! Milk spilled all over the floor. The farmer’s wife threw up her hands, and the terrified duckling flew into the butter, and from there into the flour barrel!

“Oh, good heavens!” cried the farmer’s wife.

The children laughed and tumbled over each other trying to catch the duckling, while he darted this way and that, white with flour. Just then the door swung open, and — whoosh! — he slipped out into the snow.

That winter dragged on for a long, long time. The duckling hid in the reeds, shivering and waiting. And at last the sun grew warm, the larks began to sing, and the snow trickled away in little streams.

The duckling flapped his wings. They had grown big and strong — swish, swish! — and they carried him high above the fields. Before he knew it, he was in a big garden where apple trees were in bloom and the water flowed quietly by.

And suddenly, out from under the branches glided three white swans. The very same magnificent birds!

I’ll swim over to them, the duckling decided. Let them chase me away. Let them even peck me. It won’t hurt so much from birds as beautiful as that.

He swam closer and bowed his head to the water. And then he saw his reflection.

Looking back at him was not a clumsy gray bird. Looking back at him was a white swan with a long, graceful neck.

The swans gathered around him and gently stroked him with their beaks.

Children came running down to the bank, tossing bread into the water and shouting with joy:

“Look, a new one has come! A new one! He’s the most beautiful of all!”

The young swan felt quite shy. He tucked his head under his wing and didn’t know what to say. But he wasn’t one bit proud. He only remembered how everyone had chased him and pinched him, and now they were calling him the loveliest bird of all. And his heart beat warm and glad.

Even the apple trees bowed their blossoming branches right down to the water, and the sun shone bright and gentle. Then the young swan lifted his head, fluffed up his feathers, curved his long neck, and cried out joyfully, with all his heart:

“I never dreamed of such happiness when I was an ugly duckling!”