The Ugly Duckling

The last egg was bigger than all the ones that had cracked open early. It rolled gently back and forth and trembled now and then in the warm straw nest. A faint crackling came from inside the shell. A thin crack ran down its length, then widened, and widened again, until the whole shell split in two.

Out of the broken shell came a soaking wet creature, unusually large. It crawled slowly out into the light, shook its damp head, and stood up, trembling, on legs that were not yet steady.

This story was written long ago by a Danish writer. He made it up entirely from his own imagination, without borrowing from any older tale. Even so, it has been told and retold to children around the world for generation after generation, right up to the present day. And it all began at the moment that last egg broke open.

The nest lay hidden under the wide leaves of a burdock plant, beside an old building with a moat all around it. The mother duck had been sitting there for many days. She stayed patiently still while the eggs around her cracked one by one. Out came ducklings with soft yellow down, cheeping and chirping. Only the biggest egg still refused to hatch. An old duck came by to look at the nest. She studied that unusually large egg and shook her head. It was surely a turkey egg, she told the mother duck, and there was no point wearing herself out sitting on it. But the mother duck stayed where she was. She could not bring herself to abandon the last egg.

Now that egg had hatched. The duckling who had just climbed out was much bigger than his brothers and sisters. His feathers were a dull gray, nothing like the golden yellow of the other ducklings, and he moved in a clumsy, awkward way. He did not look like anyone else in the brood.

The mother duck led all her young down to the moat for their first swimming lesson. One after another, the ducklings jumped in with a splash and paddled in circles around her. When it was the gray duckling's turn, he jumped into the water without a moment's hesitation. His feet kicked steadily, and he swam straight and true, as well as any of the others. Watching him swim, the mother duck felt a weight lift from her heart. However strange he looked, he swam as beautifully as any of her children. She made up her mind. He was her own child, and he could not be anyone else's.

The mother duck led her brood out into the farmyard, where the ducks and hens of the neighborhood crowded together. The whole yard broke into a commotion at the sight of the gray duckling waddling along at the back. One duck, who considered herself the most important in the yard, wore a red ribbon around her leg. She strolled past slowly, inspecting each of the newly hatched ducklings. Then she stopped for a long time in front of the gray one and shook her head in disapproval. A turkey ruffled his feathers, puffed out his chest, and stepped forward with a threatening air.

From that day on, the gray duckling became the laughingstock of the whole farmyard. The birds around him called him oversized, ugly and odd in the way he walked. They gathered in little groups, whispering and laughing behind his back. Whenever he came near the flock, the others pushed forward and would not let him squeeze in among them. Even his own brothers and sisters said unkind things and told one another they wished he would disappear. The mother duck heard so much of this mockery that she grew weary too. At times she herself wished he would go somewhere else, just to have some peace. The duckling could not bear those looks and those words any longer. One afternoon, he flew over the fence. He left the farmyard and walked alone into the wide world beyond.

He walked on and on until he reached a broad marsh, where reeds grew thick along the water. The wild ducks who lived there looked at him with indifference. They did not bother to ask him anything, and they did not chase him away either. The duckling spent the night resting among the reeds, alone and exhausted.

He stayed there for two whole days. Then two young wild geese swooped down nearby and cheerfully called him their companion. The duckling was overjoyed. For the first time, someone had been truly friendly to him. But the happiness did not last long. Suddenly the crack of hunting guns rang out across the marsh. Hunting dogs barked wildly, and the birds scattered across the sky in panic. The duckling quickly dove under the water and hid deep among the thick reeds, his heart pounding. When the shooting had stopped and he dared to raise his head and look around, his two new friends were nowhere to be seen.

At that very moment, a huge hunting dog came splashing through the water toward him. Its teeth were sharp, and it panted with its tongue hanging out, right in front of his face. The duckling held his breath and shrank into a ball among the reeds, not daring to move. But the dog only glanced at him for a moment. Then it turned around and swam away, without bothering to touch him. The duckling let out a sigh of relief. A thought came to him. Perhaps he was so ugly that even a hunting dog did not care to catch him.

Late that afternoon, once the marsh had gone completely quiet, he finally dared to leave. He walked on and on until he came upon a small hut with crooked, sagging walls. Its door hung half closed, leaving a gap just wide enough for him to slip through. Inside lived an old woman with poor eyesight, together with a cat and a hen. The old woman took him for a lost female duck. She was quietly pleased at the thought of more eggs, so she let him stay.

But in the hut, the cat and the hen were the ones in charge. They asked him whether he could purr like a cat, and whether he could lay eggs like a hen. The duckling answered softly that all he wished for was to swim on the water. The cat and the hen sniffed at this. Swimming was a foolish business, they said, and he ought to be grateful to have a roof over his head. Before long, he told them that he had to leave and find his way into the wide world out there. The hen only shrugged and said it was up to him.

Autumn came. The leaves in the forest turned yellow and brown, and the wind whirled them around in the air. The duckling went back to living on the open water, alone among the fading reeds.

One afternoon, while the water lay as still as a mirror, a flock of large, snow-white birds rose up from the reeds. They had long necks and bodies of unusual grace. They called out with ringing cries as they flew, and they kept on flying toward warmer lands. The duckling had never seen anything so beautiful. A strange, nameless longing welled up inside him. It was so strong that he kept stretching his neck to watch them until the flock had vanished completely. He had no idea what kind of birds they were. He only knew that such beautiful creatures would surely never pay any attention to someone as ugly as him.

Winter arrived, and the cold grew sharper every day. The duckling had to swim around and around without rest to keep a small patch of water from freezing over. That circle of open water grew narrower and narrower with each freezing night.

Then one morning, the water around him froze solid. It held him fast in a layer of white, silent ice. Luckily, a farmer passing by saw him trapped in the middle of the marsh. He walked over and broke the ice. He lifted the duckling up, tucked him inside his warm coat, and carried him home, where he set him down near the fire.

Inside the house, the farmer's children came rushing in, laughing and shouting, crowding around to see the strange duck. The duckling was frightened by the noise and the thundering footsteps. In a panic he dashed off and crashed right into the milk pail. Milk spilled all over the floor. Then he fled out of the house as fast as he could and raced back to the frozen marsh. For the rest of the winter, he hid among the frost-covered reeds. He endured the cold alone, waiting for warm days to return.

When warm sunshine spread across the marsh once more and the larks began to sing, the duckling realized that his wings had grown strong and sturdy.

He beat his wings and rose into the air. He swooped over a garden in bloom, where apple trees and lilacs were flowering, full of sweet scent. On a small stream that wound through the garden, three snow-white swans were gliding at their ease. They were as proud and lovely as the birds he had once seen in the autumn sky. His heart sank. He was certain they would scorn him, just as every other creature had. But better to come close to beauty once and be rejected, he told himself, than to live forever lonely and laughed at. Slowly he lowered himself onto the water and bowed his head to wait.

Just as his head came close to the water, an image appeared in its smooth surface. Then it broke into little ripples as he bent a little lower. It was not a gray, clumsy duckling, as he had always believed. The water reflected the shape of a swan, with a softly curving neck and snow-white feathers that shone in the sunlight.

The three swans on the stream swam up to him and gently stroked him with their beaks, as if welcoming him into the flock. At that moment, some children playing in the garden came running to the bank. They pointed at him and cried out that this one was the most beautiful swan of them all. A joy greater than anything he had ever known rose up inside him, so warm it brought him close to tears. He tucked his head gently under his wing and quietly took in his happiness. Before him, the smooth water was still there, where his reflection had broken into little ripples a moment ago. Slowly the ripples closed again, and the water lay clear and calm, as if nothing had ever happened.