“You see, that’s the way of the world,” said the mother duck, and she licked her beak, because she would not have minded getting the eel’s head. “Come now, use your legs and look sharp,” she said. “Make a nice bow to the old duck over there. She’s the most genteel of anyone here.8 She has Spanish blood, that’s why she is so plump. And can you see that crimson flag she’s wearing on one leg? It’s extremely lovely, and it’s the highest distinction any duck can earn. It’s as good as saying that no one is thinking of getting rid of her. Man and beast are to take notice! Look alive, and don’t turn your toes in! A well-bred duckling turns its toes out, just like its father and mother . . . That’s it. Now bend your necks and say ‘quack!’ ”
They all obeyed. But the other ducks there looked at them and said out loud: “There! Now we have to deal with that bunch as well—as if there weren’t enough of us already! Ugh! What a sight that duckling is! How can we possibly put up with him as well?” And one of the ducks immediately flew at him and bit him in the neck.
“Leave him alone,” said the mother. “He’s not doing any harm.”
“Yes, but he’s so gawky and odd-looking,” said the one that had pecked him. “We can’t help picking on him.”
“What pretty children you have, my dear!” said the old duck with the flag on her leg. “All but that one, who didn’t turn out quite right. Too bad you can’t start over again with him.”
“That’s impossible, Your Grace,” said the duckling’s mother. “He may not be handsome, but he’s so good-tempered and he can swim just as beautifully as the others—I dare say even a bit better. I think his looks will improve when he grows up, or maybe in time he’ll shrink a little. He was in the egg for too long—that’s why he isn’t quite the right shape.” And then she stroked his neck and smoothed out his feathers. “Anyway, he’s a drake, and so it doesn’t matter as much,”9 she added. “I feel sure he’ll turn out strong and be able to take care of himself.”
“The other ducklings are charming,” said the old duck. “Make yourselves at home, my dears, and if you should find anything that looks like an eel’s head, you can bring it over to me.”
And so they made themselves at home.
The poor duckling who had been the last to crawl out of his shell and who looked so hideous got pecked and jostled and was teased10 by ducks and hens alike. “He’s just enormous!” they all clucked. And the turkey, who had been born with spurs and who fancied himself an emperor, puffed himself up like a ship in full rigging and went straight at him. Then he gobble-gobbled until he was quite red in the face. The poor duckling didn’t know where to turn. He was quite upset at looking so unattractive and becoming the laughingstock of the barnyard.
That’s how it went the first day, and things only got worse from there. The poor duckling was picked on by everyone. Even his own brothers and sisters were cruel to him and kept saying: “Oh, you ugly creature, if only the cat would get you.” His mother said: “If only you were far away!” The ducks nipped at him,11 the chickens pecked him, and the maid who had to feed the poultry kicked him with her foot.
At last, he ran off and flew over the hedge, making the little birds in the bushes swarm into the air with fright. “They are afraid of me because I am so hideous,” he said. But he closed his eyes and kept moving until he reached some marshes12 where wild ducks lived. He stayed there all night, feeling utterly tired and dejected.
W. HEATH ROBINSON
Alone in the world, the duckling leaves the barnyard and makes his way to marshes, where he will meet wild ducks. Like many of Andersen’s characters, he must fend for himself in the “wide world.”
In the morning, when the wild ducks flew up into the air, they stared at their new companion. “What kind of duck could you possibly be?” they all asked, looking him up and down. He bowed his neck in their direction and greeted them as best he could.
“You really are nasty-looking,” said the wild ducks, “but we don’t care as long as you don’t try to marry into our families.” Poor thing! He wasn’t dreaming about marriage.13 All he wanted was a chance to lie quietly among the rushes and drink a little marsh water.
After he had been there for two whole days, a couple of wild geese,14 or rather two wild ganders (for they were male), came along. They had not been out of the egg for long and were very frisky.
“Look here, old pal,” one of them said to the duckling. “You are so hideous that we rather like you. Why don’t you join us and become a bird of passage? Not far off in another marsh there are some very nice, sweet wild geese, none of them married, and they all quack beautifully. Here’s a chance for you to get lucky, as hideous as you are.”
“Bang! Bang!” Shots suddenly rang out overhead, and the two wild geese fell dead into the rushes. The water turned red with their blood.15 “Bang! Bang!” More shots—and flocks of wild geese rose up from the rushes. Then shots rang out again. It was a big hunt, and the hunters had surrounded the marsh. Some of the men were even hidden in tree branches that stretched far out over the rushes. Blue smoke from the guns rose like clouds over the dark trees and hung low over the water. Hounds came bounding through the mud—Splish, Splash! Reeds and rushes bent every which way. How they terrified the poor duckling! He was trying to hide his head under his wing when he suddenly became aware of a fearsomely large dog with lolling tongue and grim, glaring eyes. It lowered its muzzle right down to the duckling, bared its sharp teeth and—splish, splash—went off again without touching him.
“Thank goodness,” the duckling sighed with relief. “I’m so hideous that even the dog can’t be bothered to bite me!”
So he lay there quite still, while bullets whistled through the reeds and rushes, and shot after shot blasted through the air.
By the time the noises had died down, it was late in the day. But the poor young duckling didn’t dare get up yet. He waited quietly for several hours, and then, after taking a careful look around him, he fled the marsh as fast as he could. He scrambled over meadows and fields, but the wind was so strong that he had trouble making any progress.
W. HEATH ROBINSON
The ugly duckling is dwarfed by the cat, whose minimalist but expressive eyes suggest deep suspicion and skepticism
Toward evening, he reached a small rundown cottage that was in such poor repair that it remained standing only because it could not figure out which way to collapse first. The wind blew so powerfully around the duckling that he had to sit on his tail to keep from being blown over. Soon the wind grew even fiercer. The duckling noticed that the door had come off one of its hinges and was hanging at an angle that allowed him to sneak into the house through a crack, which he did.
An old woman was living in the cottage with her tomcat and hen. 16 The tomcat, whom she called Sonny, could arch his back and purr. He even gave off sparks, if you stroked his fur the wrong way. The hen had such short legs that she was called Chickabiddy Shortlegs. She was a good layer of eggs, and the old woman loved her so much that she was like a daughter.
First thing in the morning the tomcat and hen noticed the strange duckling, and the cat began to purr and the hen began to cluck.
“What’s all the fuss about?” asked the old woman, looking around the room. But her eyes weren’t very good, and she took the ugly duckling for a plump duck that had strayed from home. “My, what a find!” she exclaimed. “I shall be able to have some duck eggs soon, as long as it’s not a drake! We’ll just have to wait and see.”
And so the duckling was taken on trial for three weeks, but there was no sign of an egg. Now the tomcat was master of the house, and the hen was mistress, and they always used to say: “We and the world,” for they fancied that they made up half the world, and, what’s more, the better half too. The duckling thought that there might be two opinions about that, but the hen wouldn’t hear of it.
“Can you lay eggs?” she asked.
“No!”
“Well, then, hold your tongue, will you!”
Th
e tomcat asked: “Can you arch your back, or purr, or give off sparks?”
“No!”
“Well, then, no one needs your opinion, especially with sensible people around to do the talking.”
The duckling sat in a corner, feeling quite dejected. Then suddenly, he remembered the fresh air and the sunshine, and he began to feel such a deep longing for a swim on the water that he could not help letting the hen know.
“What are you thinking?” said the hen. “You have far too much time on your hands. That’s why such foolish ideas come into your head. They would vanish if you were able to lay eggs or purr.”
“But it’s so lovely to glide on the water,”17 the duckling said, “and so lovely to duck your head in and dive down to the bottom.”
“Delightful, I’m sure!” said the hen. “Why, you must be crazy! Ask the cat, he is the cleverest animal I know. Ask him how he feels about swimming or diving. I won’t even give my views. Ask our mistress, the old woman—there is no one in the world wiser than she is. Do you think she likes to swim or to dive down into the water?”
“You don’t understand me,” said the duckling.
“Well, if we don’t understand you, I should like to know who does.18 It’s clear that you will never be as wise as the cat or the mistress, not to mention me. Don’t be silly, child! Thank your maker for the good fortune that has come your way. Haven’t you found a nice, warm room, along with a circle of friends from whom you can learn something? But you’re just stupid, and there’s no fun in having you here. Believe me, if I say unpleasant things, it’s only for your own good and a proof of real friendship. But take my advice. See to it that you start to lay eggs or learn how to purr or throw off sparks.”
“I think I’ll go back out into the wide world,” said the duckling.
“Go ahead,” said the hen.
And so the duckling departed. He dove down into the water and swam about, but no one else would have anything to do with him because he was so ugly. Autumn arrived, and the leaves in the forest turned yellow and brown. As they fell to the ground, the wind caught them and made them dance. The sky overhead had a frosty look. The clouds hung heavy with hail and snowflakes, and a raven perched on a fence,19 crying, “Caw! Caw!” because of the bitter cold. It gave you the shivers just to think about it. Yes, the poor duckling was certainly having a hard time.
One evening, during a splendid sunset, a large flock of lovely birds suddenly emerged from the bushes. The duckling had never seen anything so beautiful;20 the birds were dazzlingly white with long, graceful necks. They were swans. They made wondrous sounds, spread out their magnificent, broad wings, and flew away from these cold regions to warmer countries, to lakes that were not frozen. As the ugly little duckling watched them rise higher and higher up into the air, he felt a strange sensation. He spun round and round in the water like a wheel and craned his neck in their direction, letting out a cry that was so shrill and strange that he himself was frightened when he heard it. How could he ever forget those beautiful birds, those fortunate birds! As soon as he lost sight of them, he dove down to the very bottom of the waters, and when he surfaced, he was almost beside himself with excitement. He had no idea who those birds were,21 nor did he know anything about where they were off to, but he loved them as he had never loved anyone before. He was not at all envious of them. After all, how could he ever aspire to such beauty? He would be quite satisfied if the ducks would just have let him be among them. The poor, ugly creature!
The winter was cold, so very cold. The duckling had to keep swimming about in the water to keep it from freezing solid around him. Every night the hole in which he was swimming grew smaller and smaller. The water froze so solidly that the crust of the ice crackled, and the duckling had to keep his feet moving constantly to keep the water from freezing solid. Finally, he grew faint with exhaustion and lay quite still and helpless, frozen fast in the ice. 22
Early the next morning, a farmer walked by and saw the poor duckling. He went out on the pond, broke the ice with his wooden clog, and took the duckling home to his wife.23 There they revived him.
The children wanted to play with him, but the duckling was afraid they would hurt him.24 He started up in a panic, fluttering right into the milk bowl25 so that milk splashed all over the room. When the farmer’s wife let out a shriek and threw her hands up in the air, he flew into the butter tub, and from there into the flour bin and out again.
He was quite a sight! The woman shrieked again and chased after him with the fire tongs, and the children stumbled all over each other trying to catch him. How they laughed and shouted! It was lucky that the door was open. The duckling darted out into the bushes and sank down, dazed, in the newly fallen snow.
It would be dreary26 to describe all the misery and hardship the duckling endured in the course of that hard winter. When the sun began to shine warmly again, he was lying in the marsh among the reeds. The lark was singing—it was a beautiful spring day once again.27
Then all of a sudden the duckling flapped his wings. They beat more strongly than ever and swiftly carried him away. Almost before he knew it, he found himself in a large garden,28 where apple trees were in full blossom and fragrant lilacs bent their long green branches down on to the winding waterways. It was so lovely here, so full of the freshness of spring! Right in front of him, three beautiful white swans emerged from a nearby thicket, ruffling their feathers and floating lightly over the still waters. The duckling recognized the splendid creatures and was overcome by a strange feeling of melancholy.
“I want to fly over to those royal birds. Maybe they will peck me to death for daring to approach them, hideous as I am. But it doesn’t matter. Better to be killed by them than to be nipped by the ducks, pecked by the hens, kicked by the maid who tends the henhouse, and suffer hardship in the winter.”
The duckling landed on the water and swam out to the majestic swans. When they caught sight of him, they rushed to meet him with outstretched wings. “Oh please, just kill me,” cried the poor bird,29 and bowed his head down to the water, awaiting death. But what did he see reflected in the clear water? He saw his own image30 beneath him, but he was no longer a clumsy, dark gray bird, nasty and hideous—he was a swan!
HARRY CLARKE
“The new one is the most beautiful of all,” exclaim the children surrounding the pond. Clarke’s children are dressed in sophisticated, elegant attire that blends in with the landscape. The peacock in the foreground emphasizes the triumph of beauty in the tale’s conclusion.
There’s nothing wrong with being born in a duck yard, as long as you are hatched from a swan’s egg! He now felt positively glad to have endured so much hardship and adversity. It helped him appreciate all the happiness and beauty surrounding him. The great swans swam around him and stroked his neck with their beaks.
Some little children came into the garden and threw bread and grain onto the water. The youngest cried out: “There’s a new swan!”
The other children were delighted and shouted: “Yes, there’s a new swan!” And they clapped their hands and danced around and ran to fetch their fathers and mothers. Bits of bread and cake were thrown on the water, and everyone said: “The new one is the most beautiful of all. He is so young and handsome.” And the old swans bowed before him.
The duckling felt quite bashful and tucked his head under his wing—he himself hardly knew why. He was so very happy, but not at all proud, for a good heart is never proud!31 He thought about how he had been despised and scorned, and he heard everybody saying now that he was the most beautiful of all the beautiful birds. And the lilacs bowed their branches toward him, right down into the water. The sun shone so warm and so bright. Then he ruffled his feathers, raised his slender neck, and rejoiced from the depths of his heart. “I never dreamed of such happiness32 when I was an ugly duckling!”
MARGARET TARRANT
The swans approach the children, looking for bits of bread and cake. The redheaded girl points to the new arriv
al, who is also the youngest and handsomest in the quartet.
CHARLES ROBINSON.
The Big Book of Fairy Tales. London: Blackie & Son, 1911.
1. Ugly Duckling. Andersen conceived the story in 1842 while living at an estate named Bregentved, where he became absorbed in the beauty of the landscape. During a stay in Rome, he declared the “Book of Nature” to be his real tutor: “On my silent walks, close to the ancient manor houses, I discovered more than I could ever have derived from wisdom in books. Here, I could be independent, give myself over to and become part of Nature” (Travels, 230).
Andersen reports that he first contemplated the title “The Young Swans”: “While I was writing I was often undecided, Duck or Swan? I ended by calling it ‘The Ugly Duckling,’ since I did not want to betray the element of surprise in the duckling’s metamorphosis.” He also emphasizes the tale’s confessional nature: “This story is, of course, a reflection of my own life” (Travels, 232).
The term “ugly duckling” has become code for an unpromising person who ends up surprising and surpassing everyone else. In fairy tales, the despised prove their worth, the slow triumph over the swift, the stupid outsmart the clever. Jenny Lind, the “Swedish nightingale” with whom Andersen fell in love, was enraptured by “The Ugly Duckling,” and she lavished praise on the story in a letter of 1844 to Andersen: “Oh, what a marvelous gift to be able to put in words your most noble thoughts. To make us see, with a mere scrap of paper but with wit, how the most outstanding people are sometimes hidden and disguised by their wretchedness and rags until the hour of transformation strikes and reveals them in a divine light.”
2. it was summertime! For Andersen, summer was the season of hope, and he sets the scene with descriptions that capture his own sense of exhilaration at sights in the countryside. In the summer of 1842, he spent time at two Danish manors that seemed to him like “fairy caves,” and his diary records landscape descriptions that anticipate what appears in “The Ugly Duckling.” The pastoral scene of the beginning is set at a time when the natural beauty of the countryside is at its height.