"No."
"Well, then, you should have no opinion when reasonable people are
speaking."
So the Duckling sat alone in a corner, and felt very miserable. However,
he happened to think of the fresh air and bright sunshine, and these
thoughts gave him such a strong desire to swim again, that he could not
help telling it to the Hen.
"What ails you?" said the Hen. "You have nothing to do, and therefore
brood over these fancies. Either lay eggs or purr, then you will forget
them."
"But it is so delicious to swim!" said the Duckling. "So delicious when
the waters close over your head, and you plunge to the bottom!"
"Well, that is a queer sort of pleasure," said the Hen. "I think you
must be crazy. Not to speak of myself, ask the Cat--he is the most
sensible animal I know--whether he would like to swim, or to plunge to
the bottom of the water. Ask our mistress, the old woman--there is no
one in the world wiser than she. Do you think she would take pleasure
in swimming and in the waters closing over her head?"
"You do not understand me," said the Duckling.
"What! we do not understand you? So you think yourself wiser than the
Cat and the old woman, not to speak of myself? Do not fancy any such
thing, child; but be thankful for all the kindness that has been shown
you. Are you not lodged in a warm room, and have you not the advantage
of society from which you can learn something? But you are a simpleton,
and it is wearisome to have anything to do with you. Believe me, I wish
you well. I tell you unpleasant truths, but it is thus that real
friendship is shown. Come, for once give yourself the trouble to
learn to purr, or to lay eggs."
"I think I will go out into the wide world again," said the Duckling.
"Well, go," answered the Hen.
So the Duckling went. He swam on the surface of the water, he plunged
beneath, but all animals passed him by, on account of his ugliness. And
the autumn came, the leaves turned yellow and brown, the wind caught
them and danced them about, the air was very cold, the clouds were heavy
with hail or snow, and the Raven sat on the hedge and croaked. The poor
Duckling was certainly not very comfortable.
One evening, just as the sun was setting with unusual brilliancy, a
flock of large, beautiful birds rose from out of the brushwood. The
Duckling had never seen anything so beautiful before; their plumage was
of a dazzling white, and they had long, slender necks. They were Swans.
They uttered a singular cry, spread out their long splendid wings, and
flew away from these cold regions to warmer countries, across the open
sea. They flew so high, so very high! And the little Ugly Duckling's
feelings were so strange. He turned round and round in the water like a
mill-wheel, strained his neck to look after them, and sent forth such a
loud and strange cry that it almost frightened himself. Ah! he could not
forget them, those noble birds, those happy birds! When he could see
them no longer he plunged to the bottom of the water, and when he rose
again was almost beside himself. The Duckling knew not what the birds
were called, knew not whither they were flying; yet he loved them as he
had never before loved anything. He envied them not; it would never have
occurred to him to wish such beauty for himself. He would have been
quite contented if the Ducks in the duck-yard had but endured his
company--the poor, ugly creature.
[Illustration]
And the winter was so cold, so cold, the Duckling was obliged to swim
round and round in the water to keep it from freezing. But every night
the opening in which he swam became smaller and smaller. It froze so
that the crust of ice crackled and the Duckling was obliged to make good
use of his legs to prevent the water from freezing entirely. At last,
wearied out, he lay stiff and cold in the ice.
Early in the morning there passed by a peasant who saw him, broke the
ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, and brought him home to his wife.
The poor Duckling soon revived. The children would have played with him,
but he thought they wished to tease him, and in his terror jumped into
the milk-pail, so that the milk was spilled about the room. The good
woman screamed and clapped her hands. He flew from there into the pan
where the butter was kept, and thence into the meal-barrel, and out
again, and then how strange he looked!
The woman screamed, and struck at him with the tongs, the children ran
races with each other trying to catch him, and laughed and screamed
likewise. It was well for him that the door stood open. He jumped out
among the bushes into the new-fallen snow, and there he lay as in a
dream.
But it would be too sad to tell all the trouble and misery that he had
to suffer from the frost, and snow and storms of the winter. He was
lying on a moor among the reeds, when the sun began to shine warmly
again; the larks sang, and beautiful spring had returned.
Once more he shook his wings. They were stronger than formerly and bore
him forward quickly, and before he was well aware of it he was in a
large garden where the apple-trees stood in full bloom, where the
syringas sent forth their fragrance and hung their long green branches
down into the winding canal. Oh! everything was so lovely, so full of
the freshness of spring! And out of the thicket came three beautiful
white Swans. They displayed their feathers so proudly and swam so
lightly, so lightly! The Duckling knew the glorious creatures, and was
seized with a strange sadness.
"I will fly to them, those kingly birds!" said he. "They will kill me,
because I, ugly as I am, have dared to approach them. But it matters
not. Better to be killed by them than to be bitten by the Ducks, pecked
by the Hens, kicked by the girl who feeds the poultry, and to have so
much to suffer during the winter!"
[Illustration]
He flew into the water and swam towards the beautiful creatures. They
saw him and shot forward to meet him. "Only kill me," said the poor
creature, and he bowed his head low, expecting death. But what did he
see in the water? He saw beneath him his own form, no longer that of a
plump, ugly grey bird--it was that of a Swan.
It matters not to have been born in a duck-yard, if one has been hatched
from a Swan's egg. And now the Swan began to see the good of all the
trouble he had been through. He would never have known how happy he was
if he had not first had all his sorrow and unhappiness to bear.
The larger Swans swam round him, and stroked him with their beaks. Some
little children were running about in the garden; they threw grain and
bread into the water, and the youngest exclaimed: "There is a new one!"
The others also cried out: "Yes, a new Swan has come!" and they clapped
their hands, and danced around.
They ran to their father and mother, bread and cake were thrown into
the water, and every one said: "The new one is best, so young and so
beautiful!" And the old Swans bowed before him. The young Swan felt
quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wings. He scarcely knew what
to do. He was too happy, but still not proud, for a good heart is never
proud.
He remembered how he had been persecuted and laughed at, and he now
heard everyone say that he was the most beautiful of all beautiful
birds. The syringas bent down their branches toward him low into the
water, and the sun shone warmly and brightly. He shook his feathers,
stretched his slender neck, and in the joy of his heart said: "How
little did I dream of so much happiness when I was the despised Ugly
Duckling!"
[Illustration]