and they hadn’t been out of the egg for long, and that’s why they were so fresh.
“Hey fellow,” they said. “You’re so ugly that you’re likable. Would you like to come along and migrate with us? Right near here in another bog are some sweet wild geese—all of them maidens who know how to quack, I tell you. You could get lucky, even as ugly as you are!”
Just then there was a “bang! bang!” up above, and both wild geese fell dead into the rushes, and the water turned blood red. “Bang! bang!” sounded again, and whole flocks of wild geese flew up from the rushes, and then there was more firing. It was a big hunt. The hunters were lying all around the marshes. Some were even sitting up in the tree branches that reached way out over the rushes. The blue smoke drifted like clouds in between the dark trees and hung far out over the water. Through the mud came the hunting dogs: splash, splash. Rushes and reeds swayed from side to side. It was fright ful for the poor duckling who turned his head around to hide it under his wing, and just then a dreadfully big dog was right by him. The tongue was hanging out of its mouth, and the eyes were shining so terribly nastily. He brought his mouth right down to the duckling, showed his sharp teeth and— splash! splash! He was gone again without taking him.
“Oh, thank God,” sighed the duckling. “I’m so ugly that even the dog can’t be bothered to bite me.”
And he lay perfectly still as the bullets whistled in the rushes, and shot after shot rang out.
Not until late in the day was it quiet, but the poor duckling didn’t dare get up. He waited several more hours before he looked around, and then he hurried away from the marsh as fast as he could. He ran over fields and meadows. It was so windy that it was hard for him to keep going.
Towards evening he reached a humble little farmer’s hut. It was so run down that it didn’t know itself on which side to collapse so it remained standing. The wind was blowing so hard around the duckling that he had to sit on his tail to avoid blowing over, and it got worse and worse. Then he noticed that the door was hanging on one hinge and was hanging so crookedly that he could slip through the crack into the room, and that’s what he did.
An old woman lived there with her cat and her hen, and the cat, whom she called Sonny, could arch his back and purr. He could even give off sparks if you petted him against the grain. The hen had quite small, low legs, and so she was called Cluckie-LittleLeg. She laid good eggs, and the woman was as fond of her as of her own child.
In the morning they noticed the foreign duckling at once, and the cat started to purr, and the hen to cluck.
“What’s this?!” said the woman and looked all around, but she didn’t see very well, and so she thought the duckling was a fat run-away duck. “This is a rare find,” she said. “Now I can have duck eggs, as long as it’s not a drake. We’ll have to find out.”
So the duckling was put on a three week trial, but no eggs appeared. The cat was the head of the household, and the hen was the mistress, and they said all the time,
“Can you lay eggs?” she asked.
“No.”
“Well then, keep your mouth shut.”
And the cat said, “Can you arch your back, purr, and give off sparks?”
“No.”
“Well then you can’t have an opinion when sensible people are talking.”
And the duckling sat in the corner in a bad mood. He started thinking about the fresh air and sunshine and had such a great longing to float on the water. At last he couldn’t help it, he had to tell the hen.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked. “You don’t have anything to do, that’s why you get these wild ideas. Lay eggs or purr, and it’ll pass.”
“But it’s so lovely to float on the water,” said the duckling. “So lovely to have it wash over your head and dive down to the bottom.”
“Sure, that’s a great pleasure,” said the hen. “You’ve gone completely crazy! Just ask the cat—he’s the wisest one I know—if he likes floating on the water or diving. I won’t speak about myself. Ask our mistress, the old woman. No one in the world is wiser than she is. Do you think she wants to float and have water gush over her head?”
“You don’t understand me!” said the duckling.
“Well, if we don’t understand you, who would? You’ll certainly never be wiser than the cat or the woman, not to mention me! Don’t make a fuss, child! And thank your creator for all the good that’s been done for you. Haven’t you come to a warm house and companions you can learn from? But you’re a fool, and it isn’t fun to hang around with you. Believe me, it’s for your own good that I tell you these unpleasant things, and it’s how you can tell your true friends. Just take care to lay eggs, or learn to purr or give off sparks!”
“I believe I’ll go into the wide world,” said the duckling.
“Yes, you just do that,” said the hen.
And so the duckling went. He floated on the water, and dove into it, but all the animals shunned him because of his ugliness.
Then autumn came. The leaves in the woods turned yellow and brown. The wind picked them up so they danced around, and the air looked cold. The clouds were heavy with hail and snowflakes, and on the fence the raven sat and cried, “Ow! Ow!” from the cold. You could really freeze if you thought about it, and the poor duckling truly was having a hard time.
One evening when there was a lovely sunset, a whole flock of beautiful big birds came out of the bushes. The duckling had never seen any more lovely. They were a quite shiny white with long supple necks. They were swans, and they uttered some really astonishing sounds, spread out their wide magnif icent wings, and flew away from the cold climes to warmer lands, to open waters. They rose so high, so high, and the little ugly duckling became so strangely happy. He turned around in the water like a wheel, stretched his neck high up in the air towards them, and uttered a cry so loud and strange that it frightened him when he heard it. Oh, he couldn’t forget the beautiful birds—the happy birds—and as soon as they were out of sight, he dove straight to the bottom. When he came up again, he was quite beside himself. He didn’t know what the birds were called, nor where they were going, but still
