Toward evening he came upon a poor little hut. It was so wretchedly crooked that it looked as if it couldn’t make up its mind which way to fall and that was why it was still standing. The wind was blowing so hard that the poor little duckling had to sit down in order not to be blown away. Suddenly he noticed that the door was off its hinges, making a crack; and he squeezed himself through it and was inside.
An old woman lived in the hut with her cat and her hen. The cat was called Sonny and could both arch his back and purr. Oh yes, it could also make sparks if you rubbed its fur the wrong way. The hen had very short legs and that was why she was called Cluck Lowlegs. But she was good at laying eggs, and the old woman loved her as if she were her own child.
In the morning the hen and the cat discovered the duckling. The cat meowed and the hen clucked.
“What is going on?” asked the old woman, and looked around. She couldn’t see very well, and when she found the duckling she thought it was a fat, full-grown duck. “What a fine catch!” she exclaimed. “Now we shall have duck eggs, unless it’s a drake. We’ll give it a try.”
So the duckling was allowed to stay for three weeks on probation, but he laid no eggs. The cat was the master of the house and the hen the mistress. They always referred to themselves as “we and the world,” for they thought that they were half the world—and the better half at that. The duckling thought that he should be allowed to have a different opinion, but the hen did not agree.
“Can you lay eggs?” she demanded.
“No,” answered the duckling.
“Then keep your mouth shut.”
And the cat asked, “Can you arch your back? Can you purr? Can you make sparks?”
“No.”
“Well, in that case, you have no right to have an opinion when sensible people are talking.”
The duckling was sitting in a corner and was in a bad mood. Suddenly he recalled how lovely it could be outside in the fresh air when the sun shone: a great longing to be floating in the water came over the duckling, and he could not help talking about it.
“What is the matter with you?” asked the hen as soon as she had heard what he had to say. “You have nothing to do, that’s why you get ideas like that. Lay eggs or purr, and such notions will disappear.”
“You have no idea how delightful it is to float in the water, and to dive down to the bottom of a lake and get your head wet,” said the duckling.
“Yes, that certainly does sound amusing,” said the hen. “You must have gone mad. Ask the cat—he is the most intelligent being I know—ask him whether he likes to swim or dive down to the bottom of a lake. Don’t take my word for anything.… Ask the old woman, who is the cleverest person in the world; ask her whether she likes to float and to get her head all wet.”
“You don’t understand me!” wailed the duckling.
“And if I don’t understand you, who will? I hope you don’t think that you are wiser than the cat or the old woman—not to mention myself. Don’t give yourself airs! Thank your Creator for all He has done for you. Aren’t you sitting in a warm room among intelligent people whom you could learn something from? While you, yourself, do nothing but say a lot of nonsense and aren’t the least bit amusing! Believe me, that’s the truth, and I am only telling it to you for your own good. That’s how you recognize a true friend: it’s someone who is willing to tell you the truth, no matter how unpleasant it is. Now get to work: lay some eggs, or learn to purr and arch your back.”
“I think I’ll go out into the wide world,” replied the duckling.
“Go right ahead!” said the hen.
And the duckling left. He found a lake where he could float in the water and dive to the bottom. There were other ducks, but they ignored him because he was so ugly.
Autumn came and the leaves turned yellow and brown, then they fell from the trees. The wind caught them and made them dance. The clouds were heavy with hail and snow. A raven sat on a fence and screeched, “Ach! Ach!” because it was so cold. When just thinking of how cold it was is enough to make one shiver, what a terrible time the duckling must have had.
One evening just as the sun was setting gloriously, a flock of beautiful birds came out from among the rushes. Their feathers were so white that they glistened; and they had long, graceful necks. They were swans. They made a very loud cry, then they spread their powerful wings. They were flying south to a warmer climate, where the lakes were not frozen in the winter. Higher and higher they circled. The ugly duckling turned round and round in the water like a wheel and stretched his neck up toward the sky; he felt a strange longing. He screeched so piercingly that he frightened himself.
Oh, he would never forget those beautiful birds, those happy birds. When they were out of sight the duckling dove down under the water to the bottom of the lake; and when he came up again he was beside himself. He did not know the name of those birds or where they were going, and yet he felt that he loved them as he had never loved any other creatures. He did not envy them. It did not even occur to him to wish that he were so handsome himself. He would have been happy if the other ducks had let him stay in the henyard: that poor, ugly bird!
The weather grew colder and colder. The duckling had to swim round and round in the water, to keep just a little space for himself that wasn’t frozen. Each night his hole became smaller and smaller. On all sides of him the ice creaked and groaned. The little duckling had to keep his feet constantly in motion so that the last bit of open water wouldn’t become ice. At last he was too tired to swim any more. He sat still. The ice closed in around him and he was frozen fast.
Early the next morning a farmer saw him and with his clogs broke the ice to free the duckling. The man put the bird under his arm and took it home to his wife, who brought the duckling back to life.
The children wanted to play with him. But the duckling was afraid that they were going to hurt him, so he flapped his wings and flew right into the milk pail. From there he flew into a big bowl of butter and then into a barrel of flour. What a sight he was!
The farmer’s wife yelled and chased him with a poker. The children laughed and almost fell on top of each other, trying to catch him; and how they screamed! Luckily for the duckling, the door was open. He got out of the house and found a hiding place beneath some bushes, in the newly fallen snow; and there he lay so still, as though there were hardly any life left in him.
It would be too horrible to tell of all the hardship and suffering the duckling experienced that long winter. It is enough to know that he did survive. When again the sun shone warmly and the larks began to sing, the duckling was lying among the reeds in the swamp. Spring had come!
He spread out his wings to fly. How strong and powerful they were! Before he knew it, he was far from the swamp and flying above a beautiful garden. The apple trees were blooming and the lilac bushes stretched their flower-covered branches over the water of a winding canal. Everything was so beautiful: so fresh and green. Out of a forest of rushes came three swans. They ruffled their feathers and floated so lightly on the water. The ugly duckling recognized the birds and felt again that strange sadness come over him.
“I shall fly over to them, those royal birds! And they can hack me to death because I, who am so ugly, dare to approach them! What difference does it make? It is better to be killed by them than to be bitten by the other ducks, and pecked by the hens, and kicked by the girl who tends the henyard; or to suffer through the winter.”
And he lighted on the water and swam toward the magnificent swans. When they saw him they ruffled their feathers and started to swim in his direction. They were coming to meet him.
“Kill me,” whispered the poor creature, and bent his head humbly while he waited for death. But what was that he saw in the water? It was his own reflection; and he was no longer an awkward, clumsy, gray bird, so ungainly and so ugly. He was a swan!
It does not matter that one has been born in the henyard as long as one has lain in a swan’s egg.
&n
bsp; He was thankful that he had known so much want, and gone through so much suffering, for it made him appreciate his present happiness and the loveliness of everything about him all the more. The swans made a circle around him and caressed him with their beaks.
Some children came out into the garden. They had brought bread with them to feed the swans. The youngest child shouted, “Look, there’s a new one!” All the children joyfully clapped their hands, and they ran to tell their parents.
Cake and bread were cast on the water for the swans. Everyone agreed that the new swan was the most beautiful of them all. The older swans bowed toward him.
He felt so shy that he hid his head beneath his wing. He was too happy, but not proud, for a kind heart can never be proud. He thought of the time when he had been mocked and persecuted. And now everyone said that he was the most beautiful of the most beautiful birds. And the lilac bushes stretched their branches right down to the water for him. The sun shone so warm and brightly. He ruffled his feathers and raised his slender neck, while out of the joy in his heart, he thought, “Such happiness I did not dream of when I was the ugly duckling.”
28
The Pine Tree
Out in the forest grew a very nice-looking little pine tree. It had plenty of space around it, so that it got both fresh air and all the sunshine it could want. Near it grew some larger pine and other evergreen trees; but the little pine was so busy growing that it took no notice of them, or of the children who came to the forest to pick wild strawberries and raspberries, not even when they sat down near it and said so loudly that anyone could have heard them: “Goodness, what a beautiful little tree!” No, the tree heard nothing, for it was not listening.
The following year it was a little taller and had a new ring of branches; and the next year it had one more. That is the way you can tell the age of a pine tree—by the rings of branches it has.
“Oh, how I wish I were as big as the big trees,” moaned the little pine tree. “Then I could spread my branches out, and with my top, I could see far out into the wide world! The birds would come and nest in me; and when the wind blew, then I would bend and sway as elegantly as the other trees.”
The warm sunshine gave it no pleasure, nor did the songs of the little birds or the sight of the red clouds that drifted across the sky at sunset.
Winter came. The snow lay white and sparkling. Rabbits came running, and jumped over the little pine tree. “Oh, how mortifying!” it cried every time. But two years passed before the little tree had grown so tall that the rabbits could no longer jump over it but had to run around it instead.
“To grow, to grow,” thought the pine tree, “to become tall and old; there’s nothing in the world so marvelous!”
In the autumn the woodcutter came to chop down some of the older trees. He came every year and the young tree, now that it was growing up, shook inside itself when the tall, mighty trees fell with a thunderous crash to the ground. Their branches were shorn and there they lay: naked, thin, and long. One could hardly recognize them. They were loaded onto a horse-drawn wagon and carried out of the forest.
Where were they being taken? What would happen to them?
In spring, when the swallows and the storks returned, the young pine put the question to them: “Do any of you know where the trees go and what happens to them?”
The swallows didn’t know, but the storks looked thoughtful for a moment. Then one of them said, “I think I know. I have met many tall ships on my way to Egypt. The ships have lofty masts and they smell of pine, so I’m sure they must be pine. I tell you, they stood proudly.”
“If only I were old enough to become a mast and sail across the ocean,” said the pine tree. “Tell me about the ocean. What does it look like?”
“It’s too big for me to try to tell about it,” replied the stork, and walked away.
“Be glad that you are young,” whispered the sun’s rays. “Enjoy your strength and the pleasure of being alive.”
The wind kissed the young tree and the dew shed tears over it; but the pine tree noticed neither.
Just before Christmas, some of the trees that were cut down weren’t any older or taller than the one who was so dissatisfied. These trees did not have their branches shorn; but they were loaded onto wagons and driven out of the forest just as the other, larger trees had been.
“Where are they going?” asked the pine tree. “None of them was any taller than I am; and I saw one that was at least a foot shorter. Why were they allowed to keep their branches? And where were they going?”
“We know! We know! We know!” chirped the sparrows. “We have been in the town and looked through the windows. We know where they are. They have come to glory. They have been given the greatest honor a tree could wish for. They have been planted right in the middle of the warm living rooms of people’s houses. They are decorated with silver and gold tinsel. There are apples and toys and heart-shaped cookies and hundreds of candles on their branches.”
The pine tree was so excited that its boughs trembled. “And what else happened to them?”
“We don’t know,” chirped the sparrows. “We’ve told you everything we saw.”
“Have I been created to become like that?” thought the tree jubilantly. “Will that glory be mine? Why, that is much better than sailing across the oceans. Oh, how I long for it to happen! I wish it soon would be Christmas again. I am as tall and as good looking as the trees that were chosen last year. I wish I were on the wagon already. I wish I were in the warm room being decorated. I wonder what will happen after that? Something even better, even grander will happen, why else should they put gold and silver on me? But what will it be? How I long for it to happen! How I suffer from anticipation. I can hardly understand myself.… Oh, how difficult it is to be me!”
“Be happy with us,” said the wind and the sunshine. “Be glad that you are young; enjoy your youth and your freedom, here in nature.”
But the tree was not happy. It grew and grew; and now it was dark green both in winter and summer, and people who passed by often remarked, “What a lovely tree!”
Then one Christmas, it was the first tree to be cut down. It felt the ax sever it from its roots; and it fell with a sigh to the ground. A feeling of pain, of helplessness, came over it, and never for a moment did it think of the glory that was to come. It only felt the sadness of leaving the place where it had grown. It knew that it would never see again the little bushes and flowers that had grown around it, or hear the songs of the little birds that had sat on its branches. No, parting was no pleasure.
The tree didn’t recover before it was being unloaded in town and heard someone say, “What a beautiful tree! We shall have that one and no other.”
Two servants in livery carried the tree up to a magnificent hall. Portraits were hanging on the walls, and next to the big tile stove stood two Chinese vases with lions on their lids. There were rocking chairs, and sofas covered with silk; and on a table lay picture books and toys worth more than a hundred times a hundred crowns—so at least the children claimed. The tree was planted in a bucket filled with sand, but nobody could see that it was an old one, for it was covered by a green cloth and stood on a many-colored rug.
The tree shook with expectation. What was about to happen? The servants and the young ladies of the family started to decorate it. On the branches they hung little colored nets that were filled with sweets; and golden apples and walnuts were tied to the tree so that they looked as if they were growing there. A hundred little red, blue, and white candles were fastened on the branches; and among them, on the green needles, sat little dolls that looked exactly like human beings. At last, on the very top of the tree was placed a golden star. It was magnificent, unbelievably magnificent!
“Tonight … tonight,” everyone said. “Tonight it will be glorious!”
“Oh,” thought the tree, “why doesn’t night come! The candles will be lit—I wonder what will happen then! Will the other trees come from the forest a
nd look at me? Will the sparrows peep in through the windows? Will I grow roots and stand here both summer and winter?”
The poor tree had a bark-ache from anticipation, which for a tree is as annoying as headache is to a human being.
Finally evening did come, and the candles were lit. Oh, how beautiful it looked. The poor tree trembled with emotion. In fact, it shook so much that one of its branches caught on fire, which smarted and hurt.
“God preserve us!” cried the ladies, and put out the fire.
Now the poor tree didn’t even dare tremble; it was horrible! There it stood, rigid and still, and fearing every moment that it might lose some of its decorations. How bewildering everything was! The big doors opened and the children came running in. They were so wild, especially the older ones, they looked as if they wanted to overturn the tree. The little children were so overawed by the tree that they just stood and stared silently. But that didn’t last long; soon they were making as much noise as the older ones. The grownups came last; but they had seen the sight many times before. Soon they all were dancing and singing around the tree; then the presents, which had been hung on the tree, were given out.
“What are they doing?” thought the tree. “What is going to happen now?”
The candles burned down and were extinguished, and the children were allowed to plunder the tree. They grabbed the little nets with sweets in them and pulled at the candied fruit and the nuts. They were so rough that they almost broke off the branches; and they would certainly have upset the tree, had it not been for the string with which its top was attached to the ceiling.
Now the children danced and played, and no one but the old nurse paid any attention to the tree; she kept walking around and around it, looking among the branches to see if she could find an apple or a fig which the youngsters might have overlooked.
“A story! A story!” screamed all the children, and pushed a fat man toward the Christmas tree.
The Complete Fairy Tales and Stories Page 27