I know you know this fairy tale. Now I just want to remind you of it. It is one of my absolute favorites. And fairy tales are not just stories we use to lull our children to sleep at night. They are stories about our inner life, symbols of the processes taking place in the layers of the collective unconscious to which we are all connected.
The Ugly Duckling is my favorite tale not only because I felt exactly that way for a certain period of my life, but also because in my work as a psychotherapist, I constantly communicate with “ugly ducklings.” These are people who are wonderful yet suffer deeply from their maladjustment to the outside world, believing the fault lies within them—that the ugliness belongs to them personally, rather than to their environment.
This story puts things in their place. If you are also among those who suffer from your difference, just look toward the lake and find your own kind!
“Under the burdocks in the garden of an old farm, some ducklings hatched. All were small, yellow, and fluffy, except for the last one. It was so large, ugly, and different from the others that at first, its mother thought it was a turkey. But when she saw how skillfully it swam, she was relieved and grew to love it.
However, the other inhabitants of the poultry yard constantly mocked its ugliness. Moreover—the chickens, the geese, the turkeys, and even its own brothers and sisters pecked, plucked, and pushed it. Finally, the duckling could endure it no longer and flew over the fence. It ran and ran until it reached a great marsh. It had not yet rested from its long flight when shots and the barking of dogs rang out from all sides. Terrified, the ugly duckling hid in the reeds and watched in horror as its kinsmen—the wild ducks—fell one after another, pierced by bullets.
The poor little thing spent the entire day and night among the reeds. In the morning, snow began to fall, and a terrible storm broke out. Frozen and hungry, the duckling left the marsh and set out again. At last, it reached the cottage of a poor old woman, who took pity on it and sheltered it in the warmth. The old woman could not see well and mistook it for a fat duck. She fed it diligently, hoping it would lay an egg for her.
Besides the mistress, a tomcat lived in the house—who knew how to purr, arch his back, and even give off sparks when his fur was stroked—and a short-legged hen. The two of them thought themselves very clever and beautiful. They constantly mocked the little duckling, and one day it could bear no more and left the old woman’s home. But its troubles did not end there. As it passed through the village, children chased it with laughter and shouts, cats hissed with fur bristling, and dogs pursued it with barking.
Finally, the poor duckling reached a small lake and huddled with a pounding heart among the bushes on the shore. Suddenly, from beneath the green branches, three magnificent white swans appeared. They noticed the duckling and swam toward it. ‘They will surely kill me because I make their lake ugly,’ thought the poor creature, and humbly bowed its head toward the water. But what did it see in the transparent surface of the lake? Not a gray and ugly bird, but a white and graceful swan.
At that moment, two children ran to the shore. ‘Look, a new swan has come!’ they cried. ‘He is the most beautiful of all!'”
Hans Christian Andersen
