Comparing: The Ugly Duckling

It was so beautiful out in the country. It was summer-time. The wheat was yellow, the oats were green, the hay was stacked up in the grassy meadows, and there the stork walked about on his long red legs, chattering in the language he had learned from his mother. The fields and meadows were full of wildflowers, and in the midst of it all sat a duck upon her nest, watching her eggs. One by one the eggs cracked open. 'Peep! peep!' said the little ones, as they came tumbling out. The duck counted them: five beautiful yellow ducklings and one very large grey one. 'How dreadfully big he is!' she thought. 'He cannot possibly be my child.' But she gave him the same care as the others. The next day was sunny and the mother took her children to the duck-yard. The other ducks looked at the grey bird and sneered. 'He is too ugly! Look at that creature!' The turkeys pecked at him, the geese hissed, and even his own brothers and sisters were unkind. 'You ugly thing!' they cried. Day after day the the ugly duckling was teased, bitten, pushed around, and chased. Even his own mother wished he had never been born. At last he could bear it no longer and fled into the great marsh where the wild ducks lived. Autumn came and the leaves turned gold and red. The ugly duckling was now larger and stronger, but no happier. One evening he saw a flock of beautiful white birds flying overhead. They were swans, migrating south. The duckling felt a strange yearning he had never known before. Winter was cruel. The water froze and the duckling was trapped in the ice. A peasant found him and broke the ice, but the duckling was so frightened by the noisy children that he fled again into the freezing marsh. Spring came at last. The sun grew warm, the larks sang, and the duckling found his wings had grown strong. He flew to a great garden where three beautiful white swans swam on the pond. 'I will fly to them,' he thought. 'If they kill me, so be it. It is better to die by beautiful birds than to live being pecked and chased.' He flew down to the water and bowed his head. But what did he see in the clear water? His own reflection — no longer a dark grey, ungainly bird, but a graceful, beautiful white swan. He had been born a swan, and no bird in all the garden was more lovely than he. The children came to the water and threw breadcrumbs. 'There is a new one!' they cried with delight. The other swans swam around him and and stroked him with their beaks. He felt perfectly happy, yet not a bit proud. 'I never dreamed such happiness when I was the ugly duckling.'

Il etait une fois, a la campagne, un beau domaine ou le ble etait jaune et l'avoine verte. Dans la cour d'une ferme, une cane etait assise sur son nid, couvant ses oeufs. Un a un, les oeufs se fendirent. Pip! pip! firent les petits canetons en sortant. Mais le dernier oeuf, le plus gros de tous, tardait a eclore. Quand il s'ouvrit enfin, un grand caneton gris en sortit. Quelle etrange creature! pensa la mere cane. Il est bien different des autres. Le lendemain, la mere mena sa famille a la mare. Le grand caneton gris nageait aussi bien que les autres, mais tous les habitants de la basse-cour se moquaient de lui. Regardez comme il est laid! disaient les poules. Il est trop gros et trop gris! Les dindons le becquetaient, les oies sifflaient, et meme ses propres freres et soeurs etaient cruels. Tu es tellement laid! criaient-ils. Jour apres jour, le vilain petit caneton etait moque, pince, chasse et maltraite. Meme sa mere souhaita qu'il ne fut jamais ne. Ne pouvant plus supporter cette vie, il s'enfuit vers le grand marais ou vivaient les canards sauvages. L'automne arriva, et les feuilles devinrent dorees et rouges. Le caneton etait devenu plus grand et plus fort, mais pas plus heureux. Un soir, il vit un groupe de magnifiques oiseaux blancs voler au-dessus de sa tete. C'etaient des cygnes, migrant vers le sud. Le caneton ressentit une etrange nostalgie qu'il n'avait jamais connue. L'hiver fut cruel. L'eau gela et le caneton fut emprisonne dans la glace. Un paysan le trouva et brisa la glace, mais le caneton, effraye par les enfants bruyants, s'enfuit a nouveau dans le marais glacial. Le printemps vint enfin. Le soleil rechauffa l'air, les alouettes chantaient, et le caneton decouvrit que ses ailes etaient devenues fortes. Il s'envola vers un grand jardin ou trois magnifiques cygnes blancs nageaient sur l'etang. Je vais nager vers eux, pensa-t-il. S'ils me tuent, tant pis. Mourir par de si beaux oiseaux vaut mieux que de vivre en etant pince et chasse. Il s'approcha de l'eau et baissa la tete. Mais que vit-il dans l'eau limpide? Son propre reflet, plus un oiseau gris et disgracieux, mais un cygne blanc, gracieux et magnifique. Il etait ne cygne, et aucun oiseau dans tout le jardin n'etait plus beau que lui. Les enfants vinrent au bord de l'eau et jetterent des miettes de pain. Il y en a un nouveau! s'ecrierent-ils avec joie. Les autres cygnes nageaient autour de lui et le caressaient de leur bec. Il se sentait parfaitement heureux, mais pas du tout fier. Je n'aurais jamais reve un tel bonheur quand j'etais le vilain petit caneton.