THE LITTLE COUNTRY THEATER
THE RAINDROPS
One day, about three weeks before the Christmas holidays, two young men came to see me. I shall never forget the incident because to me it marked one of the most fascinating episodes in the social life of country people. One of the young men was tall with broad shoulders and had light hair and grey eyes. The other was of medium height and had dark hair. His home was in Iceland. That they both had something important to say was evident from the expression on their faces. After a few moment’s hesitation, they told me they had thought out an idea for a play. Both of them were brimful of enthusiasm in regard to it. Whether or not they could produce it was a question. An obstacle stood in the way. Most of the sceneswere laid in Iceland. And what playhouse or village hall, especially a country theater, ever owned any scenery depicting home life, snow-capped mountains, and landscapes in that far-away region? Above all, there was no money to buy any, either.
“Perhaps we will meet again like the raindrops.”
“Perhaps we will meet again like the raindrops.”
When told that they would have to paint the scenery themselves, they looked somewhat surprised. It is doubtful whether either of them had ever painted anything more than his mother’s kitchen floor or perhaps whitewashed a fence or the interior of a barn. They finally decided to do the job. A painter was called over the phone who said he wouldn’t charge the boys a cent for the colors if they painted the scene. Up in an attic of a building near by there was an old faded pink curtain that had been cast aside. It was thought to be no longer useful. Within twenty-four hours the curtain was brought over and hoisted, and the floor of the stage adjacent to the office was covered with paint pails, brushes, and water colors. With dogged determination they decided to finish the painting during the holiday vacation. A few minutes before midnight onNew Year’s Eve the last stroke of the brush was made. The quaint cottage, the snow white-capped mountain, the tumbling waterfall and the steep ascending cliffs were painted in a manner which brought many favorable comments from competent art critics. The blending of the colors was magnificent. It was genuine art. The beauty of it all was that these two young men found that they could express themselves even on canvas.
Just as they had painted their scenery on the stage of the theater, so did they write their play, acting out each line before they put it in final form for presentation. Often they worked all night until four o’clock in the morning. They called their play “The Raindrops.” The theme is told in the second act of the play. The scene represents the interior of an Icelandic home. It is evening. The family circle has gathered. Some are sewing and others knitting. The children want to hear a story. Sveinn, one of the characters in the play, finally says to them, “All right then, if you are quiet, I will tell you the story of the raindrops who met in the sky.” And he narrates the followingwhich the children listen to with rapt attention.
“Once there were two raindrops away-way high up in the clouds. The sun had just lately smiled at them as they were playing in the big ocean, and his smile had drawn them up into the sky. Now as they danced and sported about in its radiance he decked them in all the bright and beautiful colors of the rainbow; and they were so happy over being rid of the dirt and salt that they almost forgot themselves for joy.
But somehow there seemed to be something that reminded them of the past. They felt as if they had met before. Finally one said, “Say, friend, haven’t we met before?” “That is just what I’ve been thinking,” said friend. “Where have you been, comrade?”
“I’ve been on the broad prairies on the west side of the big mountain that you see down there,” answered comrade.
“Oh,” said friend, “and I’ve been on the green slope on the east side of the mountain. I had a friend who fell at the same time as I did, and we were going to keep together, butunfortunately he fell on the other side of the ridge.”
“That was too bad,” said comrade, “the same thing happened to me but my friend fell on the east side just close to that stone you see down there.”
“Why, that is just where I fell,” said friend. This was enough—they could scarcely contain themselves with joy over meeting and recognizing one another again.
After they had danced one another around for a while, shaken hands a dozen times or more, and slapped one another on the back till they were all out of breath, friend said, “Now, comrade, tell me all about everything that has happened to you.”
“And you’ll have to tell me everything that you have seen,” said comrade.
“Yes, I’ll do that,” said friend, and then comrade began:
“Well, I fell on the west side of that stone, as you know. At first I felt kind of bad, but I gradually got over it and began to move in the same direction as the others I saw around me. At first I could not move fast, for I was sosmall that every little pebble blocked my road, but then the raindrops held a meeting and agreed to work together to help one another along and I joined the company to help form a pretty little brook. In this way we were able to push big stones out of our road and we were so happy that we laughed and played and danced in the sunlight which shone to the bottom of the brook, for we were not too many and we were all clean.
“Gradually more and more joined us till we became a big river. Nothing could any longer stand in our road and we became so proud of our strength that we tore up the earth and dug out a deep, deep path that everyone might see.
“But then our troubles began. We became so awfully dirty that the sun no longer reached any but those on top, while others were forced to stay in the dark. They groaned under the weight of those up higher, while at the same time they tore up from the bottom more and more filth.
“I wanted to get out of it all, but there didn’t seem to be any way. I tried to get up on the big, broad banks where all sorts of cropswere growing, but I was met and carried back by others rushing on into the river, evidently without realizing where they were going. The current tossed me about, first in the sunshine and then in the depths of darkness, and I had no rest till at last I got into the great ocean. There I rested and washed off most of the dirt.”
“I wish I could have seen the river,” said friend, “but why didn’t you spread out more, so as to help the crops on the plains and so that all might have sunlight?”
“I don’t know,” said comrade, “First we wanted to leave a deep path for others to see, and then later it seemed that we were helpless in the current that we ourselves had started. You must now tell me your story.”
“Yes,” said friend. “I fell on the east side of that stone, and when I couldn’t find you I started east, because I saw the sun there. After a while I bumped into a great big stone which was right across my path. It was such an ugly thing that I got angry and said, ‘Get out of my way, you ugly thing, or I’ll get all the other raindrops together and roll you out of the road.’
“Oh, no, do not do that,” said the stone, “for I am sheltering a beautiful flower from the wind, but I’ll lift myself up a little so you can crawl under.”
“It was awfully dark and nasty and creepy under the stone, and I didn’t like it a bit, but when I came out into the sunshine and saw the beautiful flowers on the other side I was glad that I hadn’t spoiled their shelter.”
“‘Isn’t this lovely?’ said a raindrop near me, ‘let us go and look at all the flowers.’ Then a crowd of raindrops that had gathered said, ‘Let us spread out more and more and give them all a drink,’ and we went among the flowers on the slope and in the valleys. As we watered them they smiled back at us till their smiles almost seemed brighter than the sunlight. When evening came we went down the little brooks over the waterfalls and hopped and danced in the eddy while we told one another about the things we had seen. There were raindrops from the glaciers and from the hot springs, from the lava fields and from the green grassy slopes, and from the lofty mountain peaks, where all the land could beseen. Then we went on together singing over the level plains and into the ocean.”
For awhile neither one said anything. Then comrade spoke, “Yes, when I go back I’ll get the others to go with me and we’ll spread out more—and now I am going back. See the grain down there, how dry it is. Now I’m going to get the other raindrops to spread out over the plains and give all the plants a drink and in that way help everyone else.”
“But see the flowers there on the slope on the east side,” said friend. “They’ll fade if I don’t go down again to help them.”
“We’ll meet again,” said both, as they dashed off to help the flowers and the grain.
The story ends. A pause ensues and Herdis, the old, old lady in the play says, “Yes, we are all raindrops.”
It is a beautiful thought and exceptionally well worked out in the play. The raindrops are brothers. One’s name is Sveinn. He lives in Iceland. The other is Snorri. His home is America. Snorri crosses the ocean to tell Sveinn about America. Upon his arrival he meets a girl named Asta and falls in love withher, little thinking that she is the betrothed of his brother Sveinn. Asta is a beautiful girl. She has large blue eyes and light hair which she wears in a long braid over her left shoulder. In act three, when speaking to Asta, Snorri says, “Sometimes I think I am the raindrop that fell on the other side of the ridge, and that my place may be there; but then I think of the many things I have learned to love here—the beautiful scenery, the midnight sun, the simple and unaffected manners of the people, their hospitality, and probably more than anything else some of the people I have come to know. A few of these especially I have learned to love.”
It does not dawn upon Snorri that Asta has given her hand to his brother Sveinn until the fourth and last act of the play. The scene is a most impressive one. It was something the authors had painted themselves. At the right stands the quaint little sky-blue cottage, with its long corrugated tin roof. To the left, the stony cliffs rise. In the distance the winding road, the tumbling waterfall, and snow-capped mountain can be seen. Near the doorway ofthe cottage there is a large rock on which Asta often sits in the full red glow of the midnight sun.
As the curtain goes up Snorri enters, looks at his watch, and utters these words, “They are all asleep, but I must see her to-night.” He gently goes to the door, quietly raps, turns and looks at the scenery, and says: “How beautiful are these northern lights! I’ve seen them before stretching like a shimmering curtain across the northern horizon, with tongues of flame occasionally leaping across the heavens; but here they are above me, and all around me, till they light up the scene so that I can see even in the distance the rugged and snow-capped hills miles away. How truly the Icelandic nation resembles the country—like the old volcanoes which, while covered with a sheet of ice and snow, still have burning underneath, the eternal fires.”
Asta then appears in the doorway and exclaims, “Snorri.” After an exchange of greetings they sit down and talk. Snorri tells Asta of his love and finally asks her to become his wife. Asta is silent. She turns and looks atthe northern lights, then bows her head and with her hands carelessly thrown over her knees she tells him that it cannot be—that it is Sveinn.
Snorri arises, moves away, covers his face with his hands and exclaims, “Oh, God! I never thought of that. What a blind fool I have been!” As Asta starts to comfort him Sveinn appears in the doorway, sees them and starts to turn away, but in so doing makes a little noise. Snorri startled, quickly looks around and says, “Sveinn, come here. I have been blind; will you forgive me?” Then he takes Asta’s hand and places it in Sveinn’s, bids them good-by and starts to leave.
Sveinn says, “Snorri! Where are you going? You are not leaving us at this time of night, and in sorrow?”
Snorri, returning, looks at the quaint little cottage, the waterfall, and then at Asta and Sveinn, pauses a moment, and says, “Perhaps we shall meet again—like the raindrops.” The curtain falls and the play ends.
Neither of these young men who wrote the play ever had any ambition to become a playwright,a scene painter, or an actor. To-day, one is a successful country-life worker in the great northwest. The other is interested in harnessing the water power which is so abundant in his native land.
When the play was presented, the audience sat spellbound, evidently realizing that two country lads had found hidden life forces in themselves which they never knew they possessed. All they needed, like thousands of others who live in the country and even in the city, was just a chance to express themselves.
Authors of play—M. Thorfinnson and E. Briem.