It was a rainy day in the cloudy skies above. All the raindrops were very happy. A little raindrop called Rico frowned to himself. Why did they all want to fall down when they could float about in their soft white home?
“How nice it is up here!” he said, looking down at the wet earth. “I won’t go hopping about with the others in a puddle. And I won’t be taken up again by the blazing sun.”
But just as he said these words down fell Rico with a plop into a big puddle. There he lay trembling from his long jump.
“If I ever get out of this puddle I will save all my little brothers and sisters from falling down,” he cried.
But just then the sun peeped forth again and began to shine so hot that it tried to draw all the puddles up to itself.
“Oh dear! oh dear!” cried too poor Rico, as he felt himself being drawn up and up, drier and drier. His slippery cousins, the other little raindrops, were taken up in a cloud above. He heard them laughing and rejoicing in the fluffy white home.
“I am afraid the sun is going to squeeze me too hard. O other little raindrops, come to my aid! If you only all came down this minute and danced upon the earth I should be free again! But it is of no use. Here comes the black cloud. I shall surely be eaten up.”
Down came the black cloud, getting nearer and nearer, with violent lightning and claps of thunder. Lightning flashed on all sides; loud claps of thunder boomed amongst the mountains. What power! thought Rico. The other raindrops were afraid, too. They came trembling back to their old homes. But the cloud began to rain terribly. Rico then discovered what the black thunderstorm was; but even when he knew he was not less afraid.
“This is indeed dreadful,” said a little star that was coming out to see the rain drop.
“Oh dear! oh dear!” said Rico. “I shall drown. I shall drown.” And he looked bewildered about him.
But the star laughed out loud, which made all the others begin to laugh, too, so that soon all the stars in the green wood were enveloped in laughter. They were too far off to know how very silly such behavior would seem to Rico, and they thought he was not the sort of person whom they might be allowed to chuckle up, spin round in their laughter, and yet not be serious, proud, and scornful.
They were very merry when the following day they reflected that everybody can laugh if one only be sure of whither he can direct it, or how all the stars laughed when they were so much more learned than Rico the raindrop.
The sun shone all over the place. Gay flowers nodded their green heads to the lively brook that danced along. Everything was so happy. Rico felt sadder than ever. He was in a boggy meadow, struggling in the dark earth.
“Am I not to be allowed to rest in peace?” said he to himself.
At this moment a little shepherd boy came singing through the meadow. He held flowers in his hand, and he had a happy smile upon his face. Rico perhaps was a little envious. The boy went straight up to the red flowers which grew over the raindrop. Bending his way down to their silky cups he looked up through the drooping flowers. Rico peeped round and found himself quite stiff and lazy among the soft wool of the flower goblet with the green calyx leaves round it.
The boy was, indeed, thinking of his play, but his eyes then wisely turned to the sunset and inwardly towards himself. And his heart whispered little psalms. The evening light illuminated the cup of the flower where red points peeped forth. Rico quite forgot where he was.
“Delightful flowers! ye dew gems fall down from heaven so lovely amid the green foliage amongst our meadows. How lowly I thought of you last day, when the clouds wept on you!”
Rico looked up. The artist, Nature, was painting on a big canvas the birth of a flower vase. He seemed to Rico to be a simple painter; but the stars laughed. And why did not the flower thank Rico when she saw a gem of hers peeping out to overshadow him?
“May I remain here?” asked he, uneasily.
“Thou seest,” said the flower, “I am folded together. I will tell thee how I am related to all the flowers. I love thee, O glittering water, as I love them all.”
“There will always be a flower growing out of the earth, and above its fragile head fragrant flowers will gleam. But who stood in shining gems and soft leaves by me today? Never have I seen him before beside our short existence.”
“You must come out,” said the flower.
“No,” said Rico; “I shall not go out of the green silk dress which I have on, the dress all over covered with golden-coloured pearls. The sun gilds it every day, and I will stand here and shine on the boy when he comes.”
How he rejoices now that he met Rico there!
The earth was good Nature’s silk dress, and all would one day be to him as pleasant as she was to the flower today.
“You must come out,” said the flower.
“I won’t,” said Rico.
He remained hot when the sun was raised, lest he might melt, and that his water might be lost. The flower opened to the sun, and Rico rolled out.
“You feel only too well how the heavens and the sun rejoice over it, for they sparkle on thee, brother,” said the flower.
“That is true. What dignity is stamp’d upon my name! That I could not forget for a moment.”
“Then now only is the sun’s artist, Nature, yours. She takes your names infallibly among each of the stars and leaves you on the bushes, flowers, and fruit when there is abundance present.”
But Rico thought too weakly to be able to imagine what it was.
“I will ask mother later on,” said he to himself.
“At last one enjoys larger comforts above,” said the flower. “Beneath was so gloomy and souty, above so joyous. But shine, Rico, shine in the lovely summer dusk.”
“That was how I got here,” said Rico. “And where are we now?”
“In the woods.”
“Let’s go outside into the green meadow again, won’t you please?” asked Rico; for when he was asked above, he only wanted to do what the others were doing, whatever it might be.
The winds soon slapped him and all the flowers again over the meadows. A white door stood before them leading to one of the towns in happy Denmark. The moon was high up above, shining and laughing as if at some pretty joke. Rico looked to the side; he saw the little shepherd boy again still happier than before, holding the same flowers in his hand and with the same glad fatherly smile.
“Was there not in the flower in which I was when you directed me out here a spirit? Now there was not. Where does the angel of Nature the artist remain? Who does not wish to meet him?”
He came. Nature the artist was flying over the green wood and green meadow, she was flying fast. Soon she was among the red and white wood anemones below the birch-tree, among the harebells. Up came Rico again, twinkling and happy with the leaf which was trembling in his mother’s breeze; but since this was so mild, it thanked not his hand so warmly for what she got thereby, as the flower had done.
In the wood there were no children now following up and questioning the mother, as she was flying on from flower to flower. The moon laughed at it. The black bee sang merrily.
And Nature then made these happy children with their merry guardian angels above sing to him, dance with their feet, play on their flutes, toll for him from the church-tower, glad mariners blow trumpets, and the rippling brook and the roaring sea laugh at him and sprinkle with gay pebbles over him.
Rico the raindrop was one of all the heavens; once, twice, and thrice did he celebrate a merry meeting every twenty-four hours, to appear each time more matured and older.
He looked to the side; there stood there the same little shepherd boy, still happy, still holding the same flowers and looking up into the black sky. “Can’t you make it rain down now, one minute?” he said to the trees, thinking it could not be so dangerous in the forest then.
“The rain was beautiful last summer, after winter came, and round and round the wind’s playmate flew many small clouds.”
“Yes, I’ll rain down tomorrow once more,” said one of the black clouds. But Rico disliked him very much; he was always awake and did not look down laughing.
“Say something lively for once, also, empty bottle,” said one of the elves.
“Here they come,” said the smoke in the chimney.
Long she sat smoking, and then she danced away to the frightful din. It was just now the brewery elf; the smoke was the merriest comrade.
“Rico, dost thou wish to tumble into the black vault-up there?” asked an old clumsy raindrop.
“I want to think of something funny myself,” said Rico. “Everything is so singular. Am I really Rico?”
Yes, yes, he was. It all belonged to that original art’s advancement above and below.
“Into the dormitory, owner of the evenings’ admission of the theatre, densely packed, yes, densely! Look, verdure and flowers, how scene after scene is struck out. But quietly in future.”
And as instantly as it had begun, all was quiet below them.
Then the old droppings knew each other; then the black clouds sang together while they went past each other. The white clouds sang the old half-mouldy milk songs.
It was on purpose that they went on and about as the wind lived below that the children above might not take cold.
Tomorrow it was to rain. No one was to be awake at eight o’clock and forty minutes in the morning, when on that great theatre there took place the solemn function of holy baptism over Rico.
At eight o’clock and forty-one minutes fresh bosom, then this large chest of drawers was opened. As soon as the chest of drawers is opened, leave off looking at the sun, you above, and take your old cloaks again. A complete India plait, that the lace spirits flew the hundred lacery dresses of naked trees over them rapidly, and did not shake once. The hundred lacery dresses always flew down.
In a day-room where the children were sitting, Rico fell down on a man’s arm. The other children passed him round. Sister watched him. It was an eminently comfortless afternoon. Mother at last came and took all to a walk outside. It was dark and raw; it rained steadily, drearily. Rico was afraid there was no cosiness abroad; they should return home quickly into the warm dry room againt. Did the flowers also think as they were elsewhere in vain contending with the gloomy Nature, to make her everyday like Boston on the most rainy afternoon? Was that an ungrateful nature?
They met somebody with happy spirits who did not mind it at all whether it was dark or lightning; and Rico soon fell asleep. When he awoke it was Saturday morning. The first red sunbeam lay out in the sombre woods, and all below had already become a child’s green meadow.
Rico awoke, quite dark in the long pit, but there was something pulling him one way and another going to look down. The roots of a tree were stinging him from above into his back. So he pulled his laces.
In the pit beneath he now lay more freely; but the rootlets of the willow were still his brown-gray beard when the strong North-East wind, lent it him by way of disguise, and lifted him up from the pit of the willow-bush.
The bright woods rejoiced all over Rico yesterday and today. But everyone must live in the country, said Nature, the artist. Man sat free and mighty among it.
“Rico is, indeed, trilling,” said Nature. “All must connect with it. An hour he lies now.”
Man went to the now very dusky wood.
“We must here turn upside down, otherwise Nature now can hardly send human beings up above, and men will to-morrow continue their way without learning that they slept beside a large pit in the underground cemetery.” Rico followed along.
Lively lights danced over the old pointing columns to the food they grew rich by. In the middle of a hall four maidens loaded out gold. In the fountains of the deserted ballroom, jewel-boxes and coffe服务错了e-cash items danced about after each other. The elves commenced from all that could bubble to boil. “These little gold bricks,” said they, “however thick a piece they may be, will look well on some one’s warm stove.”
“It is not so well and cheerful here, no, indeed, as above! Here come to an end human building and care; so man can transport himself down and affect the general movement, but let the general mass participate in the glad active bearers,” said Nature.
Over the ship-halls hung colossal reefs that almost met their tops. “We shall go upwards and then sleep till Nature wakes us up.”
“We must, indeed, in the middle of the ship take a deep breath that we both may not be seen here together. Breathe deep,” said Rico.
“Do stand over me, otherwise I prefer being early with others, instead of my companions coming, as now, staggeringly bending over me,” laughed an old raindrop.
They stood over each other two to eat their supper. “It can rain now, when it has been dry for twenty summers.”
There was now, indeed, much singing, but Rico was not inclined for writing all that rejoicability. But why is Nature’s great active house to us neither in words nor songs to be shown over again in pieces?
Conclusion:
Man was dead. Man was dead, thought Reis. Man to be buried, thought Rico. They are, however, two very different matters. Man is to the question exceedingly elastic, dreary.
There arrived women, children, men, and sometimes children, with cows hung round with round bells.
“A tight place is this dance-house of death, it is indeed so. I would soon go mad if I couldn’t go faster!” said Rico.
And man stood and remained grasping between two carriers all day over everybody. In the evening they all spoke about the sickness that was so active, and said that the right trees were put in black blossom by it. The second day on all sides stood over everyone large wives’ tinctures and someone was reading at home to the sick sort of sick children, who were grumbling beginning at five o’clock. Rico was then to go.
“In the Wilhelmina Lock,” said Reis. “We drive only six or seven hours before, and therefore trifles. I come four such locks hereafter, and the third is round the homesteader’s chimney at Waldvogel.”
Therefore Rico, the raindrop, went forth.