“More yet!” cried the King; “more yet—­let loose all the thunder, turn on all the water!  I will hang the man that raises an umbrella!”

When this most tremendous and effective storm that had ever been produced in any theater was at last over, the King’s approbation was measureless.  He cried: 

“Magnificent, magnificent!  Encore!  Do it again!”

But the manager succeeded in persuading him to recall the encore, and said the company would feel sufficiently rewarded and complimented in the mere fact that the encore was desired by his Majesty, without fatiguing him with a repetition to gratify their own vanity.

During the remainder of the act the lucky performers were those whose parts required changes of dress; the others were a soaked, bedraggled, and uncomfortable lot, but in the last degree picturesque.  The stage scenery was ruined, trap-doors were so swollen that they wouldn’t work for a week afterward, the fine costumes were spoiled, and no end of minor damages were done by that remarkable storm.

It was royal idea—­that storm—­and royally carried out.  But observe the moderation of the King; he did not insist upon his encore.  If he had been a gladsome, unreflecting American opera-audience, he probably would have had his storm repeated and repeated until he drowned all those people.

CHAPTER XI [I Paint a “Turner”]

The summer days passed pleasantly in Heidelberg.  We had a skilled trainer, and under his instructions we were getting our legs in the right condition for the contemplated pedestrian tours; we were well satisfied with the progress which we had made in the German language, [1.  See Appendix D for information concerning this fearful tongue.] and more than satisfied with what we had accomplished in art.  We had had the best instructors in drawing and painting in Germany—­Haemmerling, Vogel, Mueller, Dietz, and Schumann.  Haemmerling taught us landscape-painting.  Vogel taught us figure-drawing, Mueller taught us to do still-life, and Dietz and Schumann gave us a finishing course in two specialties—­battle-pieces and shipwrecks.  Whatever I am in Art I owe to these men.  I have something of the manner of each and all of them; but they all said that I had also a manner of my own, and that it was conspicuous.  They said there was a marked individuality about my style—­insomuch that if I ever painted the commonest type of a dog, I should be sure to throw a something into the aspect of that dog which would keep him from being mistaken for the creation of any other artist.  Secretly I wanted to believe all these kind sayings, but I could not; I was afraid that my masters’ partiality for me, and pride in me, biased their judgment.  So I resolved to make a test.  Privately, and unknown to any one, I painted my great picture, “Heidelberg Castle Illuminated”—­my first really important work in oils—­and had it hung