Library of the Worlds Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, Volume 3 | Page 3

Queen doesn't speak of her "child" or
her "son," but only of "the Crown Prince."
Walpurga answered:--
"Yes, quite well, thank God! That is, I couldn't hear him, and I only
wanted to say that I'd like to act towards the--" she could not say "the
Prince"--"that is, towards him, as I'd do with my own child. We began
on the very first day. My mother taught me that. Such a child has a will
of its own from the very start, and it won't do to give way to it. It won't
do to take it from the cradle, or to feed it, whenever it pleases; there
ought to be regular times for all those things. It'll soon get used to that,
and it won't harm it either, to let it cry once in a while. On the contrary,
that expands the chest."
"Does he cry?" asked the Queen.

The infant answered the question for itself, for it at once began to cry
most lustily.
"Take him and quiet him," begged the Queen.
The King entered the apartment before the child had stopped crying.
"He will have a good voice of command," said he, kissing the Queen's
hand.
Walpurga quieted the child, and she and Mademoiselle Kramer were
sent back to their apartments.
The King informed the Queen of the dispatches that had been received,
and of the sponsors who had been decided upon. She was perfectly
satisfied with the arrangements that had been made.
When Walpurga had returned to her room and had placed the child in
the cradle, she walked up and down and seemed quite agitated.
"There are no angels in this world!" said she. "They're all just like the
rest of us, and who knows but--" She was vexed at the Queen: "Why
won't she listen patiently when her child cries? We must take all our
children bring us, whether it be joy or pain."
She stepped out into the passage-way and heard the tones of the organ
in the palace-chapel. For the first time in her life these sounds
displeased her. "It don't belong in the house," thought she, "where all
sorts of things are going on. The church ought to stand by itself."
When she returned to the room, she found a stranger there.
Mademoiselle Kramer informed her that this was the tailor to the
Queen.
Walpurga laughed outright at the notion of a "tailor to the Queen." The
elegantly attired person looked at her in amazement, while
Mademoiselle Kramer explained to her that this was the dressmaker to
her Majesty the Queen, and that he had come to take her measure for

three new dresses.
"Am I to wear city clothes?"
"God forbid! You're to wear the dress of your neighborhood, and can
order a stomacher in red, blue, green, or any color that you like best."
"I hardly know what to say; but I'd like to have a workday suit too.
Sunday clothes on week-days--that won't do."
"At court one always wears Sunday clothes, and when her Majesty
drives out again you will have to accompany her."
"A11 right, then. I won't object."
While he took her measure, Walpurga laughed incessantly, and he was
at last obliged to ask her to hold still, so that he might go on with his
work. Putting his measure into his pocket, he informed Mademoiselle
Kramer that he had ordered an exact model, and that the master of
ceremonies had favored him with several drawings, so that there might
be no doubt of success.
Finally he asked permission to see the Crown Prince. Mademoiselle
Kramer was about to let him do so, but Walpurga objected.
"Before the child is christened," said she, "no one shall look at it just
out of curiosity, and least of all a tailor, or else the child will never turn
out the right sort of man."
The tailor took his leave, Mademoiselle Kramer having politely hinted
to him that nothing could be done with the superstition of the lower
orders, and that it would not do to irritate the nurse.
This occurrence induced Walpurga to administer the first serious
reprimand to Mademoiselle Kramer. She could not understand why she
was so willing to make an exhibition of the child. "Nothing does a child
more harm than to let strangers look at it in its sleep, and a tailor at
that."

All the wild fun with which, in popular songs, tailors are held up to
scorn and ridicule, found vent in Walpurga, and she began singing:--
"Just list, ye braves, who love to roam! A snail was chasing a tailor
home. And if Old Shears hadn't run so fast, The snail would surely
have caught him at last."
Mademoiselle Kramer's acquaintance with the court tailor had lowered
her in Walpurga's esteem; and with an