But, remembering the words of their new
empress, "Spare his sleep," no one dared to touch the child, or awaken
him from his slumber.
In close order the bearded warriors pressed around the cradle of the
imperial child, leaning upon their halberds, watching for his awaking.
It was a rare and admirable picture. In the centre, upon its estrade,
was the splendid cradle of the slumbering child, and all around, upon
the steps of this child-throne, these soldiers with their wild and
threatening faces, all eyes expectantly resting upon the smiling
infantile brow.
The door now opened, and, her face pallid with terror, Ivan's nurse
rushed into the room and to the cradle of her imperial nursling. The
soldiers, with imperious glances, beckoned her to await in silence, like
themselves, the awakening of the emperor. The poor woman spoke not, but
her fast-flowing tears indicated the depth of her grief.
Time passes. As if under enchantment, earnest, immovable, silent, stand
the soldiers. Behind the cradle, her eyes and arms raised imploringly
toward heaven, stands the nurse, while the child continues to slumber,
smiling in its sleep.
At the expiration of an hour thus passed, the imperial infant moves,
throws up its little rosy arms, opens its eyes--it is awake!
A cry of triumph escapes the lips of all the soldiers--all arms were
stretched forth to seize him who, an hour before, had been their lord
and emperor.
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