She is so little — in her hands a rose:
A stern duenna watches where she goes,
What sees Old Spain's Infanta — the clear shine
Of waters shadowed by the birch and pine.
What lies before? A swan with silver wing,
The wave that murmurs to the branch's swing,
Or the deep garden flowering below?
Fair as an angel frozen into snow,
The royal child looks on, and hardly seems to know.
As in a depth of glory far away,
Down in the green park, a lofty palace lay,
There, drank the deer from many a crystal pond,
And the starred peacock gemmed the shade beyond.
Around that child all nature shone more bright;
Her innocence was as an added light.
Rubies and diamonds strewed the grass she trode,
And jets of sapphire from the dolphins flowed.
Still at the water's side she holds her place,
Her bodice bright is set with Genoa lace;
O'er her rich robe, through every satin fold,
Wanders an arabesque in threads of gold.
From its green urn the rose unfolding grand,
Weighs down the exquisite smallness of her hand.
And when the child bends to the red leafs tip,
Her laughing nostril, and her carmine lip,
The royal flower purpureal, kissing there,
Hides more than half that young face bright and fair,
So that the eye deceived can scarcely speak
Where shows the rose, or where the rose-red cheek.
Her eyes look bluer from their dark brown frame:
Sweet eyes, sweet form, and Mary's sweeter name.
All joy, enchantment, perfume, waits she there,
Heaven in her glance, her very name a prayer.
Yet 'neath the sky, and before life and fate,
Poor child, she feels herself so vaguely great.
With stately grace she gives her presence high
To dawn, to spring, to shadows flitting by,
To the dark sunset glories of the heaven,
And all the wild magnificence of even;
On nature waits, eternal and serene,
With all the graveness of a little queen.
She never sees a man but on his knee,
She Duchess of Brabant one day will be,
Or rule Sardinia, or the Flemish crowd
She is the Infanta, five years old, and proud.
Thus is it with kings' children, for they wear
A shadowy circlet on their forehead fair;
Their tottering steps are towards a kingly chair.
Calmly she waits, and breathes her gathered flower
Till one shall cull for her imperial power.
Already her eye saith, "It is my right;"
Even love flows from her, mingled with affright.
If some one seeing her so fragile stand,
Were it to save her, should put forth his hand,
Ere he had made a step, or breathed a vow,
The scaffold's shadow were upon his brow.
While the child laughs, beyond the bastion thick
Of that vast palace, Roman Catholic,
Whose every turret like a mitre shows,
Behind the lattice something dreadful goes.
Men shake to see a shadow from beneath
Passing from pane to pane, like vapory wreath,
Pale, black, and still it glides from room to room;
In the same spot, like ghost upon a tomb;
Or glues its dark brown to the casement wan,
Dim shade that lengthens as the night draws on.
Its step funereal lingers like the swing
Of passing bell — 'tis death, or else the king.
'Tis he, the man by whom men live and die;
But could one look beyond that phantom eye,
As by the wall he leans a little space,
And see what shadows fill his soul's dark place,
Not the fair child, the waters clear, the flowers
Golden with sunset — not the birds, the bowers —
No; 'neath that eye, those fatal brows that keep
The fathomless brain, like ocean, dark and deep,
There, as in moving mirage, should one find
A fleet of ships that go before the wind:
On the foamed wave, and 'neath the starlight pale,
The strain and rattle of a fleet in sail,
And through the fog an isle on her white rock
Hearkening from far the thunder's coming shock.
Still by the water's edge doth silent stand
The Infanta with the rose-flower in her hand,
Caresses it with eyes as blue as heaven;
Sudden a breeze, such breeze as panting even
From her full heart flings out to field and brake,
Ruffles the waters, bids the rushes shake,
And makes through all their green recesses swell
The massive myrtle and the asphodel.
To the fair child it comes, and tears away
On its strong wing the rose-flower from the spray.
On the wild waters casts it bruised and torn,
And the Infanta only holds a thorn.
Frightened, perplexed, she follows with her eyes
Into the basin where her ruin lies,
Looks up to heaven, and questions of the breeze
That had not feared her highness to displease;
But all the pond is changed; anon so clear,
Now back it swells, as though with rage and fear;
A mimic sea its small waves rise and fall,
And the poor rose is broken by them all.
Its hundred leaves tossed wildly round and round
Beneath a thousand waves are whelmed and drowned;
It was a foundering fleet you might have said;
And the duenna with her face of shade, —
"Madam," for she had marked her ruffled mind,
"All things belong to princes — but God's wind."
Poem Analysis:
"A Queen Five Summers Old" by Victor Hugo is a poignant poem that captures the innocence, pride, and vulnerability of a young royal child against the backdrop of power, fate, and mortality.
Imagery of Innocence and Majesty: The poem opens with vivid imagery that contrasts the innocence of childhood with the majesty of royalty. The young queen, only five years old, is depicted in regal attire, surrounded by the splendor of nature and palace gardens.
Symbolism of the Rose: The rose symbolizes the delicate beauty and fragility of the child queen. As she holds the rose in her hand, she embodies purity and innocence amidst the complexities of royal life. However, when the rose is torn away by the breeze and cast into the waters, it symbolizes the loss of innocence and the harsh realities of fate.
Themes of Power and Vulnerability: The poem explores the tension between power and vulnerability, highlighting the paradox of royal privilege and the constraints of destiny. Despite her royal status, the young queen is portrayed as fragile and uncertain, grappling with the weight of expectations and the unpredictability of life.
Contrast of Light and Shadow: Throughout the poem, there is a juxtaposition of light and shadow, innocence and foreboding. While the child queen basks in the light of her surroundings, there is an underlying sense of darkness and mystery, represented by the ominous presence lurking behind the palace walls.
Commentary on Mortality and Fate: The poem subtly reflects on themes of mortality and fate, suggesting that even the highest of royal figures are subject to the whims of destiny. The shadowy figure alludes to the specter of death and the inevitability of fate, reminding the reader of the transient nature of power and life itself.
Irony and Critique of Authority: Amidst the grandeur of the royal court, there is a hint of irony and critique directed towards the notion of authority and divine right. Despite her lofty status, the young queen is ultimately powerless in the face of nature's forces, underscoring the limitations of human sovereignty.
In conclusion, "A Queen Five Summers Old" is a nuanced and evocative poem that delves into the complexities of childhood, power, and mortality. Through rich imagery and subtle symbolism, Victor Hugo crafts a thought-provoking exploration of innocence, pride, and the transient nature of royal privilege.
