My Last Duchess - Robert Browning

My Last Duchess – Robert Browning

Ferrara

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,

Looking as if she were alive.   I call

That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf’s hands

Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Will’t please you sit and look at her?    I said

“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read

Strangers like you that pictured countenance,

The depth and passion of its earnest glance,

But to myself they turned (since none puts by

The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)

And seemed they would ask me, if they durst,

How such a glance came there; so not the first

Are you to turn and ask thus.    Sir, ’twas not

Her husband’s presence only, called that spot

Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek: perhaps

Fra Pandolf chanced to say “her mantle laps

Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or Paint

Must never hope to reproduce the faint

Half-flush that dies along her throat”: Such stuff

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough

For calling up that spot of joy.     She had

A heart – how shall I say? – too soon made glad,

Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,

The dropping of the daylight in the West,

The bough of cherries some officious fool

Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule

She rode with round the terrace – all and each

Would draw from her alike the approving speech,

Or blush, at least. She thanked men – good! But thanked

Somehow – I know not how – as if she ranked

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name

With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame

This sort of trifling? Even had you skill

In speech – (Which I have not) – to make your will

Quite clear to such a one, and say, “Just this

Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,

Or there exceed the mark” – and if she let

Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set

her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse

--E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose

Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt

Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without

Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands

As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet

the company below, then. I repeat

The Count your master’s known munificence

Is ample warrant that no just pretence

Of mine dowry will be disallowed

Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed

At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go

Together down, Sir. Notice Neptune, though,

Taming a sea horse, thought a rarity,

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

My Last Duchess (Summary)

The duke of Ferrara, a powerful, and hard-hearted Italian Duke of the 16^th century, has been widowed recently, He intends to marry a second time. The messenger of the powerful count, who has his estate in the neighborhood, comes to the Duke’s palace to negotiate with him the marriage of the Count’s daughter. The Duke takes him round his picture-gallery and shows to him the portrait of his last Duchess. The portrait is life-like and realistic, and the Duke, who is a great lover of the fine arts, is justly proud of it.

The Duke points out the portrait to the messenger and tells him that he alone uncovers the picture and nobody else is allowed to do so. At this point, the Duke notices an inquiring look in the eyes of the messenger and at once understands that he wants to know the cause of the deep, passionate look in the eyes of the Duchess, and proceeds to satisfy his curiosity.

In response to the inquiring look of the messenger, the Duke tells him that the deep passion in the eyes of the Duchess does not result from any sex-intrigue of guilty of love. He did not give her any occasion to be unfaithful to him. Even the portrait on the wall was done not by an ordinary artist, but by a monk, and he was allowed only one day to it. He did not allow the Monk any longer time, for he did not want to provide them any occasion for intimacy. This shows that the Duke is a jealous tyrant and the poor Duchess could not have enjoyed any freedom of movement as the wife of such a man.

Continuing further with his explanation, the Duke tells the envoy that his last Duchess had very childish and foolish nature. She was pleased with trifles, would thank others for even the slightest service they happened to render to her, and had no sense of dignity and decorum. For example, the faint blush of joy on her cheek and neck was not caused by the presence of her husband alone. If the painter happened to mention that her cloak covered her wrist too much, or that paint could never hope to capture the light pink glow on her throat, she would take such chance remarks as compliments and blush with pleasure. She had a childish heart, and was pleased too easily by such trifles as the gift of a branch laden with cherries, the beautiful sunset, or the mule presented to her by someone for her rides round the terrace. She would blush with pleasure at such trifles, just as much as she would at some costly ornament presented by him. She was the wife of a Duke who belonged to an ancient family, nine hundred years old. But she considered even this gift of his at par with the trifling services rendered to her by others.

As a matter of fact, she had no discrimination, and no sense of dignity and decorum. She smiled at everybody without any distinction; she thanked everybody in the same way. He expected better sense from his wife. He did not correct her, for even to notice such frivolity would have meant loss of dignity, and he did not like to suffer this loss. Besides, she would have argued and discussed with him, instead of listening to his advice. Her habit of smiling continued to grow will it became intolerable to him. At last he gave orders, and, “Then all smiles stopped together”. Te line has been left intentionally enigmatic; we cannot say certain how the smiling stopped. But, most probably, the poor, innocent Duchess was murdered at the command of her brutal and stony-hearted husband.

The duke then asks the messenger to come down, where the other guests of his are waiting. In passing, he tells the messenger that he would expect a rich dowry from his master, the Count, though, of course, he adds very cleverly, his primary concern is the daughter, and not the dowry. The duke is not only hard-hearted, proud and tyrannical, but also greedy and cunning. He is a hypocrite of the first water. The only good point about him is his love of art. As they go down the stairs, he asks the messenger to have a good look at the bronze statue of Neptune, the sea-god. In this statue, the god is shown riding and controlling a sea horse. It was done specially for him by the great sculptor, Claus of Innsbruck. It is the name of an imaginary artist invented to impress the messenger; just as earlier he invented the name of the painter, Fra Pandolf

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