My Last
Duchess
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 as 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 an 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 pretense
Of mine
for 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”
is a dramatic monologue written by Victorian poet Robert Browning in 1842. In
the poem, the Duke of Ferrara uses a painting of his former wife as a
conversation piece. The Duke speaks about his former wife's perceived
inadequacies to a representative of the family of his bride-to-be, revealing
his obsession with controlling others in the process. Browning uses this
compelling psychological portrait of a despicable character to critique the
objectification of women and abuses of power.
“My Last Duchess” Summary
The speaker (the Duke of Ferrara) directs the attention of a
guest to a painting of his former wife, the Duchess of Ferrara, which hangs on
the wall. The Duke praises the painting for looking so lifelike and then
remarks on how hard the painter, Fra Pandolf, worked hard on it. The duke
asks the guest to sit and look at the work. The duke then explains that he
deliberately mentioned the name of the painter, because strangers like the
emissary always look at the duchess’s painted face—with its deep, passionate,
and earnest glance—and turn to the duke (and only the duke, since only he pulls
back the curtain that reveals the painting) and act as though they would
ask, if they dared, how an expression like that came into her face. The
duke reiterates that the guest isn’t the first person to ask this question.
The duke continues by saying that it wasn’t only his presence
that brought that look into the painted eyes of the duchess or the blush of
happiness into her painted cheek; he suggests that perhaps Fra Pandolf had
happened to compliment her by saying "her shawl drapes over her wrist too
much" or "paint could never recreate the faint half-blush that’s
fading on her throat." The duke insists that the former duchess
thought that polite comments like those were reason enough to blush, and
criticizes her, in a halting way, for being too easily made happy or
impressed. He also claims that she liked everything and everyone she saw,
although his description suggests that she was ogling everyone who crossed her
path. The duke objects that, to his former duchess, everything was the same and
made her equally happy, whether it was a brooch or present from him that
she wore at her chest, the sun setting in the West, a branch of cherries which
some interfering person snapped off a tree in the orchard for her, or the white
mule she rode on around the terrace. He claims that she would say the same
kind words or give the same blush in response to all of them. The duke
also objects to her manner of thanking men, although he struggles to describe
his concerns. Specifically, he complains that she values his pedigree and
social position (his 900-year-old name) as equally important to anyone else’s
gifts to her.
The duke rhetorically asks whether anyone would actually lower
themselves enough to argue with someone about their behavior. The duke
imagines a hypothetical situation in which he would confront the former
duchess: he says that even if he were good with words and were able to clearly
say, "This characteristic of yours disgusts me," or, "Here
you did too little or too much"—and if the former duchess had let herself
be degraded by changing, instead of being stubborn and making
excuses— that even then the act of confronting her would be beneath him,
and he refuses to ever lower himself like that.
The duke then returns to his earlier refrain about his former
wife’s indiscriminate happiness and complains to his guest that, while the
duchess did smile at him whenever they passed, she gave everyone else the same
smile as well. The duke explains that she began smiling at others even
more, so he gave orders and all her smiles stopped forever, presumably because
he had her killed. Now she only lives on in the painting.
The duke then asks the guest to stand up and to go with him to
meet the rest of the guests downstairs. He also says that the Count,
revealed here as the guest's master and the father of the duke's prospective
bride-to-be, is so known for his generosity in matters of money that no request
the duke could make for a dowry could be turned down. The duke also adds
quickly that he has always insisted since the beginning of their discussions
that the Count’s beautiful daughter, and not the dowry, is his primary objective.
The duke ends his speech by demanding that he and the Count's
emissary go downstairs together, and on their way, he directs the emissary’s
attention to a statue of the God Neptune taming a seahorse, which is a rare
work of art that Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze specifically for him.
“My Last Duchess” Themes
The Objectification of Women
“My Last Duchess” is a dramatic monologue in which the Duke of
Ferrara tells the messenger of his potential wife’s family about his previous
wife, the “last” duchess of the poem's title. Using a painting of that former
duchess as a conversation piece, he describes what he saw as her
unfaithfulness, frivolity, and stubbornness, and implies that he prefers her as
a painting rather than as a living woman. Throughout the poem,
the duke reveals his belief that women are objects to be controlled, possessed,
and discarded. In many ways, this reflects the thinking of Browning’s own era,
when Victorian social norms denied women the right to be fully independent
human beings. Through this portrayal of the duke, Browning critiques such a
viewpoint, presenting sexism and objectification as dehumanizing processes that
rob women of their full humanity.
The duke’s treatment of the painting reflects his treatment of
women as objects to be owned. His description of the painting as a “piece” and
a “wonder” portray it as a work of art rather than a testament to a former
love. By repeating the name of the painter (the famous “Fra Pandolf) three
times in the first 16 lines of the poem, he again implies that he values the
painting because of its status as an object that shows off his (that is, the
duke's) wealth and clout. The painting is meant to aggrandize the duke rather
than honor the woman it portrays.
This is made even clearer by the fact that the duke has placed
this painting in a public area of his palace so he can proudly display it to
guests, whom he invites to “sit and look at her” much like a museum curator
would direct visitors to a famous work of art in a gallery. Such an attitude is
reflected yet again when he tells the messenger that the Count’s “fair
daughter’s self [… is his] object”: he intends to make his new bride another
one of his possessions. Women, in the duke’s mind, are simply ornamental
objects for men rather than actual people in their own right.
The poem thus implies that the duke finds his former wife’s
actions unforgivable because they reflected her status as an independent person
rather than an inanimate possession. Her crimes appear to be not sexual or
romantic infidelity, but rather being happy (“too soon made glad,”),
appreciative of others (she considered the duke’s “gift of a
nine-hundred-years-old name / With anybody’s gift”), self-confident (she
wouldn’t “let / Herself be lessoned”), and willing to stand up for herself (she
“plainly set / Her wits to [his]”). The duke, however, appears to believe that
a husband owns his wife, and therefore has the right to dictate her feelings
and to be the sole recipient of her happiness, kindness, and respect; any
indication that she has thoughts or feelings of her own are unacceptable.
Ultimately, the poem heavily implies that the duke was so vexed
by the idea that his former wife had an inner life of her own that he had the
"last duchess" killed. Of course, the duke avoids explicitly
confessing to assassinating his wife, and Browning himself allegedly once said
in an interview that the duke may have simply had her sent to a convent.
Regardless, the outcome is the same: there is no “last duchess” present in the
poem to speak for herself and give her side of the story. The poem thus underscores
how objectifying women ultimately silences them, robbing them of their voices
and autonomy.
Social Status, Art, and Elitism
Though the poem doesn't outright condemn the duke, it does
suggest that he's a brutish figure whose social status is in no way a
reflection of any sort of moral worth. The duke repeatedly draws his guest's
attention to his wealth and power, and issues veiled threats about what happens
to those who don’t put a high enough price on his social standing. Through the
duke, the poem takes a subtle jab at the snobbery of the upper class,
suggesting the shallowness of an elitist society that bestows respect based on
things like having a good family name or owning fancy artwork. Instead, the
poem reveals the various ways in which powerful men like the duke may use such
markers of status simply to manipulate—and dominate—those around them.
The duke repeatedly reminds the messenger of the power in his
title. He does this in part by mentioning the famous artists (Fra Pandolf and
Claus of Innsbruck) who created works especially for him, but also by
mentioning his “nine-hundred-years-old name.” The duke then moves quickly from
intimidation to intimated threats when he hints that he had his former wife
killed for not valuing his status sufficiently: he objects that she
“ranked" his "nine-hundred-years-old name / With anybody’s gift” and
so he “gave commands” that "stopped" her "smiles."
Since the duke and his potential father-in-law, the Count, are
about to sit down to discuss the fiancée’s dowry, they will put a price on
exactly how much his name is worth. Consequently, the duke’s claim that the
Count’s generosity is “ample warrant”—that the Count will give him a
substantial amount of money for the daughter’s dowry—can actually be read as a
veiled threat: the duke implies that, if the in-laws want their daughter to
live, they will value his name and pay him a large sum.
Immediately before beginning negotiations with the prospective
in-laws, the duke also tells the emissary to admire a statue of Neptune “taming
a sea-horse,” made by a famous sculptor. The duke emphasis the statue's
aesthetic merit as a means of imbuing himself with more importance: the statue
is a "rarity" and was created just for him.
This moment has nothing to do with the duke emphasizing his
refined tastes and his appreciation of art. Instead, again, it serves as a
warning: Neptune was the Roman god of the sea, and the statue depicts this god
forcefully subduing a creature who challenged him. By drawing the emissary’s
attention to this statue before the negotiation, the duke implies that he
himself is a godlike figure like Neptune, who will tame the emissary and the
Count just as he did the former duchess. The trappings of upper-class status
are again mainly a means for the duke to bully people.
The duke's seemingly refined manner and opulent surroundings are
thus no indication that he's any better than those with lesser means—or that
he's even a decent person at all. Through this depiction, the poem offers a
subtle rebuke of elitism and the upper class. To men like the duke, beauty is
not something to be valued and appreciated; instead, it is only something to
dominate.
Control and Manipulation
Closely tied to the duke's repeated emphasis on his social
status and his objectification of women is his clear desire for control. By
treating women as objects to be possessed, the duke can more readily dominate
them; similarly, by drawing attention to his title and social clout, the duke
can intimidate others into following his commands. Yet the poem also draws
attention to quieter forms of control, as the duke dictates everything from the
flow of conversation with his guest to the choreography of the scene itself.
Through these forms of asserting dominance, the poem suggests the power—and
danger—of such inconspicuous manipulation, which is made all the more insidious
by its subtly.
The duke uses his social status—indicated by his ancient name
and opulent artwork—to intimidate and threaten his guest. More discreetly,
however, Browning also shows the duke controlling the conversation via its
physical setting. The duke has staged the area with the duchess’s painting: the
painting is behind a curtain so he can limit who can view it, thereby reminding
his audience that he can give and take away whatever he wants. He has also
placed a seat in front of the painting so he can command visitors to sit while
he tells the story of his former wife, a power dynamic that literally elevates
him above anyone else in the room.
The duke likewise controls the flow of the conversation. He
never gives the messenger a chance to speak, and once goes so far as to pretend
that the messenger has asked a question (“not the first / Are you to turn and
ask thus”) even though the messenger himself remains silent. This action gives
the messenger the illusion of being an active participant in the conversation
without having any actual agency in it whatsoever.
Most intriguingly, there is nothing improvisatory about the
duke’s words, even when he trips over them. He comments that “strangers” who
have seen the painting have asked him about the former duchess’s expression,
and that the messenger is “not the first” to inquire. The duke’s insistence
that others have asked about the duchess’s expression suggests that he has
given this spiel about his wife’s supposedly inappropriate behavior to others.
It is hard to believe, therefore that his interjections about his inarticulateness
(“how shall I say?” or “somehow—I know not how”) are genuine hesitations: if he
has given this speech before, then presumably he knows what to say and how. In
other words, his actions contradict his stated lack of expertise. The
improvised nature of the duke’s speech, then, with its self-interruptions and
hesitations, might all be an act. He is so committed to controlling others that
he seemingly rehearses even his moments of self-deprecation and seeming
uncertainty. He says he doesn't have any "skill in speech"—meaning
he's not a good talker—but this clearly isn't the case.
By having the duke deliver the dramatic monologue to the
emissary, addressed throughout the poem as “you,” Browning forces his readers
to experience the duke’s manipulation to better understand how abuse of power
operates. This form of address can encourage readers to imagine how they
themselves would respond in such a situation: would they notice the
manipulation and feel resentful, or would it slip past as they found themselves
convinced by the duke’s subtle coercion?
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