My Last Duchess’ Robert Browning (1812-1889)
Possessive: Had other Duchesses before and will have more.
That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
• Fra Pandolf repetition: Famous
That piece a wonder, now; Frà Pandolf’s hands
artist – show off wealth.
Worked busily a day, and there she stands. • Portrait looks alive but she’s dead:
Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said His control over her.
‘Frà Pandolf’ by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance, Duke’s address to the
guest/ count: Show off his
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
ex-wife.
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) • Arrogance: Only he has
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, the power to see her/
How such a glance came there; so, not the first allow others to see her.
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not • Continuous need to
control her.
Her husband’s presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps • She blushes easily: Easily
Frà Pandolf chanced to say, ‘Her mantle laps flattered.
Over my lady’s wrist too much,’ or ‘Paint • Judged her to be pathetic.
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 She treated everyone with kindness
A heart…how shall I say?... too soon made glad, and gratitude, He criticises her for
Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er not treating him as better/ above
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. other men: He felt inadequate.
Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West, Things she can’t differentiate
The bough of cherries some officious fool between: Simple acts of kindness vs.
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule his family legacy.
She rode with round the terrace—all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech, He always gelt appeased by her;
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
He chooses to not confront her because she
In speech—(which I have not)—to make your will was below him. He did not want to lower
Quite clear to such an one, and say, ‘Just this his standards by trying to negotiate.
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark’—and if she let Did not actively assert his authority.
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set Speech within a speech
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, —
E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Tone: Satisfaction – ironic because only time
Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt, he feels happy about her is in her death.
Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without
Only thing left of her is the portrait.
Ambiguity of what he did to her: Kill her send
or to the nunnery?
Possessive: Had other Duchesses before and will have more.
That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
• Fra Pandolf repetition: Famous
That piece a wonder, now; Frà Pandolf’s hands
artist – show off wealth.
Worked busily a day, and there she stands. • Portrait looks alive but she’s dead:
Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said His control over her.
‘Frà Pandolf’ by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance, Duke’s address to the
guest/ count: Show off his
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
ex-wife.
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) • Arrogance: Only he has
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, the power to see her/
How such a glance came there; so, not the first allow others to see her.
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not • Continuous need to
control her.
Her husband’s presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps • She blushes easily: Easily
Frà Pandolf chanced to say, ‘Her mantle laps flattered.
Over my lady’s wrist too much,’ or ‘Paint • Judged her to be pathetic.
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 She treated everyone with kindness
A heart…how shall I say?... too soon made glad, and gratitude, He criticises her for
Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er not treating him as better/ above
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. other men: He felt inadequate.
Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West, Things she can’t differentiate
The bough of cherries some officious fool between: Simple acts of kindness vs.
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule his family legacy.
She rode with round the terrace—all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech, He always gelt appeased by her;
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
He chooses to not confront her because she
In speech—(which I have not)—to make your will was below him. He did not want to lower
Quite clear to such an one, and say, ‘Just this his standards by trying to negotiate.
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark’—and if she let Did not actively assert his authority.
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set Speech within a speech
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, —
E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Tone: Satisfaction – ironic because only time
Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt, he feels happy about her is in her death.
Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without
Only thing left of her is the portrait.
Ambiguity of what he did to her: Kill her send
or to the nunnery?
