Robert Browning (1812—1889) was an English poet of the Victorian era. Browning’s early life as a writer was not hugely successful, but he gradually rose in prominence to emerge as one of the most celebrated literary figures of his time. Although first and foremost a poet, his body of work includes plays, books, and a novel in verse: The Ring and the Book (1868-1869), a “psycho-historical epic” considered one of his best works ever (“Robert Browning.” Poetry Foundation).

“My Last Duchess” is one of Browning’s earlier poems. First published in 1842 carrying the title “Italy,” it appeared in Dramatic Lyrics, the third in a series of self-published books called Bells and Pomegranates (1841-1846). The poem is a dramatic monologue, a genre perfected by Browning and for which he remains most lauded. It sees the speaker—widely presumed to be Alfonso Il d’Este, the fifth Duke of Ferrara—talking about his late wife while showing an unseen visitor her portrait. The poem draws a psychological portrait of the speaker through his monologue and touches on interrelated themes of jealousy, power, control, status, and hierarchy. “My Last Duchess” is composed of 28 rhyming couplets in iambic pentameter. It, along with "Porphyria’s Lover,” which appears in the same collection, remains one of Browning’s most anthologized poems.

Poet Biography

Robert Browning (1812—1889) was one of the most prominent English poets of the Victorian era. He was born in London on May 7, 1812. Browning’s mother was an accomplished pianist and devout evangelical Christian, and his father was a bank clerk. Despite his profession, Browning’s father was an artist and a scholarly man with a large collection of books and pictures. Thus, despite Browning receiving only a minimal formal education, his father gave him a solid grounding in Greek and Latin.

Browning lived with his parents in London until 1846 during which time he wrote most of his plays and his early poetry. His first published work, a poem titled Pauline: A Fragment of a Confession (1833), was published anonymously. It received a scathing review from John Stuart Mill, who criticized the work for the presence of the poet’s “intense and morbid self-consciousness.” This led Browning to adopt a more objective voice in his later poetry and avoid confessing his own emotions in his poems.

Although Browning’s next poem, Paracelsus (1835), was well-received, the succeeding piece, Sordello (1840), was not. Following this, Browning focused on writing verse drama, having already penned Strafford (1837) in this genre. He was further encouraged in this endeavor through his friendship with the actor Charles Macready. Over the next half decade Browning wrote and self-published a series of pamphlets titled Bells and Pomegranates (1841-1846). This series included seven plays in verse and a number of dramatic monologues, including “My Last Duchess” (1842) and “Porphyria’s Lover” (1842). Despite the volume of plays written in this time, Browning did not see much success in theatre, although his dramatic monologues were very well-received. Browning recognized that his strength lay in depicting “Action in Character, rather than Character in Action.”

Browning met and fell in love with fellow writer Elizabeth Barrett in 1845, and they were married the following year, after which the couple moved to Italy. They were married for 15 years until Barrett’s death in 1961. During this time Browning wrote comparatively little poetry. He produced only one collection of poems, Men and Women (1855), which included dramatic lyrics such as “Memorabilia,” and monologues such as “Fra Lippo Lippi.” However, the collection as a whole did not sell much and received generally unfavorable reviews.

Following his wife's passing, Browning and their son moved back to England; a few years later, he wrote and published Dramatis Personae (1864). This collection earned Browning substantial recognition. The work that firmly established him as one of the most important literary figures of the day, however, was published even later—an epic novel in verse titled The Ring and the Book (1868-1869) based on the proceedings of a murder trial that took place in Rome in 1698.

Browning penned a number of long narrative and dramatic poems dealing with contemporary themes, such as Fifine at the Fair (1872) and Red Cotton Night-Cap Country (1873), in his later years. He also wrote poems on classical subjects, such as Aristophanes’ Apology (1875). In addition, he published two books toward the end of his life: La Saisiaz (1878), a philosophical elegy for his late friend Anne Egerton-Smith, and Parleyings with Certain People of Importance in Their Day (1887), in which he discusses books and ideas that influenced his art and writing. Browning’s last work was a volume of poems titled Asolando that came out in 1889; he passed away in Venice that same year and lies buried in Westminster Abbey.

Poem Text

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 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!

Browning, Robert. “My Last Duchess.” Poetry Foundation.

Summary

The poem is preceded by the subtitle “Ferrara”; it then begins with the speaker pointing out the portrait of his late wife, the “last Duchess” (Line 1), and remarking on how she looks “as if she were alive” (Line 2). He goes on to call the portrait a “wonder” (Line 3), explaining that it was painted by an artist by the name of “Fra Pandolf” (Line 3). The speaker then invites someone to sit and look at the painting (Line 5), revealing that he mentioned Fra Pandolf’s name deliberately (Line 6). He has done the same in the past to others who have seen the painting, something which is only done in his presence; they have all, in turn, observed the “depth and passion” (Line 8) of the duchess’s expression and seemed to wonder what inspired it (Lines 6-12). Thus, the speaker reassures his companion, they are not the first to have such a question (Lines 12-13).

The speaker explains that it was not only her husband’s presence that brought such a blush to the duchess’s cheek (Lines 13-15). It may have even been caused by simple remarks by the painter: a request for the duchess to shift her mantle and expose more of her wrist (Lines 16-17), or an innocuous compliment about how the painting would fail to capture the beauty of her coloring accurately (Lines 17-19). Even though the duchess understood these comments to be born of courtesy, she would still blush at them (Lines 19-21).

The speaker reflects that the duchess was someone who was easily pleased and impressed by things; she liked a great number of things equally and without discretion (Lines 21-24). Expressions of love from her husband, a beautiful sunset, a gift of cherries from the orchard brought to her by a visitor, and riding around the terrace on her mule were all met with the same words of approval or pleased blush (Lines 25-31).

While the speaker understands the duchess’s need to thank men, he wonders at how she was able to thank them all the same, as if she valued him and what he brought to her—the “gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name” (Line 33)—the same as anybody else’s gift (Lines 31-34). The speaker rhetorically asks who would have “stoop(ed)” to address such a situation (Lines 34-35). Even if he himself were capable of clear communication (a skill he claims not to possess) as to point out exactly what his wife ought to change, and even if she had been amenable to his suggestions and apologetic about her mistakes, such a conversation would have been beneath him (Lines 35-43). She smiled for him, of course, but she smiled the same smile for everyone else; this behavior continued until the speaker issued some commands, upon which all smiles ceased entirely (Lines 43-46).

Once again, the speaker remarks on how alive the duchess looks in her portrait (Lines 46-47) then asks his companion to rise and proceed to meet the company waiting below (Lines 47-48). The speaker tells his companion that the latter’s master, the count, is known to be a generous man, which the speaker takes as assurance that he will receive an appropriate dowry (Lines 48-51). However, the speaker reiterates that the hand of the count’s beautiful daughter is what is important to him (Lines 52-53). The speaker guides his companion downstairs, drawing the latter’s attention on the way to yet another piece of art: a rare statue of Neptune taming a sea-horse cast in bronze by Claus of Innsbruck (Lines 53-56).