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My Last Duchess
by Robert Browning
That's my last
Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if
she were alive. I call
That piece a
wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands
Worked busily
a day, and there she stands.
WiII't please
you sit and look at her? I said
"Frà
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
Frà
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 brush, 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 pretence
Of mine for
dowry will be disallowed;
Though his
fair daughter's serf, as l avowed
At starting,
is my object. Nay, we'lI go
Together down,
sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a
sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of
Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!
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Notes
1. The poem is
based on an incidents in the life of Alfonso II, Duke of Ferrara in
Italy, whose first wife, Lucrezia, died in 1561 after three years of
marriage. Following her death, the Duke negotiated through an agent
to marry a niece of the Count of Tyrol. Browning represents the Duke
as addressing this agent.
2. Brother
Pandolf, an imaginary painter |
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