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
O'er 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 favor 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!

Robert Browning (1812-1889)

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How Not to Woo a Wife: A Reading of Browning's "My Last Duchess"

In Browning's "My Last Duchess" the reader is allowed to "overhear" an imaginary conversation between the Duke of Ferrara and the representative of a Count. This spokesman for the Count has come to the Duke's most impressive and richly decorated castle to negotiate a marriage contract between the Duke and the Count's daughter. By the end of the conversation, however, the reader has learned so much about the arrogance, the greed and the cruelty of the Duke that one must realize that no sane person would allow his daughter to marry the Duke. Indeed, almost every word the Duke says shows that he is more fitted to be a mass murderer than a husband. Furthermore, the Duke is completely unaware of how he appears to other people.

Midway through the poem it becomes clear that Duke is excessively arrogant. Listen, for example, as the Duke objects to his late wife's apparent failure to appreciate the great favor he has done her by allowing her to marry him. After all, he seems to be saying, "marrying me allows you to use my family's ancient name":

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.

A little further along the Duke explains that he refused to lower himself by explaining to his "last" duchess exactly what it was she did that "disgust[ed]" him. To explain himself, he says, would involve "some stooping; and I choose never to stoop." Actually the Duke's arrogance is so great that he is jealous of anyone his wife deals with. For example, he calls someone who broke off a branch of cherries for the Duchess "an officious fool." Surely such arrogance will turn off the Count's representative as much as it turns the reader off.

Another unattractive characteristic that the Duke inadvertently reveals in his speech is his greed and materialism. Consider first of all the way the Duke uses "name-dropping" to impress his guest. Three different times he mentions Fra Pandolf. (Of course, Fra Pandolf is a fictional painter invented by Browning, but the point is made nevertheless: "You should be so impressed by me because I can afford to have a famous painter like Fra Pandolf paint a portrait of my wife." Indeed, it appears that his late Duchess is of more value to him as an expensive work of art than she ever was as a wife.) When the duke mentions Claus of Innsbruck and the fancy and unusual statue of Neptune near the end of the poem, Browning is making the same point again: the Duke is more impressed by things than he is by people. What really seals the impression that he is a thorough-going materialist, however, is the last comment he makes about the bargaining for the marriage contract:

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.

In that speech he is making sure that the Count's representative clearly understands that the Duke will expect a very large and generous dowry in order for him to accept the Count's daughter as his new wife. Such materialism from a man so obviously wealthy already would strike anyone as naked greed. Surely when he reports on his visit with the Duke, the Count's representative will inform his master that the Duke is more interested in the dowry than he is in the daughter.

However, the arrogance and greed that the Duke so carelessly reveals are not the worst of the his characteristics. The Duke's cold-blooded cruelty almost takes our breath away. He reveals that his wife offended him by her warm personality and her enjoyment of life's simple pleasures:

Sir, 'twas all one! My favor 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.

One is shocked to hear the Duke say that his late Duchess kept on behaving in such a manner. Those of us prone to irony might put it this way: "What was wrong with the woman? Didn't she understand that being nice was a capital crime? Didn't she understand that enjoying the sunset or riding her white mule were serious crimes against her husband's dignity?" The Duke answered these questions by silencing his little wife permanently: "I gave commands; then all smiles stopped together." Could the Count's representative (or the reader) fail to notice this open admission of having ordered his wife's death? If the reader can see how deeply flawed the Duke is, the Count's man must also be able to see that the Duke falls far short of being an acceptable husband.

In the end it turns out that the main interest in the poem is the revelation of the Duke's arrogance, materialism and cruelty. The reader finishes the poem with the feeling that the Duke of Ferrara is so blinded by his arrogance that he is very unlikely to succeed in his wooing. In short, if the reader desires a lesson in how not woo a wife, the Duke is the perfect fellow to teach it.