FERRARA
1That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
2Looking as if she were alive. I call
3That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands
4Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
5Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said
6“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read
7Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
8The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
9But to myself they turned (since none puts by
10The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
11And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
12How such a glance came there; so, not the first
13Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not
14Her husband’s presence only, called that spot
15Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps
16Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps
17Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint
18Must never hope to reproduce the faint
19Half-flush that dies along her throat.” Such stuff
20Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
21For calling up that spot of joy. She had
22A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad,
23Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er
24She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
25Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,
26The dropping of the daylight in the West,
27The bough of cherries some officious fool
28Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
29She rode with round the terrace—all and each
30Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
31Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thanked
32Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked
33My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
34With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame
35This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
36In speech—which I have not—to make your will
37Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this
38Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
39Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let
40Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
41Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse—
42E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose
43Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,
44Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without
45Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
46Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
47As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet
48The company below, then. I repeat,
49The Count your master’s known munificence
50Is ample warrant that no just pretense
51Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
52Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed
53At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go
54Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
55Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
56Which 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.
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” 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.
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.
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?
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?
From the poem's opening line, Browning shows the duke of Ferrara’s obsession with possessing and objectifying women. The duke is describing a painting of his former wife rather than the woman herself, but he still describes the painting itself as “my last Duchess,” thereby eroding the differences between the art and the woman who inspired it. Both are essentially the same in the duke's mind, or at least he'd prefer it if this were so.
The duke personifies the painting throughout this passage, both by saying “there she stands,” as though the duchess herself and not her image in the painting is standing against the wall, and “will’t please you sit and look at her,” instead of asking the messenger to look at “it” or “the painting.” This again suggests that he views the woman and the work of art as one and the same.
The duke also makes it clear that he cares for the status the painting can give him and not for the nostalgia or memories about his former wife. He remarks on the artistry of the painting in seeming so lifelike (“looking as if she were alive”), rather than on missing her, since the woman herself as we will soon find out, has died. Likewise, he describes the artwork as “a piece” and “a wonder,” and brags about how “busily” the famous Fra Pandolf worked to paint it, in a move calculated to impress the emissary with the quality of his art collection and therefore his wealth. It’s also worth noting that, although the duke focuses on Fra Pandolf’s hands, there’s no mention of his former wife’s hands—or, in fact, of any part of her body in this section, an absence that suggests the duke’s interest in the painting’s monetary rather than sentimental worth.
These lines also reveal the duke’s subtle control of conversations and physical spaces. The duke is clearly guiding the emissary through his estate and art collection like a tour guide, telling him what to admire, what to think about it, and even when to sit. By having the emissary sitting while he stands, the duke literally elevates himself above his guest and shows him the power hierarchy that he tries to preserve in all his interactions with others.
The poem’s opening also shows that Browning is controlling the meter and rhyme scheme of the poem as carefully as the duke controls the conversation and the space: when read aloud, the poem sounds almost conversational in tone, and people are often surprised to realize it consists of iambic pentameter rhyming couplets. The many enjambed lines (such as lines 2 and 3: “I call / That piece a wonder, now”) make sentences extend well beyond the confines of the lines and the frequent caesuras introduce natural pauses into the middle of lines (as with “Looking as if she were alive.” in line 2). By having so many caesuras and so few end-stopped lines, Browning deemphasizes the lines themselves, with their five feet and their rhyming couplets. He instead creates a style that sounds more akin to prose.
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.
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Get LitCharts A+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!
The painting of the former duchess is more than just a work of art. At first, it appears to be a symbol of the duke’s status, since he displays it like a work in an art gallery. He has placed a chair in front of it so that people can sit and admire it, and he brags about the fame and skill of the man who painted it (Fra Pandolf). But once the duke tells his guest more about the former duchess, it becomes clear that the painting is also a symbol of the objectification of women. Although the duke despised the duchess as a wife because she smiled too much at others for his liking, he loves the painting of her. Unlike his human being, the painting is something he can control. Indeed, he's placed a curtain in front of the canvas so that now he gets to decide whom the painting smiles upon, and he has placed a chair in front of it so he can control the movements of the people who look at her. The painting, then, is essentially the objectified version of his former wife—a relic that aggrandizes the duke while reminding him of his dominance over others.
At the end of the poem, the duke directs his guest's attention toward this bronze statue by the famous Claus of Innsbruck. Neptune is the Roman god of the sea, and the statue represents dominance. As such, the statue perfectly reflects the duke’s opinion of himself: he sees himself as an all-powerful god who tames and subdues everything around him, whether wives or prospective in-laws. What's more, the statue is "a rarity," further implying how special and powerful the duke must be in order to be in possession of it.
The language the duke uses when describing the statue suggests how he plans to dominate and control his prospective fiancée and in-laws (including the Count and his daughter). For instance, the duke commands the emissary to wait for him (the duke) to go downstairs with the words “Nay, we’ll go / Together down, sir,” and has therefore moved from asking (“Will’t please you rise?” in line 47) to dictating and controlling others’ movements. The duke issues another command in line 54 with the phrase “Notice Neptune,” and the alliteration of those words emphasizes that refusing isn’t a possibility.
Finally, the line “Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity” has several metrical oddities in keeping with its symbolic representation of dominance. The word “taming” is a trochee instead of an iamb, and therefore breaks the poem's metrical pattern as dramatically as Neptune broke the sea horses. Meanwhile, the caesura between "sea-horse" and "thought" breaks the iamb in the same way the duke hopes to break the in-laws.
Browning's use of enjambment makes the poem sound conversational. It tends to obscure where one line ends and another begins, which subtly deemphasizes the meter, rhyme scheme, and number of feet in the line.
This poem uses predominantly enjambed lines throughout in part to reflect the fact that it is a dramatic monologue, and therefore is understood as being spoken to a listener. Again, the free-flowing lines suggest a conversational tone. They also suggest that the duke likes to hear himself talk, as his speech spills over from one line to the next offering no chance for his guest to voice any interruptions. Enjambment thus allows the duke to control the conversation and reflects his need to dominate and manipulate those around him.
One of the most striking examples of enjambment occurs towards the end of the poem, in lines 31-39:
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"
Because of the seven consecutive enjambed lines, it is nearly impossible to tell where one line ends and another begins when the passage is read out loud. The words topple over the boundaries of the line, as though the duke is so horrified by the duchess’s actions and by the idea of confronting her that he can no longer make clear, linear sentences. It might seem as though the duke truly does lack the “skill / In speech” to reprimand her.
However, the duke had mentioned earlier that he has spoken to others about his wife’s behavior before, so this conversation with the emissary is not the first on the subject, and his love of controlling conversations with props (like the painting, chair, and curtains) further suggests that he plans out all details, no matter how small.
As a result, the enjambment that seems to show the duke losing control over the conversation is arguably evidence that even his loss of control is all an act, and that he has scripted even his supposedly unscripted moments. Essentially, then, Browning uses enjambment to show the duke’s obsession with controlling how others view him and to show that the duke is fundamentally untrustworthy.
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Fra Pandolf is not a real painter, but rather an invention of the poem. "Fra" is the title given to a monk or friar, meaning it's pretty unlikely that he and the duchess were flirting as the duke implies.
Browning’s “My Last Duchess” is a dramatic monologue, a form that was particularly prevalent during the Victorian period (1837-1901). This form enabled Browning to explore the inner workings of the mind of a narcissistic, power-obsessed tyrant from the past much as a novelist might. The speakers of dramatic monologues are often biased and decidedly unreliable, presenting only partial or warped perspectives on events. That certainly seems to be the case with the duke: he repeatedly explains that his former wife was unfaithful and deserved punishment, but a careful examination of the poem reveals that she was only guilty of being kind to others and smiling too much. Yet because only the duke is talking, he controls the narrative.
The poem doesn't have clear breaks or stanzas, and instead consists of one long stream of couplets, 28 in all (we've highlighted just the first two here, since the pattern continues unbroken throughout the poem). The lack of distinct stanzas subtly reflects the duke's clear love of hearing his own voice and refusal to cede the floor; he talks so much that there isn't room for a stanza break, much like there isn't room for any interjections from the person to whom he is speaking.
Finally, the poem contains both open couplets (rhymed enjambed lines) and closed, or heroic couplets (rhymed end-stopped lines). We've highlighted an example of each. Heroic couplets were particularly popular in England in the 18th century, and because of their regularity, were considered an ideal form for literature of high seriousness, such as translations of ancient Greek epics. Open couplets, because of the lack of punctuation at the end of a line, are more flexible and subtly deemphasize their final rhymes. Browning’s poem uses both types of couplets, but the couplets are more often open than closed. Perhaps Browning is suggesting that the duke is not as heroic as he imagines himself to be, and that the duke’s cruelty, like the poem’s rhymes, are hiding in plain sight, and waiting for someone to notice the disturbing pattern.
Browning’s “My Last Duchess” is written in iambic pentameter throughout, although some lines make that easier to detect than others. The poem’s final line is one of the simplest to scan, since the entire line is one complete phrase and with proper names to show the stresses:
Which Claus | of Inns- | bruck cast | in bronze | for me!
Iambic pentameter tends to mimic the sound of regular speech, meaning its use here makes the poem sound more conversational—like the duke is just chatting with a friend rather than artfully choosing his words. Of course, this is likely the duke's intent—to seem like he's speaking off the cuff, when in reality he's following a strict script that allows him to dominate and manipulate his listeners. The meter, too, seems conversational, but follows a pretty strict pattern—for the most part.
The poem does break from this pattern at times, though, as the first two lines demonstrate:
That’s my | last Duch- | ess pain- | ted on | the wall,
Looking | as if | she were | alive. | I call
The word “Looking” is a trochee, and by putting it at the beginning of the second line of the poem, Browning subtly destabilizes the meter of the opening. At this moment, this irregularity makes the poem sound more conversational—these metrical substitutions are like brief interruptions to keep it from becoming too carefully controlled.
Other moments that break with the established meter have a different effect. Note, for example, another trochee starting line 43:
Never | to stoop. | Oh, sir, | she smiled, | no doubt,
and line 55:
Taming | a sea- | horse, thought | a rar | ity,
In both lines, the trochees add a sense a forcefulness that mimics the lines' content. The duke chooses never to stoop; and Neptune (a figure in whom the duke surely sees himself) is bolding taming the sea-horse. Meter, here, reflects the duke's desire for dominance and control. (Note that the meter of the final foot and a half of line 55 could reasonably be seen as being rar | ity without changing the meaning of the line in a significant way).
Thematically, then, while the poem seems to resemble normal speech in terms of its meter, Browning controls the pace as much as the duke controls the flow of his conversation with the emissary.
“My Last Duchess” is written in rhyming couplets. The rhymes are all perfect rhymes, and the scheme of the poem is consistent throughout. It follows this pattern:
AABBCCDD
And so forth right unit the end of the poem.
The rhyme scheme is subtly deemphasized, however, by the poem's lack of end-stopped lines: because all the lines are enjambed, freely flowing from one to the next without definitive ends, the rhymes seem nearly hidden when read out loud. The ends of sentences don't always align with the end of the actual lines of poetry, and this gives the poem a more conversational quality. The opening lines of the poem demonstrate this:
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
“Wall” and “call” rhyme, but because the sentence with “call” is enjambed, the rhyme almost disappears; the line flows swiftly on to the next line in order to complete its sentence, rather than lingering on the rhyme sound of "call" itself. In other words, there's no real pause between "call" and the next line, which makes it easy to almost gloss right over the rhyme, to fail to notice it, when the poem is read aloud (and as a dramatic monologue it's understood that the duke is indeed meant to be speaking these words).
The same can be said of many spots throughout the poem. Take lines 13-16:
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
While it's easy to visually spot the rhymes when looking at the poem on the page, if you speak these lines out loud and respect the enjambment, you'll see how the rhymes are actually quite subtle and natural sounding. There's not any especially prevalent emphasis on the rhymes within these sentences, though they clearly appear in a very regular pattern.
Thematically, this relates to the fact that duke controls things while pretending to be talking off the cuff: the poem seems to resemble normal speech in terms of its rhyme scheme, but Browning controls the sounds as tightly as the Duke controls the conversation.
The speaker of this dramatic monologue is the Duke of Ferrara, who is addressing the emissary of a Count before dowry negotiations for the Count’s daughter. Although the speaker claims to merely want to show the emissary of his prospective bride around his estate and to show off the artwork, he actually wants to complain about the unsuitability of his first wife, to brag about his power and wealth, and to manipulate the emissary and the Count into giving him a higher dowry for the daughter. Since this is a dramatic monologue, everything is told from the speaker’s perspective, and readers never hear the emissary speak nor learn how the duke’s words are received. Throughout the poem, the speaker unintentionally reveals himself to be a tyrant, an expert manipulator, and, likely, a murderer.
The setting is the Duke of Ferrara’s estate in 16th-century Italy. Although the poem does not include many detailed descriptions of the estate itself, it does describe the duke’s extensive art collection, including the painting of the Duke’s former wife (the duchess) and a statue of the god Neptune taming a seahorse. Both works of art are produced by famous (fictional) artists, making them markers of the duke's wealth. It's safe to assume that this estate is large and impressive, given the duke's emphasis on his social status and clout.
More specifically, the poem takes place in front of a large painting of the duke's wife, who is presumably now deceased. The painting has not been placed haphazardly placed in the estate, either: it has curtains around it and a seat in front of it. This arrangement allows the duke to manipulate his guests into listening to his spiel about it.
Robert Browning, along with Alfred Tennyson and Augusta Webster, was one of the great Victorian innovators of the dramatic monologue. Such monologues often reveal deep (and troubling) insight into their speakers, typically without said speaker even realizing it. This is certainly the case with the duke of this poem, whose complaints about his wife instead reveal his own deep character flaws. Browning repeatedly turned to the form to explore the psychology of his characters, whether they were psychopaths and murders ("Porphyria's Lover") or artists ("Andrea del Sarto").
"My Last Duchess" was first published in Dramatic Lyrics (1842), which was the first of Browning's several volumes of dramatic monologues. Like several of his dramatic monologues and longer narrative poems, Browning set "My Last Duchess" in Renaissance Italy, and although his speaker, the Duke of Ferrara is not an artist himself (as are the speakers of "A Toccata of Galuppi's" or Sordello), he is a patron of the arts.
Although it did not become famous when it was originally published, the poem is now regularly printed in anthologies and upheld as a prime example of the dramatic monologue. It has reappeared in countless contemporary literary works, from the Margaret Atwood's story of the same title to Richard Howard's poem "Nikolaus Mardruz to his Master Ferdinand, Count of Tyrol, 1565."
Browning wrote this poem during the Victorian Era, which encompassed the second half of the 19th century during the reign of Queen Victoria in England. The Victorians were fascinated with the Italian Renaissance, including its poetic forms, music, architecture, and culture. The Renaissance, which extended from roughly the 14th to the early 17th century, placed an emphasis on humanism, individualism, the arts, and science—all of which particularly appealed to a Victorian society that was making scientific and artistic advances of its own.
The Renaissance also was a time when some elite and wealthy families served as patrons of artists, supporting their favorites' artistic endeavors. In a way, the poem critiques such patrons as perhaps being more concerned with the social clout conferred by being associated with certain artists than they were with the actual artwork itself. In other words, it suggests that some patrons just wanted to seem cool and influential by supporting artists, but didn't actually appreciate their art.
This poem focuses on a real historical patron of the arts—the Duke of Ferrara. Also known as Alfonso II d'Este, the Duke of Ferrara was an actual historical figure who lived in Italy in the late 1500s. Like the speaker, Alfonso II had multiple wives, the first of which died very young and after only a few years of marriage.
Robert Browning's Answers to Some Questions, 1914 — In March of 1914, Cornhill Magazine interviewed Robert Browning about some of his poems, including "My Last Duchess." He briefly explains his thoughts on the duchess.
Chris de Burgh, "The Painter" (1976) — Chris de Burgh (a Northern Irish singer-songwriter, best known for "Lady in Red") wrote a song from the perspective of the Duke of Ferrara about his former wife, in which the duchess was having an affair with Fra Pandolf.
My Last Duchess Glass Window — The Armstrong Browning Library and Museum at Baylor University has a stained glass window inspired by "My Last Duchess."
Julian Glover performs "My Last Duchess" — Actor Julian Glover performs "My Last Duchess" with a suitably dramatic tone of voice. Note how he emphasizes the conversational quality of the poem.
Nikolaus Mardruz to his Master Ferdinand, Count of Tyrol, 1565 by Richard Howard, 1929 — This poem by American poet Richard Howard provides the Ferrara's guest's perspective on the meeting between himself and the duke.