Victorian Verse - My Last Duchess - Robert Browning

This is the greatest poem in the whole selection, and possibly (probably) one of the greatest poems ever written.  It is certainly the greatest dramatic monologue - the one against which all other poems in this form are judged.   Browning is the master of this form, although not the only practitioner. Tennyson also wrote dramatic monologues which are among his best poems - Ulysees and Tithonus. Maud, which is discussed elsewhere in the blog, is also a dramatic monologue.  A dramatic monologue is a poem where the poet takes on a persona - a character who is not himself - and speaks in his voice.  However, that is not to say that the poet is entirely absent.  The poet may refer to emotions, events or ideas which he has himself experienced, or be using the persona to debate topical questions of the day.  The Victorian poets used the form to debate the position of women in society, sexual relationships and gender identity, the nature of work and finding purpose in life, religious doubt and societal ills, in their search to make sense of their lives in a world that was rapidly changing.  The dramatic monologue allowed them the freedom to explore radical ideas without the fear of public censure.  They were not always successful in the last - commentators of the day sometimes saw through the pretence and criticised them as scandalous.

Browning delighted in exploring the minds of socio- and psychopaths - Porphyria's Lover is a murderer, the woman in The Laboratory is planning to poison at least three of her rivals in love  - as well as Renaissance artists, as in Fra Lippo Lippi and Andrea del Sarto. 

Poetry is an oral art form.  It is the poet's voice - heard through the rhythm, the rhyme, syntax and punctuation, as well as the auditory poetic techniques - which lifts the words off the page and makes sense of them. To understand a dramatic monologue, you have to HEAR the voice.  With the dramatic monologue, and Browning's in particular, you have to be sensitive to what the persona is NOT saying, as much as to what he IS saying.  We hear Browning's views on his subject, and his subject matter, in the gaps.  The technique which he uses most to create the cadence of the voice of the persona and reveals what he is actually like, as opposed to the version of himself that he gives the listener, is enjambment  - running the sense of a line onto the next (giving emphasis to the first words of the succeeding line) and caesura - breaking or stopping in the middle of the line.

The frequent use of these techniques not only reveals to us the true story behind the persona's version of it, but allows the poem to flow, uninterrupted, for 55 lines, whilst maintaining a regular rhyme scheme of rhyming couplets (aabbccdd....), which is a technical feat in itself.  Added to that, it is written in iambic pentametre.  And yet, read with sensitive attention to the the flow of the sense in relation to the lines, both the regularity of the rhyme and the rhythm go all but unnoticed.  And where they are noticeable, there is a very good reason for them to be so.  I strongly advise you to listen to a recording of this work and you could do worse than listen to this dramatised reading by Julian Glover, which is not very good quality, but captures the subtleties, as does this one by the late actor James Mason.  Just ignore the painting which accompanies the last - it is Victorian, not Renaissance, which is when Browning's poem is set.

Browning's poem is based on the true story of the marriage between Alfonso, Duke of Ferrara and Lucrezia de 'Medici in the 16th century. The background can be found in Wiki here.  There is a wealth of material on the web about this poem, as it is one of the most anthologised and studied.

My Last Duchess

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.

First, note the pun in the title.  Does “Last” here mean final, as in “the last one I will ever have?” or “The last one in a continuing line”?  The answer is given in the poem, but forms part of the intrigue of the opening.  The title is repeated in the first line, but immediately given a sinister overtone:  “looking as if she were alive.”  This could be a reference to it being a life-like painting – or is it a reference to something else?  The pride the Duke takes in the painting is evident – “a wonder” - so maybe he is simply reflecting on the skill of Fra Pandolf, the painter.  Notice how the pattern of enjambment and caesura is set up, making the regular rhyme-scheme all but unnoticeable.

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.

It now becomes evident that the Duke is not talking to the reader, but to an unseen listener, although the effect is to put us, the reader, in that second person’s place.  And it also becomes clear that this is not the first time that the Duke has shown the picture to a visitor, and their reaction to the painting has been similar – amazement at the “depth and passion of its earnest glance” – and they all ask the same question – “how such a glance came there?”  The Duke’s response is in some ways equivocal.  He names the painter “by design”, as if to explain the artistry of the painting, and yet seems to take their question to refer to the Duchess’s expression in real life.  He also shows his pride of ownership (of JUST the painting?) in the assertion that nobody shows the painting to visitors, except him.  It is his secret.

                                                                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.”

The use of enjambment between “twas not” and “her husband” is illustrative of Browning’s use of the technique.  Together with the iambic metre, the syntax and the comma, it forces the reader to put emphasis on “husband” and “only”, which then becomes the focus of his explanation – that he was not the sole focus of the Duchess’s attention.  He then goes on to give examples of the events that caused the “spot/Of joy”: comments from Fra Pandolf while she was sitting for her portrait.  How are we meant to take these comments?  As sexual innuendo or innocent chit-chat?  Fra Pandolf presumably shows more of her wrist in the painting, as it has been covered by her cloak, as small wrists were a sign of beauty.  He then declares himself inadequate to the task of reproducing the Duchess’s blush – the “faint/Half-flush” – caused by his comment.  Browning, on the other hand, is more than capable.  He uses enjambment between “faint/Half-flush” placing the spondee “Half-flush” at the beginning of the line, giving both words equal weight.  He then follows with three iambs - “that dies”, “a-long”, “her throat” – two strong beats giving way to a gradual weakening as the flush fades and our attention is drawn to where.  Abruptly, as if we too have been guilty of staring, the Duke continues, with another spondee:

                                                                Such stuff

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough

For calling up that spot of joy.

His dismissive “such stuff”, conveyed by the spondee, shows his displeasure with his Duchess’s reaction to the painter’s flattery, even though he acknowledges she thought of it as “courtesy” – politeness or gallantry. 

                                                                                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!

The Duke’s complaint against his Duchess now becomes more explicit.  There are subtle clues as to how we are supposed to take his censure, first in the placing of the “A heart”.  Having a heart is positive – but the Duke’s posing of the rhetorical question and the qualifier “too soon” sounds the wrong note – how can you be made glad too easily?  His re-iteration changes the meaning slightly, but towards the negative – “too easily impressed”.  We learn that she looked favourably on everything and everyone – “’twas all one!”  She did not discriminate.  So what are we to think about the Duchess at this point?  Too easily flattered?  Embarrassed when she is paid a compliment?  Easily pleased?  Liking everybody?  The Duke gives us some more examples of things that gave her pleasure – and which seem to annoy him:

                                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.

A “favour” is a love-token, flowers or a ribbon, given by a man to his beloved. This is what the Duke feels the Duchess should value above all.  Browning’s uses a greater lyricism, in contrast to the colloquial rhythms of the preceding lines, to suggest how we are to interpret the Duchess’s response to the Duke’s list.  He uses alliteration on “dropping” and “daylight” to describe her love of the sunset.  He contrasts the Duke’s dismissive “some officious fool” with the image of the (innocent) gift of a “bough of cherries”, placing the “Broke” at the start of the line, to imitate the action of the breaking branch, and creating a dactyl (one heavy, two light beats) to place a further emphasis on “orchard”.  He places emphasis on “white mule” - white the symbol of purity, a donkey echoing Christ’s journey into Jerusalem.  She rides it “round the terrace” – suggesting she is confined, or perhaps that the Duchess is little more than a child.  The images are of the natural world, in contrast to the Duke’s artificial, artful one and the lyricism (and rhyme) is in contrast to the Duke’s clipped dismissiveness – and increasing self-justification.

                                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.

Browning’s lyricism gives way to the self-justifying, true “voice” of the Duke and we hear what is really bothering him – that she was as pleased by the simple things in life  – sunset, cherries, her white mule, pleasantries – as much as she was pleased by what he gave her – status, a title and a “nine-hundred-years-old name.”  Browning places the emphasis on “My gift”, again using enjambement and a spondee at the start of the line.  The true extent of his self-absorption and egoism are made clear as he begins to lose control, his sense of outrage growing:

                                                                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.

The language becomes increasingly threatening: “your will/Quite clear”, “disgusts”, “exceed the mark”, “lessoned” and the iambic pentametre rhythm more insistent.  The climax comes with the repetition of “stooping” and “stoop”, with the breaking of the regular iambic lines with the spondee on “I choose” and the dactyl on “Never to stoop” following the enjambment.  The full extent of the Duke’s anger – and what he does to allay it - becomes clear, as he reveals himself to the listener. 

                                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.

The regular iambic line gives way to a series of broken lines as the Duke reveals what he has done, conversationally.  Browning uses two spondees together to give sinister emphasis to the Duke’s admittance of murder “Then all smiles stopped”. The meaning of his introductory words, “as if alive”, repeated here and placed chillingly at the beginning of the line, are now clear.  He has had her murdered on his orders. 

Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet

The company below, then.

The reaction of the listener is to leap to his feet and head for the stairs – notice the abrupt transition to the listener and the placing of the “then” at the end of the sentence, as if the Duke has, for once, and only momentarily, lost the initiative.  The Duke continues talking, seemingly unaware of the reaction his revelation has had on his audience.

                                                                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.  

The Duke reverts to an earlier topic of conversation, as if the revelation just made can go unremarked. The reason for the listener’s visit is made clear – he has come to broker a new marriage between his master, the Count, and the Duke.  The “last Duchess” is, indeed, the latest in a chain.  The Duke is asserting that he is sure his demand for a dowry for the girl (the bridal gift from a father to the future son-in-law) will be sufficiently generous although, he insists, the girl herself is what he wants – but the word “object” belies this.  Browning is punning on “object” as in “objective” and “object” as “thing”.   She is just a trophy to him.

                                                                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 envoy appears to make a further move to get away but is stayed by the Duke, shown by the syntax that places “Together” at the beginning of the line, – “Nay, we’ll go/Together down.”  As they leave, the Duke points out another “object” (or “objet d’art” as Browning is punning) – a statue of Neptune, God of the Sea, taming a seahorse.  This image is deliberately ambiguous.  As God of the Sea, Neptune rode huge horses with the tails of fish, as depicted in classical art here.  But to us, a seahorse is a tiny fish, conjuring up the image of a powerful man dominating a much weaker creature – just as the Duke has dominated, and ultimately killed, his Duchess.  To the Duke, she was a possession to reflect his power and status, as much as the painting by a famous artist or a bronze by a famous sculptor.