Page 335 - DENG405_BRITISH_POETRY

British Poetry

Notes Duke’s last wife, now dead, the Duke talks about the woman’s failings and imperfections. The
irony of the poem surfaces as the reader discovers that the young woman’s “faults” were qualities
like compassion, modesty, humility, delight in simple pleasures, and courtesy to those who served
her.
Using abundant detail, Browning leads the reader to conclude that the Duke found fault with his
former wife because she did not reserve her attentions for him, his rank, and his power. More
importantly, the Duke’s long list of complaints presents a thinly veiled threat about the behavior he
will and will not tolerate in his new wife. The lines “I gave commands; / smiles stopped together”
suggest that the Duke somehow, directly or indirectly, brought about the death of the last Duchess.
In this dramatic monologue, Browning has not only depicted the inner workings of his speaker, but
has in fact allowed the speaker to reveal his own failings and imperfections to the reader.
Robert Browning is difficult to a certain extent, demanding a degree of intellectual exertion on the
part of the reader. His poetry is also characterized by a certain deliberate roughness reminiscent of
the metaphysical poets. His poems are greatly concerned with human character and reflect an
attraction towards the bizarre, the unusual and the eccentric. His poems are also dramatic and are
concerned with Renaissance themes. The most important qualities pervading Browning’s works
are his robust optimism and spiritual courage. The narrator told his lover the fact of the matter that
it is so and now at length he knows his fate, nothing to all his love avails and his life is meant to
accept failure. This was written in his stars and all must need be that his whole heart rises up to
bless her name in pride and thankfulness. He asked her to take back the hope she gave for he
claimed only a memory of the same and besides this if she would not blame her leave for one more
last ride with him. His mistress bent that brow of hers and those dark eyes where pride demurs;
lingers; when pity would be softening through, fixed him with a breathing-while or two with life or
death in the balance.

29.1 My Last Duchess

29.1.1 Text

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.
Will ’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

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