My Last Duchess E-book

                                      1842 

                                MY LAST DUCHESS

                               by Robert Browning








Electronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)



                               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.
       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
       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 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 pretence
       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 END