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 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!

Summary of the poem

The poem is narrated by the Duke of Ferrara who is talking to an envoy who  has come to negotiate the Duke’s marriage to the daughter of another powerful family. At the poem's opening, the duke has just pulled back a curtain to reveal to the envoy a portrait of his previous duchess. The portrait of the duchess’s was made by Fra Pandolf, a monk and painter whom the duke believes captured the singularity of the duchess's glance.  He invites his guest to sit and look at the painting. As they look at the portrait of the late Duchess, the Duke describes her happy, cheerful and flirtatious nature, which had displeased him. He goes on to say that his complaint of her was that she expressed joy not only in the presence of her husband [the Duke], but also when others are present. She was easily pleased and seemed just as happy when someone brought her a branch of cherries as she did when the Duke decided to marry her. Eventually, "I gave commands; then all smiles stopped together." This could be interpreted as either the Duke had given commands to the Duchess to stop smiling or commands for her to be killed. He now keeps her painting hidden behind a curtain that only he is allowed to draw back, meaning that now she smiles only for him. After telling this story the Duke takes him back to resumes an earlier conversation regarding wedding arrangements, and on the way out the Duke  points out another work of art, a bronze statue of Neptune taming a sea-horse by Claus of Innsbruck, so making his late wife but just another work of art.

Critical analysis of the poem

“My Last Duchess” is arguably the most famous and most anthologized poem of Browning. The poem first appeared in 1842(the same year as Tennyson’s Ulysses) in Dramatic Lyrics, which is contained in Bells and Pomegranates (1841-1846).  “My Last Duchess” is probably the finest example of Browning’s dramatic monologue. It reflects Browning’s interest in Italian politics of the middle ages. In it, he paints a devastating self-portrait of royalty, a portrait that doubtless reveals more of the duke’s personality than Ferrara intends. In fact, the irony is profound, for with each word spoken in an attempt to criticize his last duchess, the duke ironically reveals his utterly detestable nature and how far he is from seeing it himself.

It is an amazingly skillful poem. There is only one speaker who introduces us to four characters; the duke, the duchess, the envoy and the painter. The only speaker is the duke, the listener is silent during the entire poem. The time is probably Renaissance and the location is Duke’s palace. The thrust of the poem is a psychological self-characterization of the Duke. The poem is written in a form of conversation which shows the difference between what the speaker wants us to know and what the poet allows us to read between the lines. The word ‘last’ in the title implies that the Duchess was not his first wife.

The poem is written in rhyming pentameter lines with no end-stops using enjambment. It has colloquial language which makes it memorable. The poem is rather compressed, elliptical (full of gaps) and difficult at first sight, and it needs a critical mind to explore the reality behind the story the duke tells.

The historical background is not essential but adds to our understanding of the poem. It engages the reader on a number of levels – historical, psychological, ironic, theatrical, and more. The most engaging element of the poem is probably the speaker himself, the duke. Undoubtedly the most dominant feature of the duke’s personality is a godlike desire for total control of his environment. And yet he is impressively charming, both in his use of language and his affable address. This demand for control is also reflected in his conversation with the envoy from the unveiling of the curtain that is implied to precede the opening, to the way he slowly reveals the details of his tale to his final shift in subject back to the issue of the impending marriage.

The last thing to point out in the poem is duke's language, his use of euphemism. The way he explains that he had the duchess killed – "I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together" – shows a facility for avoiding the truth through choice of language. Finally, one can also understand this poem as a commentary on art. The duke remains enamored with the woman he has had killed, though his affection now rests on a representation of her. In other words, he has chosen to love the ideal image of her rather than the reality, similar to how the narrator of "Porphyria's Lover" chose a static, dead love than one destined to change in the throes of life. In many ways, this is the artist's dilemma, which Browning explores in all of his work. As poet, he attempts to capture contradiction and movement, psychological complexity that cannot be pinned down into one object, and yet in the end all he can create is a collection of static lines. The duke attempts to be an artist in his life, turning a walk down the hallway into a performance, but he is always hampered by the fact that the ideal that inspires his performance cannot change.