The text comes from Robert Browning, Dramatic Lyrics (1842).
Ferrara |
||
| 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 | ||
| 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 chuse | ||
| 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. |