Jan Van Hunks (New York Public Library) Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1 By permission of the New York Public Library [Jan Van Hunks] DGR 1881-1882 corrected copy 15 leaves The manuscript is in pencil and falls into two distinct sections: 7 initial leaves containing received stanzas 19-44, and 8 subsequent leaves containing stanzas 1-18. The poem is copied into a small notebook with a note by WMR on a cover leaf preceding the main text. Text is on rectos only, except on versos of leaves 1 and 6. The remaining leaves of the 38 page notebook are blank except for holograph drafts of two letters, one to Ernest Chesneau (10 March 1882) and the other to an unknown correspondent. DGR DGR New York Public Library, Arents Collection Arents S1371 Blue pebbled cloth covers with blind-stamped double-rule decoration near the edges of the covers The notebook is enclosed in a red morocco case by Reviere and Son along with a copy of the 1912 edition. laid white ruled, 16 x 10.2 cm none The notebook is a standard stationer's size account book. Commentary
Introduction

This manuscript of the ballad was copied by DGR from a manuscript that he had written in 1846. The Duke manuscript has one leaf of that early document as well as two leaves from a relatively early fair copy manuscript and four leaves that are late copying, dating from 1881-1882. It seems the case that this Arents copy represents DGR's efforts to draft a complete copy of the ballad from the pieces that descended to him in 1881, and hence that this pencil copy is mostly a transcription but partly original composition, and of course with running revisions. WMR's notes on the poem assert that it was “nearly completed” in 1846, but not finished then. The other manuscript, the fair copy in the British Library, was made from this Arents manuscript.

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

Production History

Reception History

Iconographic

Printing History

The manuscript was printed in 1952 with transcript, facsimile, and introduction by John Robert Wahl.

Pictorial

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

Wahl, <hi rend="i">DGR: Jan Van Hunks</hi> .

WMR's cover note on the endpaper of the small book.

The principal content of this book is Gabriel's poem of The Dutchman's Pipe (or Jan Van Hunks), begun towards 1847, & then nearly completed: he took it up in the last few weeks of his life, finished it, & presented the complete MS. to Theodore Watts-Dunton—The MS. in this book is of his closing weeks—There is also the draft of a letter (possibly the very last that he wrote) to Ernest Chesneau—& of another letter to some Picture-buyer, I know not whom.— Thus the book may be regarded as the last specimen of his handwriting, of any consecutive length—The Dutchman's Pipe remains as yet unpublished.

WMR 1905

 W. M. Rossettifrom Gabriel's Books1889 WMR's cover note at the top of the manuscript Lines 17/125-18/126 are transcribed at the foot of this page as a continuation of the transcription on the facing page Then loud:—Thou minds't when I bade thee hence— Tho Poor fool go hence again!” DGR began the text on this recto with received stanza 19. The chamber Chamber window stood to the street, With shutters strongly barred— There came A timid knock was heard without And another afterward But both so low & faint & weak That the casement never jarred. And weak the voice that came with the knock:— O My father pity & hear lend your ear 'Twas goodly wealth store of gold you would that you bade have me wed But the wife I chose was dear And she & my babes crave only bread O father pity & hear. Van Hunks looked after the feathered smoke What thing so slight & vain ? Why As pride whose plume is torn in the wind And joy's befould with rash flight to pain ? There turned a foot in the came a moan to the crumbling snow lighted room A face moan to the frosty sky,— O father we all my loves are dying now And yet Father you too must die. O on your soul, by God's good grace, Let not this dread hour lie. Gossip well done, quoth the little old man And in a silvery spire Like a spiders web up leaped the his smoke Still twisting higher and And still at its heart the through its th veil th his watchful eye Burned with a fell desire. A woman's voice came next to the wall— Father my mother died. 'Twas 3 months since that you drove her forth At bitter Xmas tide. How could I care for your proffered gold And quit my mother's side? For 2 months now I have begged my bread Father I can no more. My mother's blind & deaf in her grave But her soul is at Heaven's door And though we're parted on this side death We may meet on the further shore. Van Hunks laughed up at looked after the scudding smoke Ay, go what way you will Of folly & pride in life or death, Let a woman take her fill And why should Mad girl, even take the choose this road you list or that So we be asunder still. Gossip well said, the old man shrieked cried And mark how the words come true, The smoke soared swiftly above around his head In snakes of curling swirling knotted blue And ever at heart of the inmost coil Two fiery eyes shone shot through Above the hearth was a carven frame Where 7 small mirrors shone There 6 bright moon-shapes circled round A centre rayed like a sun And ever the reflex image dwelt Alike in every one. No smokers faces appeared therein But there by magic art, Seven times a one squalid chamber showed The dull graves counterpart For there 2 starving parents lay With their starved babes heart to heart. Then changed the scene. In the watered street 'Twixt houses dark & tall Like shaggy dogs did the pollards shake Above the dark canal And a girl's thin form gleamed through past through the air the sky And sank, and that was all. And there then the smoker beheld once more 7 times his own hard face Half dazed it seemed with the sudden sights, But showed no sign of grace And 7 times flashed those burning fiery eyes In the mirror's narrow space. The hours wore on & still they sat In 'Mid the vapours stifling cloud The one sank towards sudden stupor sank And the other laughed now scoffed aloud Alas for the shrinking blinking owl, With the vulture over him bowed 'Twas the 2nd night of the wager now And the midnight hour was near That glance was like a kindled cresset turned blazed Ho! gossip of mine, what cheer But the smoke from the Dutchman's pipe arose No longer swift & clear The door-bell rang—Peace to this house 'Twas the pastor's voice that spoke. Above Van Hunks's pipe there still curled A feeble fitful flickering smoke, As the last quarter half-hour ere full midnight From the distant booming clock-tower broke. The old man doffed his bonnet & cringed As he oped the chamber door The priest cast never a glance his way But crossed the polished floor To where the Dutchman's head on his breast Lolled with a torpid snore. Mynheer your servant sought me out He says that day & night You have sat—He shook the smoker's arm But shrank in sudden fright The arm dropped down like a weight of lead The face was dull & white. And now the old man stood astride And taller he seemed to grow The pipe still sat firm in his sneering lips And with victorious show glow Like dancing figures around its bowl Did the smoke-wreaths race & glow come & go Nay nay he said our gossip sits To contemplation bent; On son & daughter afar, his mind Is doubtless all intent Haply his silence breathes a prayer Ere the midnight hour be spent. And who art thou? the pastor cried With a quaking countenance. A smoke-dried crony of our good friend Here rapt in pious trance. And his chuckle shook the vaporous sprites To a madder merrier dance. Hence mocking fiend, for I know thee now The pastor signed the cross. Then the old man laughed & yelled shrieked at once, And As over turret & fosse The midnight hour in the sleeping town From bell to bell did toss. Too late Sir Priest!” In the pastor's ear So rang the scornful croak. With that, a swoon closed fell over his sense And when at length he woke Two pipes lay broken shattered upon the floor, The room was ful of smoke. That hour a direful Master sped Home to his fiery place A shrieking wretch hung over his back As he sank through nether space. Of such a rider on such a steed How speak the dreadful case What tongue thought the flight shall trace? The Fiend has bearer shook his burden off In the horrid retinue He's flung him into a knot of fiends Red yellow green & blue “I've brought a pipe for my private use Go trim it, some of you. They've sliced the very crown from his head Worse tonsure than a monk's Lopped arms & legs, stuck a red-hot tube In his wretchedest of trunks And when the Devil wants his pipe They bring him Jan Van Hunks Full of smoke was the queer old room And of pleasant winter-heat Whence you might here the hall door slap And the wary shuffling of feet Which from the carpeted floor stept out Into the ice-paved street.. Van Hunks was laughing in his paunch: Twelve silver pieces fair Lay in his hand. With neighbour Spratz He had smoked for a wager there He laughed & from his neighbour's pipe He looked to his neighbour's chair. Even as he looked the evening shades Rose stealthily & spread, Till the smoky clouds walled up the sun And hid his shiny old head, As though he too had his evening pipe Before he tumbled to bed Van Hunks still chuckled as he sat It caused him an inward grin When he heard the blast shake shutter & blind With that its teeth chattering din To fancy the many who froze without While he sat thawing within. His bowl restuffed again he puffed No noise the stillness broke Save the tread of feet here & there in the street And the churchbell's house clock's hourly stroke While silver white through the evening shade Up leaped the flying smoke For thirty years the Dutchman said I have smoked both night [and] day; I've laid great wagers on my pipe But never had once to pay For my vapouring foes long ere the close Have all sneaked sickly away Ah would that I could find but one Who knew my e not too well To try his chance against me After the evening bell Even though he came to challenge me From the smoking-crib of Hell. His breath still lingered on the air And lingered mingled with the smoke,— When he was aware of a little old man In broidered hosen & tocque Who looked as through from a century's sleep That instant he had woke Small to scan was the little old man Passing small & lean But Yet a something lurked about him Felt strongly but though unseen Which made him you fear the hidden soul Whose covering was solean mean With cap in hand the old man stranger bowed Till the feather swept his shoe “A noble wish was yours he said, “And I come to humour pleasure you; We're goodly gossips, you & I Let us wager & fall to. The Dutchman stared. How here you came Is nothing to me he said; “A stranger I sought to smoke withal And my words have well been weighed. But tell me, what shall the wager be, By our high hopes/two selves Between our pipes essayed? “Nay now the old man said what need Have we for a golden stake? What more do we ask but honour's spur To keep our hopes awake? And yet some bond 'twixt our goodwills Must stand for the wager's sake. This be our bond. 2 Midnights hence The term of our strife shall be And whichsoe'er to the other then Must Shall yield the victory, At the victor's hand hest must needs accept His hospitality. There are transpositions signalled in lines 235/85 and 237/87. Done, done the Dutchman cried,—for your cri[?] home I know it not, far or near But in my good pipe I set my trust And tis you shall sojourn here Here many a time we'll meet again For the smokers' merry welcome cheer. With that they lit their pipes & smoked And never a word they said. The dark cloud gathered above them there High over each smoke crowned head As if by the veil of some secret thing They sat encompassèd. Twas then But now a great blast shook the house And the Dutchman paused & spoke: “If aught this night could be devised To sweeten our cosy smoke, Twere the thought of the outcast loons who freeze Neath the winter's bitter yoke Line 253/103 is uncompleted. Gossip The stranger said I've I most have watched The dire extremes of heat And like yourself I have seen men shrink And found their sufferings sweet. Brave gossips, you & I! But hark What sound comes from the street? Hard thunder came there it had/ What thunder dwelt there that had On his brow that lowering trace,— What lightning that could kindle so The fitful glare on his face Though the sneering smile coursed over his lips, And the laughter rose apace?