Jenny (early fair copy, Delaware Art Museum) Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1 Digital images courtesy of the Delaware Art Museum, Samuel and Mary R. Bancroft Collection. Jenny Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1864? (early to mid-1860) fair copy, holograph 7 pages on 4 leaves The text is lightly but distinctly marked with pencil crossout lines, indicating DGR's rejection of the text. DGR DGR Delaware Art Museum, Bancroft Collection Box 22 nos. 47-53. First three sheets purchased from Dodd, Mead and Co. in 1894; fourth sheet purchased from T. J. Wise in 1927. The manuscripts originally came from WMR's collection. Text on four leaves from typical lined notebook paper, measuring 20.7 x 16.3 cm. Commentary
Introduction

This text is the earliest surviving manuscript of the poem; it represents a major revision of the first version done in 1847-1848 by DGR, when the poet wrote the poem in a non-dramatic form.

The Delaware MS is dated 1847-48 at the end. This date on the MS—like the date on the Morgan MS of <xref doc="a.1-1847.s244.raw">“The Blessed Damozel”</xref> —signifies not the date the document was written but that of the poem's early composition. The Delaware MS would have been produced in early or mid-1860.

The Delaware MS, a fair copy with some corrections made at uncertain dates, must represent DGR's effort to revise the earliest text (no documents of the latter appear to survive). In <xref doc="a.34p-1870.raw"> <hi rend="i">The Stealthy School of Criticism</hi> </xref> (1871), DGR said he wrote the poem 13 years before—obviously a reference to the work represented by the Delaware MS. The remark suggests as well that the latter involved a root and branch recasting of the early version.

The Delaware MS of the poem is copied on four pages torn from one of DGR's characteristic small lined notebooks. The notebook would have been the one he gave to Ruskin in the early months of 1860 (see DGR's letter to Allingham, 31 July 1860 in Fredeman, <hi rend="i">Correspondence</hi> , vol. 2, 305-307 ). It was upon this draft that Ruskin made his criticisms of <xref doc="a.3-1848.raw">Jenny</xref> along with other poems in the notebook (WMR, <hi rend="i">Ruskin, Rossetti, Preraphaelitism</hi> 233-235 ). Ruskin's letter to Rossetti on the poems is dated conjecturally 1859 by WMR ( <hi rend="i">RRP</hi> , 233 ) but it almost certainly dates from October 1860, after Ruskin returned from his trip to the continent.

The Delaware Art Museum preserves an interesting body of materials associated with this manuscript. These materials include letters by various persons, including T. J. Wise and Bancroft, in which the character of the manuscript is discussed.

Textual History: Composition

Composed early-mid 1860 as a complete recasting of the first (non-dramatic) version of the poem, which was done in 1847-1848, as the date on this manuscript shows.

Textual History: Revision

The manuscript shows only slight revisions, but the whole of the text is lightly cancelled in pencil by long sweeping crossout lines. These lines indicate that DGR, in copying the poem into the notebook that he buried with his wife in 1862, altered the text yet once more.

Production History

Reception History

Iconographic

Printing History

Pictorial

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

This text seems far more revealing, in a personal way, than the received version of the poem. The non-dramatic first version of the poem comes through in this text quite strongly at various points, not least of all perhaps in the concluding verse paragraph.

Bibliographic

1 Page number in upper left corner A plus sign and check mark have been handwritten in the upper right corner. An harlot is accounted as spittle. Ecclesiasticus. Jenny “What, still here! In this enlightened age too, since you have been Proved not to exist!” Shelley, from Goethe. == Lazy, laughing, languid Jenny, Fond of a kiss and fond of a guinea; Chooser of the oft-chosen part, With the old step by the old art Treading in the trodden way; Blossom of the eternal May Plucked and fouled and trampled on, Stemless, scentless, strengthless, gone;— With thy head thrown on my knee Sleepily seated under me, Of whose purse think'st thou, ma vie? Or is thy unquiet thought, perchance, 2 Page number in upper left corner A plus sign and check mark have been handwritten in the upper right corner. Dancing even as thy limbs can dance When the hot arm makes the waist hot And the shaken breath fails and is not,— When the desire is overmuch, And the hands meddle as the lips touch,— When the boddice, being loosened therewith, Tells the beautiful secret underneath:— When thy worm, that dieth not slumbereth. Or haply, were the truth confest, Joy'st thou a Thou'rt thankful for a little while to rest?— From the crush to rest within, And from the sickness, and the din Of woman's envious mocking, which Mocks thee because your gown is rich; And from the wise unchildish elf, Of schoolmate lesser than himself Asking, the while thou glid'st apart, Whether he knows what thing thou art, And then in whispers wickedly 3 Page number in upper left corner A plus sign and check mark have been handwritten in the upper right corner. Teaching him lust and vice by thee; But most from the beastliness of man, Who spares not to end what he began, Whose acts are foul and his speech hard, Who having used thee, afterward Thrusts thee aside, as when I dine I serve the platter and the wine: Thou being all men's, yet no man thine. Or else it may be that thou hast A thought in thee of what is past, Of the old time which seems to thee Much older than any history That is written in any book; When thou would'st lie in fields, and look Along the ground through the thick grass, Wondering where the city was Of whose loud gaudy broil and bale They told thee then for a child's tale. I think it may be that the press 4 Page number in upper left corner A plus sign and check mark have been handwritten in the upper right corner. Of the exceeding silentness Weigheth on thee, letting thee hear Thy mother's voice, that brings strange fear, Talk to thee as it used to talk: I think that on the lighted walk Even, and through folly's bauble-chimes, That voice findeth thee many times. . . . .Nay, wherefor should such things be said? Even as this volume, seldom read, Long in dust hiddenly lain, Opens half, and shuts again: So the pages of thy brain Part themselves at my words, but and thence Close back upon the dusty sense. Rocked in their wretched impotence. Jenny mine, how dar'st thou be In the nineteenth century?— Now when the naked Human Mind Laughs backward at the years behind, A plus sign and (presumed) check mark have been handwritten in the upper right corner. The page is torn, and only part of the second mark is visible. And though the goal seem to be won Still girds his loins that he may run; When the rind peels from the fruit beneath; When the sword wear away the sheath; When the Temple-veil is rent in twain; When through the husk pierces the grain;— Through sense and flesh still struggling out, Till wrong shall cease, and pain, and doubt, And perfect Man be mind throughout. In this great day how darest thou stay, Thou whom the daylight drives away?— Thou stumbling-stone of argument! Thou has by the mighty force unbent,— Strongest although most ancient! ---- Like a toad within a stone Seated while time crumbleth on; Which hath sat there since earth was curst When man's seed sinned at the first; Which, hath living through the centuries, A plus sign and check mark have been handwritten in the upper right corner. And Hath never once seen the sun to arise; Whose life, thus shut up and becalmed, Hundreds of The earth's whole summers have not warmed; And which still,—whitherso the stone Be cast—it's is there, deaf, blind, alone;— Yea Ah! and shall not be driven out Till the flint that wrappeth him about Be by strong hands smitten and broke, And the dust thereof vanish as smoke When the flame of the spent lamp doth fail:— So art thou in this world, ma belle. Thou call'st on Sense,—that's past and o'er, Surely, and shall not hold us more; Yet to thy cell, in earth and air Thou find'st an answer everywhere, And stickest even to me, thou bur, Who'd write myself philosopher! How is't that in loftiest mood, If but thine hand on mine intrude, My being yearns to drink at thine, [Which?] [Known?] These words appear above the first line. Their exact relation to the text is unclear. The verso of this leaf contains the first three stanzas of “A Prayer” Golden goblet of poison-wine, Trouble of mine, peril of mine? Peril of mine, trouble of mine, Thine arms are bare and thy shoulders shine, And through the kerchief and through the vest Strikes the white of each breathing breast, And the down is warm on thy velvet cheek, And the thigh from thy rich side slopes oblique, And thy lips are full, and thy brows are fair, And the gold makes a daylight in thine hair, And under the lids thine eyes' wild glee Looketh kindly and laughs to me, And the air swoons around and over thee. Oh! from the dark into the dim Man gropes, but Matter clings to him And leaves him not, early or late: Even though he climb beyond the gate Where, powerless till the years go by, The things to come sit in the sky,— Or let his thought drop, like a stone, To the old shadow-land unknown, Deep unnumbered fathoms down. =

1847-48