Wilfrid Scawen Blunt: The Love Lyrics and Songs of ProteusAbbildungenDeskriptionAnmerkung

And if the angels wept none heard their sorrow

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt:


Hammersmith: Kelmscott Press, 1892 für London: Reeves & Turner.

Quarto. ca. 205 × 141 mm. [2 weiße], [2], vii, [1], 251, [1 weiße] Seiten. Durchgehend in rot und schwarz gedruckt, mit zahlreichen, rot gedruckten Initialen; zwei Holzschnittrahmen um Textanfänge.

Handgefertigter Original-Pergamenteinband mit eingeschlagenen Vorderkanten; goldgeprägter Rückentitel in Golden type, vier mattrote Schließbänder. Unbeschnitten. Bound by J. & J. Leighton.

Eins von nur 300 Exemplaren. Gedruckt in der Golden type. Das einzige Buch der Kelmscott Press mit rot eingedruckten Initialen, was auf den ausdrücklichen Wunsch des Verfassers geschah, cf. Cockerell zu Nr. 3. Widmungsexemplar, auf dem Blatt vor dem Titel recto, in roter und schwarzer Tinte: „Julia Peel | from | Wilfrid Scawen Blunt | Crabbet, May 16. 1892“.
¶ Der englische Dichter Wilfrid Scawen Blunt (1840-1922) engagierte sich gegen den Imperialismus für die kleinen Völker, so unterstützte er die irischen und ägyptischen Nationalisten, wandte sich gegen die britische Politik im Sudan, und hielt den englischen Kolonialismus in Indien für Ausbeutung. Aus seinen Reisen in den nahen und fernen Orient entstanden zahlreiche Bücher.
¶ Seine „Love Sonnets“ erweisen ihn als Dichter der Emotionen, dessen reiches Sexualleben nebenher dazu führte, daß das Gedicht „Natalia“, das sich auf Margaret Talbot, Frau des Militärischen Sekretärs an der Britischen Botschaft in Paris, bezog, aus der Kelmscott-Ausgabe wieder entfernt werden mußte, was zum Neusatz von achtzehn Seiten führte. (Siehe Sotheby & Co. London, 1953: Cockerell sale, Nr. 63).
¶ “...Wilfrid returned to Crabbet at the beginning of April 1892. Judith was to have a ‘season’. In his own way he expected to have one too. He took a flat in Mount Street. After a slow start, all went superlatively well, though Margaret was aged and thin and their romance reduced to ‘quiet affection’. For a few weeks, the beautiful black-eyed Julia Peel, with ‘white nervous hands’ (sister of George and Willy, the Crabbet Club members [and grandsons of the former Prime Minister. rfm]) seemed about to take Margaret’s place. Julia asked the Blunts to lunch at the House of Commons with her father the Speaker, and on the way to the terrace for coffee, in a little dark passage, Blunt felt that a caress had been invited. ‘She is an odd girl, and I hardly know what she wants with me – probably nothing’ [Blunt in a letter dated 12 May 1892. rfm]. It turned out that she wanted two things: Judith in marriage for her brother Willy and a talk – only a talk – with the much-talked-of Mr Blunt about the love she had never yet experienced. Nothing came of either project” (Elizabeth Longford: A Pilgrimage of Passion, p. 295).

Einband minimal fleckig, leichter Abklatsch der Bindebänder auf den Spiegeln, äußerste Büttenränder bisweilen leicht gebräunt, sonst recht frisch. Dieses Widmungsexemplar nicht bei Peterson erwähnt. Schönes Exemplar.

One of 300 copies on paper. Original stiff vellum, gilt title on spine, uncut. Faint set-off of the ties on paste-downs, slightly browned in outer margins. Printed in Golden type in black and red. Numerous red woodcut initials.
¶ Presentation copy, inscribed and signed by the author: “Julia Peel | from | Wilfrid Scawen Blunt | Crabbet, May 16. 1892” written in red and black ink on recto of leaf before title. “The proofs of ‘Love-Lyrics’ were read by Jane Morris and Lady Gregory, another former mistress of Blunt, who also anonymously wrote the twelve-poem sequence ‘A Woman’s Sonnets’”. Scarce.

Peterson A3 – Tomkinson 108,3 – Forman 220 – Scott 83 – Cockerell 3 – Ransom 325,3 – Walsdorf 3 – cf. Parry O.14 – Bibliographien.


Sonnet V from ‘In Vinculis’

A prison is a convent without God.
Poverty, Chastity, Obedience
Its precepts are. In this austere abode
None gather wealth of pleasure or of pence.
Woman’s light wit, the heart’s concupiscence
Are banished here. At the least warder’s nod
Thy neck shall bend in mute subservience.
Nor yet for virtue – rather for the rod.
Here a base turnkey novice-master is,
Teaching humility. The matin bell
Calls thee to toil, but little comforteth.
None heed thy prayers or give the kiss of peace.
Nathless, my soul, be valiant. Even in Hell
Wisdom shall preach to thee of life and death.

From ‘Quatrains for Life’

Here lay the camps. The sound from one rose clear,
A single voice through the thrilled listening air.
  “There is no God but God”, it cried aloud.
“Arise, ye faithful, ‘tis your hour of prayer.”
And from the other? Hark the ignoble chorus,
Strains of the music halls, the slums before us.
  Let our last thought be as our lives were there,
Drink and debauchery! The drabs adore us.
And these were proved the victors on that morrow,
And those the vanquished, fools, beneath war’s harrow.
  And the world laughed applauding what was done.
And if the angels wept none heard their sorrow.