“The doctor gave some very amusing descriptions of the personal
peculiarities of Bulwer and D’Israeli, the author of ‘Coningsby,’
observing that those who have read the works of the former, would
naturally conclude him to be very fascinating in private society. Such,
however, was not the case. He had not a particle of conversational
facility, and could not utter twelve sentences free from hesitation and
embarrassment. In fact, Bulwer was only Bulwer when his pen was in his
hand and his meerschaum in his mouth. He is intimate with Count D’Orsay,
one of the handsomest men of the day, and in his excessive admiration of
that gentleman has adopted his style of dress, which is adapted
admirably to the figure of the second Beau Brummell, but sits strangely
on the feeble, rickety and skeleton form, of the man of genius.”
Now it struck us, on the contrary, that there was no more playful,
animated, _facile_ creature in London society than Bulwer. He seemed to
have a horror of stilted topics, it is true, and never mingled in
general conversation unless merrily. But at Lady Blessington’s, where
there was but one woman present (herself), and where, consequently,
there could be no _têtes-à-têtes_, Bulwer’s entrance was the certain
precursor of fun. He _was a brilliant rattle_, and as to any “hesitation
and embarrassment,” we never saw a symptom of it. At evening parties in
other houses, Bulwer’s powers of conversation could scarce be fairly
judged, for his system of attention is very concentrative, and he was
generally deep in conversation with some one beautiful woman whom he
could engross. We differ from the doctor, too, as to his style of
dandyism. Spready upper works, trousers closely fitting to the leg, a
broad-brimmed hat, and cornucopial whiskers, distinguished D’Orsay,
while Bulwer wore always the loose French pantaloon, a measurable
hat-brim, and whiskers carefully limited to the cheek. We pronounced the
doctor’s astrology (as to _the_ stars) based upon an error in
“observation.”