The infant Bulwer was disliked by his choleric, inebriate father, who died without obtaining the peerage he coveted when Edward was four. A delicate child, he became a mother’s boy and grew up to be an emotionally crippled and self-centred man. John Cam Hobhouse* described him in middle age as ‘strange, irresolute, conceited ... [and] totally incapable of managing his own affairs, but not at all without selfishness’.
The reason of my dislike to society is a painful sense of my own unfitness for it. One year has altered me so much in person and mind, has rendered me so little amiable or even tolerable, that I never enter a room without the idea that I am going to be still more disliked, and never leave it without the impression of being so.
Four months after his return to England in April 1826 he bought for £450 an unattached ensigncy in the army, which he resigned in January 1829.
not spend money upon the very little chance there is (from the king’s health) of Parliament’s lasting a sufficient time to answer me. I have offered, however, £800 a year for a seat instead of paying the capital all at once, but I fear the offer will not be accepted. If not I shall try hard for the next two or three years to acquire a literary reputation and come in with the next Parliament. In all things my favourite motto is that of Sir P. Sidney ... ‘I will either find my road, or make it’.
His brothers failed and nothing came of his own speculation. He spent the summer writing, largely at Knebworth, reflecting that he was wasting his time in England, ‘that land of wealth and rheumatism, corruption, vulgarity and flannel waistcoats’, and claiming to be ‘indifferent to the opinion [but] not to the happiness of mankind’, as ‘a misanthrope by feeling and a philanthropist by principle’.
By then he had fallen in love with Rosina Wheeler, the ‘singularly beautiful’ but unstable daughter of separated Irish parents, whose bluestocking mother was later described by Benjamin Disraeli† as ‘something between Jeremy Bentham and Meg Merriles, very clever, but awfully revolutionary’. The journalist Samuel Carter Hall recalled meeting the couple in 1826, when Bulwer, who affected the fashionable dress of a dandy, was ‘a young man whose features, though of a somewhat effeminate cast, were remarkably handsome. His bearing had that aristocratic something bordering on hauteur, which clung to him during his life’.
It is our object to obtain power rather than reputation ... In this servile and aristocratic country we must make to ourselves a more commanding rank ... I would not care a straw about the fame of stringing couplets and making books ... Literary honours are not ... so desirable as political rank; but they ... are the great stepping-stones to our more ultimate object. To get power I must be in the House of Commons ... I must pay a certain sum of money ... either a large sum at once, or a proportionate sum a year. The former is too precarious ... and my mother would only assist me once ... It remains, therefore, to pay the annual sum ... It can be done through the [Liverpool] ministry for £1,000 a year; and directly I can raise that sum I can enter the House. My mother will pay £600 a year only; the remaining £500 I must ... make myself. I can spare nothing from my present income, and this deficiency I therefore hope to supply by writing. The age is luckily generous to authors ... I shall ... directly the winter begins, commence regular author.
Seven weeks later he told Mrs. Cuningham that he was on the verge of arranging his return to Parliament, but nothing came of this.
In 1827 Bulwer published his first novel, Falkland, which had some success and earned him a £500 advance for another. In August he married Rosina, in defiance of his mother, who was temporarily alienated from him. He renounced her allowance and, to supplement his modest means (Rosina was worth only £80 a year) devoted himself to full time and frantic writing, which made him money but damaged his health, frayed his temper and helped to undermine the marriage. For over two years he and Rosina lived at Woodcot House, near Reading. Having decided by late 1827 that ‘a seat in Parliament ... is hopeless at present, even for any money’, he was ‘in treaty’ with the tottering Goderich government for an unspecified household place and a baronetcy. The collapse of the ministry in January 1828 dished this, and soon afterwards he was involved in abortive negotiations for a borough seat for £1,700. In June 1828, when his daughter Emily was born, he was delighted with the success of his new novel Pelham (begun at Cambridge), but still wished ‘to Heaven I were in the House’.
an egotism, a vanity - all thrown up to the surface. He is a thoroughly satin character, but then it is the richest satin ... It is a fine, energetic, inquisitive, romantic mind which if I mistake not has been blighted and opened too soon. There wants the repose, the peace that passeth all understanding.
Sadleir, 357.
In January 1831 Bulwer published his first article for the Edinburgh Review, on ‘The Spirit of Society in England and France’.
Bulwer, who installed his pregnant wife and their daughter in a rented cottage at Pinner, Middlesex, where he joined them at weekends during the session, was unwell in the spring of 1831. By late June he was ‘better’, though he complained that ‘the medicine affects my head and stomach dreadfully’. He planned to make his parliamentary debut on the second reading of the reintroduced reform bill.
At a time when authority can no longer support itself by the ‘solemn plausibilities’ and the ceremonial hypocrisies of old, it is well that a government should be placed upon a solid and sure foundation. In no age of the world, least of all in the present, could any system of government long exist, which was menaced both by the moral intelligence and the physical force of a country ... I see a system thus menaced ... modified into one placed, not only on the affections of the people, but also on the opinions of that class which ... fills up the vast space between the highest and the lowest, and whose members are opposed to every more turbulent revulsion by all the habits of commerce and all the interests of wealth.
On 30 July he accepted the placing of St. Ives in schedule B and on 25 Aug. he defended the proposed £10 householder franchise, contending that ‘in large towns the more men you exclude from the constitution, the more enemies you make of the constitution’, while ‘all whom you take from the rabble you convert into citizens, interested more or less in the preservation of the public safety’. Disraeli observed in 1833 that Bulwer was ‘physically disqualified for an orator, and, in spite of all his exertions, never can succeed’; and another commentator wrote in 1837:
His speeches are not only previously turned over with great care in his mind, but are written out at full length and committed ... carefully to memory ... He is artificial throughout ... in all his exhibitions in the House. You see art and affectation in his very personal appearance ... He is a great patron of the tailor and friseur. He is always in the extreme of fashion. He sometimes affects a modesty of demeanour, but it is too transparent to deceive any one who has the least discernment ... His manner of speaking is very affected: the management of his voice is especially so. But for this he would be a pleasant speaker. His voice, though weak, is agreeable, and he speaks with considerable fluency ... His articulation is impaired by the manner of his pronunciation, and the rapidity of his utterance ... [He is] a fine-looking man ... and ... usually wears a green surtout.
Disraeli Letters, i. 233; [J. Grant], Random Recollections of Commons (1837), 344-6.
Bulwer voted steadily for the details of the reform bill in July and August 1831, claiming in a public letter that he had ‘not missed one important division ... except on the question of dividing the counties ... on which I was unwilling to vote at all’.
‘Smitten by the journalism mania of the period’, he took on the editorship of the New Monthly Magazine (to which he had contributed since April 1830) from November 1831. He had high hopes of ‘raising the character and refining the materials of a monthly publication’, and turned it into a reformist organ; but the period of his editorship, which lasted only until August 1833, was marked by a fall in sales.
You don’t mean it seriously, or publicly to countenance the idea that you consider the cause of the people an antithesis and opposition to the cause of reform. In that case you will have placed me in a most singular position. You cannot suppose that my name can be employed against the bill I have voted for and helped to secure.
He had nevertheless asked Ellice, the patronage secretary, to let Disraeli walk over, but this was ruled out, as his friend was reckoned to ‘have not a chance at present’. Bulwer advised him to ‘take care and be cautious’ in his political pronouncements and promised that
if I can help you in any way not against my principles and in consistency with my public honour it will delight me, however much it may in a selfish point of view prejudice me, as it already has, indeed, in depriving or weakening that party and ministerial influence which I should otherwise have exercised for my own return.
Dep. Hughenden 28/1, f. 31.
On 14 June he moved for ‘repeal of the principal taxes on knowledge’ as ‘a necessary appendix’ to reform. Ministers agreed in principle but objected on financial grounds, and he withdrew the motion. Even so, he believed that his speech had ‘succeeded thoroughly’, as he informed Disraeli three days later on his way to canvass Lincoln for the next general election. ‘Quite satisfied’ with Disraeli’s explanation of his slogan, he urged him in his electioneering to ‘stick to the bill’ and not to ‘irritate our party or the government’.
Bulwer’s wife wrote to his mother, 15 Aug. 1832:
It is ... very melancholy to think of poor Edward’s rash continuing so long; but while he will slave himself and lead the feverish excited life he does, there is, I fear, no chance of his getting rid of it. He undertakes a degree of labour that ... no three persons could have the health and time to achieve ... If I implore him to do less and study his health more ... it only makes him angry; and ... all this irritability increases the rash. So I can only lament, endure and be silent.
The marriage was fast disintegrating, with faults on both sides, and it ended in legal separation in April 1836, though Rosina, who was briefly placed under restraint in 1858, carried on a public vendetta against Bulwer for years afterwards.
He begins a sentence, standing upright, in his usual tone; as he gets to the middle he throws himself backwards, until you would fancy that he must tumble over, and gradually raises his voice to its highest pitch. He then begins to lower his tone and bring his body forwards, so that at the finish of the sentence his head nearly touches his knees, and the climax of the sentence is lost in a whisper.
W. White, Inner Life of House of Commons, vol. 1, pp. vii-ix, 9-10.
Bulwer, who fathered a number of bastards and tried to disguise the physical effects of ageing with hair dye and corsets, continued to be a prolific and highly successful author of fiction, plays and history, and contributed incessantly to the periodical press.
