“Because people say that it is I who make your statues,” responded D’Orsay, with a smile.
“Really!” replied the sculptor, “I will come and see you; no one would accuse me of being guilty of yours.”
Dickens wrote in Household Words: “Count d’Orsay, whose name is publicly synonymous with elegant and graceful accomplishments; and who, by those who knew him well, is affectionately remembered and regretted, as a man whose great abilities might have raised him to any distinction, and whose gentle heart even a world of fashion left unspoiled.”
Landor writes:—
“The death of poor, dear D’Orsay fell heavily tho’ not unexpectedly upon me. Intelligence of his painful and hopeless malady reached me some weeks before the event. With many foibles and grave faults, he was generous and sincere. Neither spirits nor wit ever failed him, and he was ready at all times to lay down his life for a friend. I felt a consolation in the loss of Lady Blessington in the thought how unhappy she would have been had she survived him. The world will never more see united such graceful minds, so much genius and pleasantry, as I have met, year after year, under her roof.…”
Macready:—
“To my deep grief perceived the notice of the death of dear Count d’Orsay. No one who knew him and had affections could help loving him. When he liked he was most fascinating and captivating. It was impossible to be insensible to his graceful, frank, and most affectionate manner.… He was the most brilliant, graceful, endearing man I ever saw—humorous, witty, and clear-headed.”
D’Orsay’s good friend, Emile de Girardin, wrote in La Presse of August 5th, 1852:—
Le Comte d’Orsay est mort ce matin à trois heures.