The Memoirs of the Duc de Saint-Simon is one of those rare books that compel one to pick up a pen and try their own hand at the literary caper. The easy flow of the narrative, and, as the Memoirs progress, his delightful vitriol read as if receiving a letter from a long lost friend. The very fact that Saint-Simon's everyday life revolved around the French court of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries makes it all the more fascinating for the modern reader. A word of warning - the long-winded French names and the plethora of ever changing titles can get confusing.

There would be few who could not be moved by Saint-Simon's rapturous delight at the defeat of his enemies, where his writing is at its unequalled best. However, by far the greatest strength of these Memoirs is the authors humbleness. Time and again he apologies to his reader for lengthy diversions, and for his inability to handle the material well, yet it cannot be denied that he is the greatest memoir writer to have lived, in all senses of the word. His conclusion, admiting that he can be repetitive and long winded is a tour de force, and we are allowed a knowing smile when we recollect that his pride has so often shone through elsewhere - there is nothing more pleasant to read than the work of a HUMAN author, with all the quirks and failings of our own. The translator's (Lucy Norton) footnotes are extremely helpful without being cumbersome. While the length of the three volumes will alienate many a potential reader, they are well worth any time invested in their perusal.

I am a diehard fan of European royal history and I loved this book. It is the first part of the memoirs of a Duke who lived in France during the last years of Louis XIV and during the regency of Duc de Orleans, Louis XV's minority. He is very detailed, telling stories about all of the people at court. Lucy Norton has done a great job of leaving the interesting tidbits in and leaving out the dull, long stories on politics, treaties, etc. I am more interested in biographies and this book was just what I love, you really get to know a lot about court life during this period. This first volume deals with the reign of Louis XIV and all of the intrigues as he is 53-71 years old.

Written some 20 years after he stopped playing any role in the political affairs of his time, that is after the death of the Regent, the duke of Orleans, Saint-Simon's Memoirs are of interest to 21st century readers not only because of what we learn about life in Versailles, at the court of Louis the fourteenth (countless memoirs from the time have long been rightly forgotten) but because of what they reveal about human nature.

Obsessed by his rank and deeply hurt by what he perceives to be the debasement of French high nobility by the king, Saint-Simon is first and foremost a very keen observer of the brutal struggle for power that goes on day in day out at the court. His title of duke and peer of the realm meant that he could move in all the spheres of power and knew not only the Sun king but all the planets and satellites that orbited around him. He breathes life into all of the courtiers and makes them unforgettable. Known best for the unflinching hatred he bore some of them, in particular the king's bastards, he can also bring the reader close to tears when he tells about the ones he loved. The duke of Burgundy's (Louis' grandson and heir to the throne) last days make for some of the most impressive pages I have ever read.

Saint-Simon, though not an easy read at first, will give you intense pleasure and there's 9000 thousand pages to enjoy. This edition is an abridged edition of the complete memoirs. It's a good start but I highly recommend learning French just to read all of it.

This is a diamond of a book, so join the club of those who can claim to have read Saint-Simon like among many others Stendhal, Proust, on whom he exerted a profound influence, or Julien Green, you won't regret it.

I loved these memoirs by a Duke who lived at the French Court during the later part of the reign of Louis XIV and during the regency of Duc d'Oreleans (Louis XV's minority). This second volume deals with the very last years of Louis XV and ends with his death (and the great fight over who would be Regent, since Louis XV was very young). There is a lot of detail about court life and it is very much biographic, details about people. Lucy Norton has done a wonderful job editing leaving out the long boring parts on war, treaties and politics and has left in all of the information on people during that age. I really enjoyed these memoirs.

Critic Roger Kimball called Delacroix's Journal "perhaps the greatest literary testament any painter has left." See Roger Kimball, "Delacroix Reconsidered," The New Criterion, Sept. 1998, p. 10.

This journal is a surprisingly accessible account of Delacroix's life. It has been well edited and covers a time frame spanning his early years, then his later life. Within these pages he includes his observations of Paris and the French countryside in the mid-nineteenth century, the people he knew like Chopin and Georges Sand, as well as his passionate reviews of works of art that influenced him. He offers sublime meditations on the nature of creativity and ruminates over ideas he has for new works. His outpourings capture the essence of the romantic movement. As an artist, even though separated from him by over a century, I found him to be a kindred spririt.

In order to get something worthwhile out of reading Delacroix's Journals, the reader should know something about Delacroix other than that he was a 19th century painter of the first rank. Ingres found Delacroix's work execrable and cast aspersion upon him by saying that: Delacroix was an apostle of ugliness who had come to 'end' painting as the French and the Europeans in general knew it. Today, Delacroix's work occupies a huge chunk of the Louvre's halls -- outstripping Ingre's portion. The fact that Delacroix in fact did fulfill Ingres' curse/prophecy may say something about the nature of death/life and rebirth/resurrection in art.
I read this wonderful book over ten years ago and so powerful was the impact of Delacroix's insights into the nature, perception, creational origin, and fate of art that much of it still remain with me. Delacroix in his day was not revered as he is today. He did not have people knocking down his doors to see his work, nor did he always have it easy trying to show it publicly. One day, after a bad review, to console himself, he wrote that (I paraphase) a great work of art in history is like a plank of wood held under water -- it is kept down when the powers-that-be hold it down. But that power ('political agenda' in contempo art-babble) does not last forever and must sooner or later let go of the plank whose nature is to float to the surface for all the world to see. He seem to have had the same intuition about the nature and fuction of art as the Greeks did: that art is light, that which shines of its own, and by which power that which 'sheds lights' and 'explains' what is around it rather than something that needs to be explained.
He never married but was looked after by a doting housekeeper. Not exactly a recluse, but most certainly a man of breeding descended of a noble stock who was careful about the company he kept, Delacroix spent much time, as artists and thinkers do, with his own thoughts and feelings, and expressing them. He was famous for his cordiality and urbanity, and among his friends in town (Paris) were Chopin, Georges Sand, and other individuals who would leave a mark (or in some cases, a mountain) in the arts one way or another. In other words, Delacroix was an agreeable man and as sociable as any thoughtful man would be but no more. Delacroix's social life is visible in these pages as is the Parisian milieu in which he lived and worked.
But the really great thing about Delacroix's Journals is that one gets to see something about how a great artist sees and feels things. Although he is over a century removed from us, his work and thoughts serve as a reminder that art is not always about anything socially or politically itchy; that art is just art; and that art is not something one needs to get hysterical about or merely a medium to carry an agenda. The fact that, historically, art was always commissioned by the aristocracy, and executed by those who were aristocratic in feeling and sensibility is one that is largely ignored today. Read this and see the significance of this fact, and why the term democratic art is ultimately an ugly oxymoron. Those who would champion the 'demos' sometimes think too highly of art and the need for "the people"'s participation in it.
In my humble opinion, if Delacroix were alive today, I think he would have loved Rauschenberg's and Jean-Michel Basquiat's work and their strong democratic origins but he would detest the democratization of art as such as found in Van Gogh umbrellas and calendars so loved by those who "love" art. He wouldn't go to Mozart Festivals either.