HABITS OF FRENCH AUTHORS.*

WiEnt the hours of factory folks are regulated by law, and it is proposed to limit the hours of shop employes in like manner, and rehouse the poor at the expense of the State, it is perhaps only right that the woes and wants of workers with the pen should receive the attention of a curious and benevolent public. For these reasons, and for the instruction and guidance in matters sanitary of those whom it may concern, Dr. Riart (name of happy omen) has written a book to which he gives the not very felicitous title (when rendered into English) of Hygiene du Cabinet de Travail. The advice he offers is given in a pleasant vein, and though all his observations have not the charm of novelty, they may be read with profit, for they remind us of many things which we are apt to forget ; and we are glad to learn that the first edition of the work met with a favourable reception from all,—" authors, litterateurs, savants, doctors, bygienists,writers for the Press, scientific and literary, French and foreign." There can be little doubt, moreover, that brain-workers either give too little care to their health, or that their profession is peculiarly unfavourable to long life. According to a table cited by Dr. Riart—based, of course, on French experience—the proportion per cent. of theologians who reach their seventieth year is forty-two, of agriculturists forty, of artists twenty-eight, " professors "—including literary men—twenty-seven, and of physicians (who are at the very bottom of the list) twenty-four.

* Hygidne du Cabinet de Travail. Par le Doetear A Riart. Paris : J. B. Balliere at File.

Thus, next to doctors, writers and thinkers are the least given to longevity. We mark the distinction, because every writer is not necessarily a thinker ; but we disclaim all responsibility for the exclusion of theologians from the category of brain-workers. Save in this table, they are not mentioned from the beginning of the book to the end.

Some of Dr. Riart's suggestions, though undeniably excel- lent, sound like counsels of perfection ; to many a busy brain- worker they may seem almost ironical. For instance, he tells us that, "meant for meditation," the study, or the cabinet de travail, ought to be removed from all influences that make against concentration of mind. The impressions of outside, the noises of the streets, the house, or the neighbourhood, should not penetrate and bring trouble therein. From this point of view, the study is better placed in a large and airy court than in a street ; better in a garden than in a court. There are cabinets de travail, otherwise everything that could be desired, which a paved street or a noisy neighbourhood renders unfit for habitation.

Quite true, Dr. Riart, yet there be many cabinets—at any rate, in London—incessantly exposed to these inflictions, and even to some that are worse, without being otherwise everything that could be desired, cabinets which must be inhabited, and where close, hard work has to be done, day after day and night after night, noise or no noise. Nevertheless, the author's directions will doubtless be found useful by the fortunate few who can choose a study to their taste, remote from the distractions of the streets. He advises about everything—position, exposition, neighbour- hood, aeration, ventilation, daylight, and evening-light, curtains, carpets, furniture, and all else that concerns the comfort and health of men of letters. The room should be large, well lighted and ventilated, and, contrary to the opinion generally received in England, with an eastern exposure. "Exposed to the east," he says, "the cabinet de travail receives the rays of the morning sun, which bring salubrity, and that moral impression so favourable to the working of the mind and the hatching and precision of ideas." The artificial light which Dr. Riart prefers to all others is that of an oil lamp, and for heating purposes he recommends wood and an open fireplace. His remarks about diet and exercise are very sensible, the pity is that they are not more generally followed. The studious man, who wants to reach his seventieth year, will eat moderately, and at fixed hours. He will remember that it is not in accordance with the fitness of things that two organs so important to the human economy as the stomach and the brain should be in full activity at the same time. "They cannot, without injury to all, bring into opera- tion the life, the blood, the nervous system, and require for each exclusively all the forces of the organism." Hence, every full meal should be followed by an interval of repose, of diversion, and of recreation, either within doors or without. For the man of the cabinet physical exercise is "imperatively necessary." Moving little, his digestion is slow and painful, his circulation inactive and imperfect, his respiration incomplete and insuffi- cient. Yet while exercise is so necessary, too much of it is bad. Nothing can be worse than to take violent physical exer- cise by way of counteracting the effects of prolonged mental labour. In addition to its other evil consequences, it causes fatigue and an excitement unfavourable to study, creates an immoderate appetite, and renders necessary an abundant alimentation." But to overcharge the stomach is not the way to lighten intellectual effort. One of the worst results of much head work is short-breathing—" for- getting to respire," as Dr. Riart puts it. "The inspirations are incomplete, and do not call into action the superior part of the lungs. The thoracic cap does not dilate in all the amplitude of its dimensions. The quantity of oxygen which enters the lungs is much below the normal quantity ; the products of oxydatiott and combustion are left behind. In a word, sedentary life re- duces the pulmonary function to a third, even a fourth of its normal activity." This tendency may, in great measure, be counteracted by occasionally raising the arms, expanding the chest, drawing in a deep breath, and well emptying the lungs.

It is rather amusing to find that, while the author recom- mends daily ablution as a means of preserving health, he sug- gests that few literary men have time for tubbing. This pro- bably arises from the rarity of baths, and even of a regular water service in most French houses, so that people who want anything more than a sponge-down must make a special journey for the purpose. The parts of Ifygiime du, Cabinet that will be found most interesting by the general reader are probably the anecdotes about French literary men and the accounts of their manner of life. One of the most astonishing instances of what may be achieved by regular systematic labour is afforded by the example of Lithe, author of the celebrated dictionary which bears his name. The work itself, for which he must have been, so to speak, especially educated, occupied thirteen years and two months, and the "copy," without the supplement, counted 415,636 pages. The rules for the regulation of his life were so planned as to give the least possible time to "the current re- quirements of existence." By sacrificing every sort of super- fluity, he contrived -to have a town house and a country house. In the latter, at Menil-le-Roi, he was in a quasi-solitude, and could dispose of his hours as he liked :—

" • I rose at eight o'clock,' he wrote, very late you will any for so busy a man. Wait ! While ray bedroom, which was also my study, was being put to rights, I went downstairs, taking with me some work. It was in this way that, among other things, I wrote the preface to my dictionary. I had learnt from Chancellor d'Aguessean not to neglect seemingly useless moments. His nnpunctual wife often made him wait for dinner. One day he gave her a book with the words, "Here is the work of before dinners." At nine o'clock I returned to my room, and corrected proofs until luncheon time. At one o'clock I was again at my desk, and there until three I wrought for the Journal des Savants, which had elected me in 1855, and for which I was anxious to provide my regular contributions. From three to six I worked at the dictionary. At six we had dinner, which was always ready, for my wife did not resemble Madame d'Aguesseau. An hour later I was again at the dictionary. The first stage took me to midnight, when all the house- hold went to bed. The second took me to three o'clock, when, as a rule, my daily task was done. If net I wetit on, and more than once, when the days were long, I have put out my lamp and continued my work by the light of the rising sun. But three o'clock was generally the hour at which I laid down may pen, and put everything in order, not for the morrow, for the morrow was already come, but for my next day's work. My bed almost touched my desk, and in a moment I was there. Habit and regularity had overcome all tendency to ex- citement of the brain ; I slept as soundly as a man of leisure, and rose at eight o'clock, the wakening hour of many idlers. In the city I was less regular. There were comings and goings, and unforeseen interruptions. But in the evening I became my own master ; my nights belonged to me, as at Menil-le-Boi, and I employed them in exactly the same way.'"

Not a few literary men will envy Littre's facility for sleep, insomnia being the great trouble of wielders of the pen ; but it should be remembered that his work, besides being regular, made no calls on his invention or imagination. No poet or novelist could labour at his vocation sixteen or seventeen hours a day without impairing his power of sleep and incurring grave danger to his health.

Scribe was another glutton for work. He rose every morning at five, and did not quit his desk until midday ; but though he resumed his pen at a later hour, he varied his work by inter- views with actors, visits to the theatre, and watching rehearsals. In his case, at least, severe literary labour did not prove in- compatible with length of life. He reached three score and ten, and in the forty years of his literary career produced 345 pieces, comprising 897 acts; wrote more than a hundred thousand verses, and gained, it is said, nearly three million francs. Thiers and Dufaure also did great things by dint of method and hard labour ; but in all these instances, method—which simply means the efficient utilisation of time—was more than half the battle. A desultory writer may do good work, but he can never be a great producer.

A writer who yields to none of his contemporaries either in the quantity or the quality of hie work, albeit Dr. Riart makes no mention of him, is Elisee Reclus. He is at present engaged on his great Giographie Universelle, which has occupied him eight years, and will probably occupy him as many more. He produces a number every week, a volume every year, and has never yet missed being up to time. He begins his daily task at seven in the morning, and, save a few short intervals for meals and exercise, keeps hard at work until eight in the even- ing. He is a very moderate eater, takes little animal food and no wine, and to his abstemious habits he probably owes his

excellent health and capacity of sleep, for he is a man of slight frame, and by no means robust. His powers of assimilation

and acquisition are extraordinary. He seems to forget nothing, and is always ready to undertake anything, whether it be learns

ing Russian in order the better to write his article on Russia, or making a journey to Syria in search of materials for his chapter on Asia Minor.

It would thus appear that the most valuable quality a man of letters can possess is method, and as most men of letters (ex-

eluding from the category daily journalists) can dispose of their time as they think fit, it is their own fault if they are not methodical. The great thing is to get a good start ; for, as Dr. Riart rightly observes, "morning work is both the easiest and the most profitable, and, depending as it does upon ourselves, it can be the most regular. To acquire the habit of working be- times is both wise and salutary. Two hours' work, before fatigue and worry begin to trouble our minds and disturb our ideas, are a hundred times more fruitful than the same time given to work in the evening after the labours of a well-filled day."

The Hygiene du Cabinet, besides abounding in useful hints and good advice, is amusing, and even, on occasion, witty ; it may be read with advantage, as well by slaves of the pen as by all who take an interest in their welfare and their ways. We cannot do better than conclude this notice of an excellent book by citing a verse of Boileau, with which Dr. Riart very appropriately illustrates his remarks on what he calls the promenade hygignique :—

"Tant8t un livre en main, errant dans les prairies,. J'occupe ma raison d'utiles nveries ;

Tautdt, cherchant la fin d'un vers qua je constrni,

Jo trouve au coin d'un bois le mot gni m'avait fui."

Jean Jacques Rousseau had the same idea when he said that "to rouse his mind, he had need to move his body."