Magliabecchi, the learned librarian to the Duke of Tuscany, on the contrary, never stirred abroad, but lived amidst books, and almost lived upon books. They were his bed, board, and washing. He passed eight-and-forty years in their midst, only twice in the course of his life venturing beyond the walls of Florence; once to go two leagues off, and the other time three and a half leagues, by order of the Grand Duke. He was an extremely frugal man, living upon eggs, bread, and water, in great moderation.
The life of Liebnitz was one of reading, writing, and meditation. That was the secret of his prodigious knowledge. After an attack of gout, he confined himself to a diet of bread and milk. Often he slept in a chair; and rarely went to bed till after midnight. Sometimes he was months without quitting his seat, where he slept by night and wrote by day. He had an ulcer in his right leg which prevented his walking about, even had he wished to do so.
The chamber in which Montesquieu wrote his Spirit of the Laws, is still shown at his old ancestral mansion; hung about with its old tapestry and curtains; and the old easy chair in which the philosopher sat is still sacredly preserved there. The chimney-jamb bears the mark of his foot, where he used to rest upon it, his legs crossed, when composing his books. His Persian Letters were composed merely for pastime, and were never intended for publication. The principles of Laws occupied his life. In the study of these he spent twenty years, losing health and eye-sight in the pursuit. As in the case of Milton, his daughter read for him, and acted as his secretary. In his Portrait of himself, he said—"I awake in the morning rejoiced at the sight of day. I see the sun with a kind of ecstasy, and for the rest of the day I am content. I pass the night without waking, and in the evening when I go to bed, a kind of numbness prevents me indulging in reflections. With me, study has been the sovereign remedy against disgust of life, having never had any vexation which an hour's reading has not dissipated. But I have the disease of making books, and of being ashamed when I have made them."
Rousseau had the greatest difficulty in composing his works, being extremely defective in the gift of memory. He could never learn six verses by heart. In his Confessions he says—"I studied and meditated in bed, forming sentences with inconceivable difficulty; then, when I thought I had got them into shape, I would rise to put them on paper. But lo! I often entirely forgot them during the process of dressing!" He would then walk abroad to refresh himself by the aspect of nature, and under its influence his most successful writings were composed. He was always leaving books which he carried about with him at the foot of trees, or by the margin of fountains. He sometimes wrote his books over from beginning to end, four or five times, before giving them to the press. Some of his sentences cost him four or five nights' study. He thought with difficulty, and wrote with still greater. It is astonishing that, with such a kind of intellect, he should have been able to do so much.
The summer study of the famous Buffon, at Montbar, is still shown, just as he left it. It is a little room in a pavilion, reached by mounting a ladder, through a green door with two folds. The place looks simplicity itself. The apartment is vaulted like some old chapel, and the walls are painted green. The floor is paved with tiles. A writing-table of plain wood stands in the centre, and before it is an easy chair. That is all! The place was the summer study of Buffon. In winter, he had a warmer room within his house, where he wrote his Natural History. There, on his desk, his pen still lies, and by the side of it, on his easy chair, his red dressing-gown and cap of gray silk. On the wall near to where he sat, hangs an engraved portrait of Newton. There, and in his garden cabinet, he spent many years of his life, studying and writing books. He studied his work entitled Epoques de la Nature for fifty years, and wrote it over eighteen times before publishing it! What would our galloping authors say to that?
Buffon used to work on pages of five distinct columns, like a ledger. In the first column he wrote out the first draught; in the second he corrected, added, pruned, and improved; thus proceeding until he had reached the fifth column, in which he finally wrote out the result of his labor. But this was not all. He would sometimes re-write a sentence twenty times, and was once fourteen hours in finding the proper word for the turning of a period! Buffon knew nearly all his works by heart.
On the contrary, Cuvier never re-copied what he had once written. He composed with great rapidity, correctness, and precision. His mind was always in complete order, and his memory was exact and extensive.
Some writers have been prodigiously laborious in the composition of their works. Cæsar had, of course, an immense multiplicity of business, as a general, to get through; but he had always a secretary by his side, even when on horseback, to whom he dictated; and often he occupied two or three secretaries at once. His famous Commentaries are said to have been composed mostly on horseback.
Seneca was very laborious. "I have not a single idle day," said he, describing his life, "and I give a part of every night to study. I do not give myself up to sleep, but succumb to it. I have separated myself from society, and renounced all the distractions of life." With many of these old heathens, study was their religion.
Pliny the Elder read two thousand volumes in the composition of his Natural History. How to find time for this? He managed it by devoting his days to business and his nights to study. He had books read to him while he was at meals; and he read no book without making extracts. His nephew, Pliny the Younger, has given a highly interesting account of the intimate and daily life of his uncle.