INTRODUCTION

Upon returning home, he devoted all remaining time to study. Very often after lunch—which was for him a light and easily digested meal, as was the fashion in the old days—he would lie in the sun during the summer if he had no other engagements. A book would be read to him, from which he made notes and extracts. He read nothing without taking notes, often stating that no book is so bad that it lacks some value. After this rest in the sun, he usually took a cold bath, ate a snack, and had a very short nap. He would then essentially begin a second day’s work, continuing his studies until dinner. During dinner, a book was read aloud to him, and notes were taken at a rapid pace. I recall that one of his friends, when the reader had performed a passage poorly, called him back to repeat it; but my uncle said to him, “Surely you caught the sense?” When his friend nodded in agreement, he continued, “Then why did you call him back? This interruption has cost us ten more lines!” Such was his economy of time. In summer, he left the dinner table before sunset, and in winter, less than an hour after it—a rule that carried the force of law for him. These were his habits while in the midst of his professional duties and the turmoil of city life. During vacations, only the time spent in the bath was exempt from study; and when I say the bath, I mean the central parts of that ritual, for while he was being shampooed and rubbed down, he was either having something read to him or he was dictating. On a journey, he seemed to discard all other interests, using the opportunity exclusively for study: he kept a secretary at his elbow with books and tablets, his hands in...