From coffee time to bedtime, via ample walks and a necessary stretch of royal tedium.
I have a longstanding fascination with the daily routines of writers — most recently, those of C.S. Lewis, Charles Bukowski, and Anne Truitt — which is, of course, underpinned by an interest in the psychology of the ideal daily routine.
From The Diaries of Hans Christian Andersen (public library) — the same forgotten gem that gave us Andersen’s little-known and lovely sketches and his account of climbing Vesuvius during an eruption — comes Andersen’s outline of what his days were like in December of 1845, when he was visiting with the King and Queen of Denmark on their formal invitation. By that point, having already revolutionized storytelling, Andersen was practically royalty himself — a celebrity revered by commonfolk all over Europe and welcomed in the court of nearly every monarch. “Europe’s most famous and noble personalities fondly surround me, meet with me as kindred spirit,” he marveled in the diary just a couple of years earlier, but by 1845 he had come to accept his fame as fact.
Shortly before Christmas that year, while staying at the royal couple’s castle, he writes:
How my day goes: up at 8 o’clock and drink coffee; putter around and write until 10 o’clock; then walk up along the long, tree-lined drive and out the gate to the path through the field to Hollufgaard; look at the strait and wander back; read, sew, put things in order; and lunch at 12 o’clock with a glass of port. Then a short rest and after that, as before, an hour’s walk. It is the same route, and I take a little farther out in the other direction. Read and write until around 4 o’clock, get dressed; and dinner is from 4:00 to 5:00.
In a passage that calls to mind Bertrand Russell’s point about the importance of developing a capacity for boredom, Andersen goes on to describe “the most boring period, until 8 o’clock.” One invariably wonders how he might have filled that time if he lived in our era of on-demand distraction, and how that might have impacted his creative legacy. He bemoans that tedious stretch of time:
I sit in my room; don’t want to do anything, not to sleep either. One of the servants is playing a flute badly, practicing a piece… The wind is whistling outside; the fire in the tile stove is rumbling; the moon is shining in… Downstairs I conduct the entire conversation from 8 until 10 o’clock… I look at the clock; it doesn’t seem to be running at all; and when it finally does strike, each stroke falls as if marking time to a funeral march. — At 10 o’clock, upstairs; and half an hour later, in bed.
The Diaries of Hans Christian Andersen is a wonderful read in its entirety, full of the legendary storyteller’s intimate reflections on writing, criticism, travel, mental health, love, family, and more. Complement it with the best illustrations from 150 years of his tales, then revisit celebrated writers’ ideas on the creative benefits of keeping a diary.