The Musician's Day
Guest columnist: Erik Satie
(editor’s note: Yes, THAT Erik Satie. He was not only a pretty fair composer of cute little tunes, he was also an author of wonderfully witty articles—including this one, which seems to be a prescient model of our post-touring era.)
An artist must organize his life. Here is the exact timetable of my daily activities:
Get up: 7.18am.
Be inspired: 10.23 to 11.47 am.
I take lunch at 12.11pm and leave the table at 12.14am.
Healthy horse-riding out in my grounds: 1.19 to 2.53pm.
More inspiration: 3.12 to 4.07pm.
Various activities (fencing, reflection, immobility, visits, contemplation, swimming, etc...): 4.21 to 6.47pm.
Dinner is served at 7.16pm and ends at 7.20pm.
Then come symphonic readings, out loud: 8.09 to 9.59pm.
I go to bed regularly at 10.37pm.
Once a week (on Tuesdays) I wake up with a start at 3.19am.
I eat only white foodstuffs: eggs, sugar, scraped bones; fat from dead animals; veal, salt coconuts, chicken cooked in white water, mouldy fruit, rice, turnips; camphorated sausage, things like spaghetti, cheese (white), cotton, salad and certain fish (minus their skins). I boil my wine and drink it cold mixed with fuchsia juice. I have a good appetite, but never talk while eating, for fear of strangling myself.
I breathe carefully (a little at a time). I very rarely dance. When I walk, I hold my sides and look rigidly behind me. Serious in appearance, if I laugh it is not on purpose. I always apologise about it nicely.
My sleep is deep, but I keep one eye open. My bed is round, with a hole cut out to let my head through. Once every hour a servant takes my temperature and gives me another.
I have long subscribed to a fashion magazine. I wear a white bonnet, white stockings and a white waistcoat. My doctor has always told me to smoke. Part of his advice runs: “Smoke away, dear chap; if you don’t someone else will.”
As you can see, Mr. Satie’s regimen was strikingly similar to the Diamondville daily drill, with a few slight variations.