‘Sleep with us’ exhorts an unconventional inn sign not far from here, which students have remarked upon. Sleep seems to be a recurrent topic in their conversation: it has become an issue for too many of them, and some of the theories in a book recently published* may help to explain why. Electronic devices have a lot to answer for.

Sleep is important in the minds of pupils: some are apprehensive about it, while others seem to love it; and it is of course a recurrent topos in literature.

Edward Young:
‘Tired Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep!’
        Night Thoughts, line 1

‘Methought I heard a voice cry ‘Sleep no more,
Macbeth does murder sleep’—the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast…’
        Macbeth, Act II Scene 2
(A ravelled sleave, by the way, is a filament of silk that has frayed from its thread: Shakespeare, observant as usual, had presumably watched a seamstress skilfully ‘knitting’ them back into the fabric and making the surface of the garment smooth again.)

Horace, on how sleep visits the poor man but forsakes the rich and powerful:
‘destrictus ensis cui super inpia
cervice pendet, non Siculae dapes
dulcem elaborabunt saporem,
non avium citharaeque cantus

somnum reducent: somnus agrestium
lenis virorum non humilis domos
fastidit umbrosamque ripam,
non Zephyris agitata Tempe.
        Odes 3:1

Hypnos appears as a character in Iliad 14, when Hera, fond of summoning lesser immortals to assist with her schemes, finds him on the island of Lemnos and bribes him to send Zeus to sleep, so that Poseidon, unhindered, can help the Greeks in battle; and when he has done so, Hypnos goes to Poseidon to give him the all-clear.

Somnus is the god who puts Palinurus to sleep on a calm night in the Tyrrhenian Sea, to make him fall from his bench on Aeneas’s flagship and be drowned.

He is summoned by Juno, this time to give a dream to Alcyone, in Metamorphoses Book 11. Here Ovid, in his most felicitous mode, describes the Cave of Sleep (lines 592-612), where
ante fores antri fecunda papavera florent
innumeraeque herbae, quarum de lacte soporem
Nox legit et spargit per opacas umida terras.

In an appendix to his Roman Vergil, W. F. Jackson Knight suggests that the poet, like Ennius before him and Keats after him, may have used sleep as an enabler of his poetry: reading passages from his predecessors and mentors the night before, and finding that in the morning they had blended and produced something new: the inspiration that both Ennius and Keats refer to.

Of interest:

  • Keats, Sleep and Poetry.
  • Ennius, Fragmenta, passim


*Matthew Walker, Why We Sleep: The New Science of Sleep and Dreams, Penguin 2018



“So what is the Latin word for embarrassment?” asked one sixth former.

“And is it in short supply in America?” asked another, sharp of tongue, who I knew had been watching some of the rituals of the presidential election.

Declining to answer the second question, I considered the first one and was baffled.

The OED can be a useful port of call on these occasions, so we looked at it:

‘Intense emotional or social discomfort caused by an awkward situation or by an awareness that one’s own or another’s words or actions are inappropriate or compromising, or that they reveal inadequacy or foolishness; awkwardness, self-consciousness. (Now the usual sense.)

Frequently associated with particular bodily reactions, and expressed in terms of e.g. blushing, squirming, or wincing with embarrassment.

Typically distinguished from shame in being caused by something that is socially awkward or inappropriate rather than morally wrong or debasing.’


The OED finds it difficult to pin down the early history of the word embarrass: it is apparently from Middle French, used first in the Spanish Netherlands and derived from a Spanish verb embarazar, which meant to restrain an animal using a cord or a leash.

But to find a corresponding word in either Latin or Greek seems difficult. Its seems that pudor and αἰδώς suggest the ability to feel embarrassment, but neither seems to distinguish between a moral and a social feeling.

“So if there was no word for a feeling, does that mean that they didn’t feel it?” pursued the second student (she was intending to apply for an anthropology course.)

The answer to that is perhaps no. But there is the suspicion that some of the French think that embarrassment is ‘in short supply’ in England also, and to switch on the television at random might support that view.