Dr Neil Stanley Independent Sleep Expert
BACK George Earle Buckle and W. F. Monypenny, The Life of Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield, vi, 1876–1881 (New York, 1920), 599. here  But it is really too cold for society. I had fires for nearly a month in every room in my house every day, and I have hot air besides. I was glad to get away from Alfred's. He is the best and kindest host in the world, but all the marriage festivities  are now taking place, and one must have been in the way. I dined there on Saturday at a great banquet, and sate by Lady Dudley, whom I always like; she is very intelligent. The garden was illumined by electric light: magical. They danced afterwards, but I escaped at 11 o'ck. : Monty tells me the affair was late. On Wedy. there will be a real ball, wh. I shall not attend, as I shall be in my first sleep before the first guest arrives. Interestingly in quoting this passage Ekirch omits to mention that Disraeli actually found the illumination of the garden “magical”. Ekirch fails to make it clear that Disraeli actually “escaped”  at 11 o’clock. Ekirch further misrepresents the passage, as Disraeli actually says that he will not actually be attending the “real ball”, or next ‘soirée’ as Ekirch terms it, we have no idea as to when the first guest will arrive and thus what time Duireali would be in his ‘first sleep’. Ann Ryley, Fanny Fitz-York, Heiress of Tremorne, 3 vols. (London, 1818), iii, 417; here  A bright sun, and clothes of every description suited for the mornings tempted her to rise; though she was doubtful whether any of the family, except servants,,would be stirring at nine o'clock. " Nine o'clock !" exclaims some sluggard of fashion, “why, I am in my first sleep at that hour!" That maybe, fair lady, but my heroine has been accustomed to early rising; and no dissipation of the evening, however late, could tempt her to infringe upon it. I am not ignorant that people of fashion never quit their pillows at nine o’clock; but it was the hour of breakfast wherever Lady Ann presided; and, her daughter's borrowed habiliments were adjusted at the usual time. Note that Lady Ann, clearly a member of the upper classes, rose early however late the “dissipation of the evening” [T. Brown], Brighton: or, the Steyne. A Satirical Novel, 3 vols. (London, 1818), ii, 115; here  The summer again, is quite convenient for a long day: a man may take his morning ride at five in the afternoon, and visit a dozen of demireps before eight or nine o'clock, which is just the decent hour for dinner; and then a man can get rid of his servants, play what pranks he pleases, and walk home, by broad daylight, or have the fun of going with a knot of sparks to knock up an orderly fellow who was in his first sleep. Note that the “first sleep” in this passage is taking place in or soon after “broad daylight”, which even on the longest summers night in the UK could not be said to be later than 9 p.m. therefore it is hardly a description of keeping “late hours” as claimed by Ekirch. John Cordy Jeaffreson, The Real Shelley: New View of the Poet’s Life, 2 vols. (London, 1885), ii, 393; here Five days after writing from Florence to his wife at Bagni di Pisa, Shelley was writing (6th August,1821) to her from Bologna, as he was on the point of starting for Ravenna, to visit Byron at the Palazzo Guiccioli, which he entered at 10 p.m. of the same date. Crossing at this late hour his entertainer's threshold, Shelley was not permitted to retire to rest, by daylight, until he had heard a piece of scandal that cannot have disposed him for slumber. The promptitude, with which Byron poured this piece of tattle into his guest's ear, will remind readers how at Diodati he seized the earliest moment to chatter to another friend about the revolting Genevese scandal. Before Shelley went to bed for the first time, at five o'clock a.m. at the Palazzo Quiccioli, he had heard that rumour charged him with being the Either by Claire of a child, whom she had put into a Foundling Hospital. It was of course the easier for Byron to speak to Shelley of so indelicate a matter, because they had spoken freely together just five years since on the details of the Genevese scandal. Going to bed at five or six a.m. it was Byron's practice to rise in the afternoon ; and the poet, who thus turned night into day, was still only in his second sleep, when Shelley, at 11 a.m. on the 7th August, 1821, was writing to his wile in these terms I would argue that Byron is not really a true representative of the British upper classes, and turning “night into day” is not really a description of keeping ‘”late hours” [Charlotte Campbell Bury], The Exclusives, 3 vols. (London, 1830), iii, 157; here "How fortunate I am to have met you! I wished to know at what hour you are to go to Avington Park to- morrow;" and all applied to Lady Tilney. She named three o'clock. "La!" cried Lady Ellersby, "I shall not have awoke from my first sleep at that hour: surely four o'clock is quite time enough." I think that we may safely assume that this is satire rather than an accurate description of the British upper classes.  ‘Decline of the Drama’, 1838 113; here  Heaven forbid that we should retrogress to the epoch when the unlettered cit was content to sit out his afternoon in the Globe, to see his Juliet in a lubberly boy, and to accept his impressions of the Capitol or the heath at Forres from the same dingy canvass. Colley Cibber, be it observed, attributes the desertion of the theatres, at the commencement of the eighteenth century, to the late hours of the nobility and gentry, who were beginning to dine at four o'clock. We, of the middle of the nineteenth, have deferred the meal four hours later, and the same complaint is renewed. The fact is, that the hour of representation has kept pace with that of our convivial entertainments; and the auditors of Shakspeare's day had finished their second sleep, at the moment when the audiences of the Queen's Theatre are applauding the conclusion of the ballet. Even the frequenters of the winter theatres “Hear the chimes at midnight,” as they proceed homeward to their habitations. It is not the hour at which the great meal of the day is appointed which interferes with the play houses. It is that dinner is now a brilliant and colloquial entertainment, instead of a mere satisfying of the appetite; and, when two or three intelligent men meet to dine together, previous to repairing to the theatre, not one of them but feels disappointed when the carriage is announced which is to convey them thither, and fix their attention upon the stage. ” If “the auditors of Shakspeare's day had finished their second sleep” at the time that this passage describes  the  frequenters of the theatre ““Hear the chimes at midnight,”  as they proceed homeward to their habitations”, this cannot be a description of segmented sleep as proposed by Ekirch who clearly states that it is the ‘first sleep’ that ends around midnight. Georgiana Blakiston, Lord William Russell and his Wife, 1815–1846 (London, 1972), 470–1 Hastiings Russell to Lord William Russell Queen’s Guard, St. James’s Sat Dec 31 [1842] At 2½ o’clock this morning, my dear papa, I being in my first sleep after dancing till 12, after shooting all day, after dancing the whole of the fore-going night, after coming ny rail & horseback from town, at 2 ½ a.m. an estafette arrived sent by my admirable brother officers showing that one of our 3 duty Ensigns had broken his head in a gig & that the other was on a D.C.M at the tower consequently that I, No. 3, must be on parade Portman St. barracks by 9 ½ a.m. - 7 hours yo do 41 miles in, no postchaise nearer than 9 miles off , a night black as Erebus -wind in the S.W. & a little steady rain. Here I am, though, having had a full half hour to spare - here I am with a taught skin & a red eye, feverish & tired on the Queen’s Guard & ready, as soon as relieved tomorrow, to return whence I came. I hardly believe that “dancing till 12” around New Year was the sole preserve of the upper classes Frederick Liardet, Tales by a Barrister, 3 vols. (London, 1847), iii, 261; here London had been some hours awake, — the mysterious members of the dramatis persona: who, in the "grand mystery" enacted in the mighty city, occupy the hours of night and shade, had retired from the stage, and given place to those who carry on the scene through the garish day. and whose parts, in many instances at least, demand even greater art and concealment than those of their dusky rivals. The omnibuses, filled with the men of the city hastening from the surrounding suburbs to the common centre, were thundering through the streets with a rush which might recall to the antiquary the war chariots of the ancient Britons, — the strangers at hotels and coffee-houses were still lingering over the break  fast tables, and wading through the bewildering columns of the "Times." while they attempted to determine at the same moment how they should commence the pleasures or business of the day. All, in short, but the idlers of fashion and pleasure, who were still in their first sleep, were in movement. In other words, it was ten o'clock. The throng and press in the streets were rapidly increasing, and every instant brought its accession of noise and tumult to swell the general roar which at mid-day re sounds through the great thoroughfares of London. It is not clear from this passage that  “the idlers of fashion and pleasure” are necessarily upper class. Johnny Ludlow, ‘The Game Finished’, Argosy (Nov. 1869), 372;  here  We saw them come back from the Drawing-room between five and six, Helen with a brilliant colour in her cheeks; and at eight o’clock we went in. London parties, which begin when you ought to be in your first sleep, are not understood by us country people, and eight was the hour named in the Whitneys’ invitations. Note “eight o’clock” for the start of a party is hardly a description of keeping “late hours” Elmond Garth-Thornton, For Love and Duty: a Romance of the Peerage,2 vols.  (London,  1884),  ii, 196. here The hour was early when Rhoda arrived at the Baroness's house. Indeed, it was so early that society, or rather such fragment of society as remained in town, had hardly opened its languid eyes, and had pretty soon closed them again to turn over on the other side for a second sleep - that luxurious, lazy, second sleep which is the quintessence of enjoyment to persons who have no cares, and who keep late hours. Note that the actually time is not mentioned and so we have no idea as to how early the “hour was early” was and thus whether it was unseasonably so. Note also that in the passage ‘second sleep is clearly unrelated to Ekirch’s conception of ‘segmented sleep’ This example from 1634, 200 years earlier than the examples given by Ekirch above show that in the absence of artificial light both the upper classes and the lower classes were fully able to keep late hours (The Example by James Shirley 1634 here) Sir Solitary Plot. Dormant & Oldrat,  servants to sir Solitary Plot. Dor. Here is the sleepy vermin. Plot. Oh, come hither, sirrah ; where's your lady? Oldr. Out all this night at play, sir. Plot. All night ! there is some plot ; but I am safe At home; your gaming ladies are strange whirligigs: But while she plays, and revels with the gallants, Here I am cabled up, above their shot, And see in my imagination all their plots. Nay, we are the quietest couple, never meet, No, not abed ; there may be plots in that : This part o' the house is mine, and here I walk And see the soul, the very soul o' the world. Oldr. It has been day this two hours. Plot. Then 'tis time For me to go to bed. Dor. Would my hour were come once ! Plot. Keep out day-light, and setup a fresh taper. Dor. By that time we have dined, he'll have slept his first sleep. - Oldr. And after supper call for his breakfast. Plot. You're sure 'tis morning? Dor. As sure as I am sleepy. BACK
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