Another comic song/poem this week: “Etiquette” by W.S. Gilbert.
It was enough: they felt they could more pleasantly get on,
W.S. Gilbert (1836—1911)
For (ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knew Robinson!
And Mr. Somers’ turtle was at Peter’s service quite,
And Mr. Somers punished Peter’s oyster-beds all night.
Poem 443. Etiquette
The Ballyshannon foundered off the coast of Cariboo,
And down in fathoms many went the captain and the crew;
Down went the owners—greedy men whom hope of gain allured:
Oh, dry the starting tear, for they were heavily insured.
Besides the captain and the mate, the owners and the crew,
The passengers were also drowned excepting only two:
Young Peter Gray, who tasted teas for Baker, Croop, and Co.,
And Somers, who from Eastern shores imported indigo.
These passengers, by reason of their clinging to a mast,
Upon a desert island were eventually cast.
They hunted for their meals, as Alexander Selkirk used,
But they couldn’t chat together—they had not been introduced.
For Peter Gray, and Somers, too, though certainly in trade,
Were properly particular about the friends they made;
And somehow thus they settled it, without a word of mouth,
That Gray should take the northern half, while Somers took the south.
On Peter’s portion oysters grew—a delicacy rare,
But oysters were a delicacy Peter couldn’t bear.
On Somer’s side was turtle, on the shingle lying thick,
Which Somers couldn’t eat, because it always made him sick.
Gray gnashed his teeth with envy as he saw a mighty store
Of turtle unmolested on his fellow-creature’s shore.
The oysters at his feet aside impatiently he shoved,
For turtle and his mother were the only things he loved.
And Somers sighed in sorrow as he settled in the south,
For the thought of Peter’s oysters brought the water to his mouth.
He longed to lay him down upon the shelly bed, and stuff:
He had often eaten oysters, but had never had enough.
How they wished an introduction to each other they had had
When on board the Ballyshannon! And it drove them nearly mad
To think how very friendly with each other they might get,
If it wasn’t for the arbitrary rule of etiquette!
One day, when out a-hunting for the mus ridiculus,
Gray overheard his fellow-man soliloquising thus:
“I wonder how the playmates of my youth are getting on,
M’Connell, S. B. Walters, Paddy Byles, and Robinson?”
These simple words made Peter as delighted as could be;
Old chummies at the Charterhouse were Robinson and he.
He walked straight up to Somers, then he turned extremely red,
Hesitated, hummed and hawed a bit, then cleared his throat, and said:
“I beg your pardon—pray forgive me if I seem too bold,
But you have breathed a name I knew familiarly of old.
You spoke aloud of Robinson—I happened to be by.
You know him?” “Yes, extremely well.” “Allow me, so do I.”
It was enough: they felt they could more pleasantly get on,
For (ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knew Robinson!
And Mr. Somers’ turtle was at Peter’s service quite,
And Mr. Somers punished Peter’s oyster-beds all night.
They soon became like brothers from community of wrongs;
They wrote each other little odes and sang each other songs;
They told each other anecdotes disparaging their wives;
On several occasions, too, they saved each other’s lives.
They felt quite melancholy when they parted for the night,
And got up in the morning soon as ever it was light;
Each other’s pleasant company they reckoned so upon,
And all because it happened that they both knew Robinson!
They lived for many years on that inhospitable shore,
And day by day they learned to love each other more and more.
At last, to their astonishment, on getting up one day,
They saw a frigate anchored in the offing of the bay.
To Peter an idea occurred. “Suppose we cross the main?
So good an opportunity may not be found again.”
And Somers thought a minute, then ejaculated, “Done!
I wonder how my business in the City’s getting on?”
“But stay,” said Mr. Peter; “when in England, as you know,
I earned a living tasting teas for Baker, Croop, and Co.,
I may be superseded—my employers think me dead!”
“Then come with me,” said Somers, “and taste indigo instead.”
But all their plans were scattered in a moment when they found
The vessel was a convict ship from Portland outward bound;
When a boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very kind,
To go on board they firmly but respectfully declined.
As both the happy settlers roared with laughter at the joke,
They recognized a gentlemanly fellow pulling stroke:
‘Twas Robinson—a convict, in an unbecoming frock!
Condemned to seven years for misappropriating stock!!!
They laughed no more, for Somers thought he had been rather rash
In knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash;
And Peter thought a foolish tack he must have gone upon
In making the acquaintance of a friend of Robinson.
At first they didn’t quarrel very openly, I’ve heard;
They nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word:
The word grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head.
And when they meet each other now, they cut each other dead.
To allocate the island they agreed by word of mouth,
And Peter takes the north again, and Somers takes the south;
And Peter has the oysters, which he hates, in layers thick,
And Somers has the turtle—turtle always makes him sick.
Gilbert uses this poem to lampoon the niceties of Victorian etiquette and the odd idea that one must not socialise with those to whom one has not been formally introduced. It is one of the “Bab Ballads”—poems he wrote for the magazine Fun and which he eventually collected under the title “The Bab Ballads”, continuing thereafter to submit poems to the magazine as “Bab Ballads”. “Bab” is short for Baby and perhaps Gilbert adopted it as a tip of his hat to Dickens’s pen name Boz.
We begin like Twelfth Night with a shipwreck, though in this case only two are saved: Peter Gray and Somers, neither of whom has been formally introduced to the other. This is an insuperable social obstacle but they tacitly arrange to split the island between them: Gray taking the northern half and Somers the south.
It turns out that turtles abound on the southern side of the island and Peter Gray is extremely fond of turtles (to eat, I fear)—“turtle and his mother were the only things he loved”—while Somers “had often eaten oysters, but had never had enough”—but they only appear on the northern side. The ever-present spectre of propriety prevents them from coming to an arrangement because “they couldn’t chat together—they had not been introduced”!
So “Gray gnashed his teeth with envy” and “Somers sighed in sorrow” for neither can eat the abundant food on their own half of the island and each desires that which they are barred from by social niceties. If only they had been introduced to each other on the ship, all this angst would have been avoided.
The situation is rescued by the chance of Gray—hunting for the mus ridiculus (meaning nothing special born of the labours that move mountains) overhearing his fellow castaway wondering about his childhood acquaintances and mentioning several by name including “Robinson”. It so happens that Gray knows this “Robinson” from Charterhouse School and he is an old friend.
This breaks the ice and they become great friends on the strength of this mutual acquaintance, eating each other’s largesse, sharing poems and stories about their lives and wives and occasionally saving the other’s life.
This goes on for many years with the bond strengthening daily until a fateful day when a prison ship drops anchor off the island. They make contact with the ship and a boat is sent to collect them. When they realise that its cargo is convicts bound for Australia, they are horrified and decline the offer of transport firmly, laughing at their mistake.
Shortly afterwards, the joke falls flat as they both recognise the convict pulling an oar as the Robinson they both know so well and discover that he has been sentenced to seven years transportation for financial misconduct. This immediately colours their relationship—each asks himself how he could have been so foolish as to strike up a friendship with someone who knows this notorious criminal. They relapse into their former coldness and return to their halves of the island, each doggedly retaining the half that is most unsuitable for him.
I like this poem because it is a comment on social mores and manners—it points out the ludicrousness of forming one’s relationships based on only allowing those to whom others have introduced you and also parodies the English habit of choosing discomfort and keeping a “stiff upper lip” throughout it rather than dealing with the problem even if one is forced to deal with people one does not know.
Gilbert’s turn of phrase is masterly—“Down went the owners—greedy men whom hope of gain allured/Oh, dry the starting tear, for they were heavily insured.” is a nice line, and Peter Gray’s impatience is explained: “For turtle and his mother were the only things he loved”. I also love the comic moment when Gray realises he may be out of a job in the fast-paced world of tea-tasting and Somers suggests he should “come with me, and taste indigo instead.”
I’ve chosen the 2020 reading by Charles Dance on The National Brain Appeal YouTube channel.