Paddy at Home ("Chez Paddy")

by baron de E. Mandat-Grancey

There is another thing well recognised by all observers really worthy of the name, and this is that amongst the different races of men and animals called to live together in the same country, there are always physically, as well as morally, if not some points of resemblance, at least some phenomena of conformation which indicate that they are made to assist each other. Thus, suppose that Providence had decreed that the race of Perche horses should resemble the Corsican ponies, where would the stout Normandy farmers’ wives, with their rounded forms, have been able to place all that, by the gift of exuberant Nature, they are forced to carry to market, when they are seated pillionwise behind their husbands? It is because they require so much room that the Percheron mares themselves have those beautiful round haunches which have made them so justly celebrated; whilst the small Corsican women whom one sees arrive at the Alata or Boccognano markets are perfectly comfortable on their thin ponies. Providence does all things well!

We must also notice—and it is in order to reach this point that I have allowed myself this digression—we must, I say, notice that this similitude does not only exist in external forms, it is also visible in characters. For instance, an Englishman knows how to imprint his individuality on all that surrounds him, animate as well as inanimate objects. The Englishman is a being whose manners are always solemn and systematic. He is so much the slave of his habits that he carries them with him wherever he may be. Imagine two Englishmen, one at Chimborazo, the other on the Himalayas, and except for the difference of time which results from the difference of longitude, you may be sure that they will both eat the same thing at the same hour. If you offer them at two o’clock the meal they have been accustomed to eat at eight, or at eight the repast they are used to take at two, they will wither you with a glance pregnant with the deepest contempt, and turn their backs upon you. The completeness of these habits constitute what is called respectability.

Well, the fish in this country—it is of Ireland that I am speaking—have contracted these habits. Offer as bait to one of our fish anything extraordinary, and he will swallow it, even if it is not good, simply from love of change, from curiosity. This sentiment in the last century made all our great ladies enjoy going to the porcherons so much to eat the petits plats canailles there. This is why we are such a revolutionary people! The trout and the salmon in the Shannon are not like that. If at eight o’clock you offer them a fly which they adore, but which generally they only eat at noon, instead of being seduced by the novelty, as our French fish would be, instead of allowing themselves to be tempted by the earliness of the season, they would turn round with a whisk of the tail, and you would not see another of them. Your advances, although well meant, shock them, because you have broken the usual rules, and they perceive in your action an attack against their respectability.

The English quite understand these sentiments. This is why, just as Baron Brisse composed a daily menu, to the great assistance of his readers, so they formed albums of artificial flies, which one has only to turn over to see what a trout or salmon who respected himself, should take not only every day of the year, but also every hour of each day. This idea appeared so sublime to me that I bought one of these albums; it cost me five pounds, and its information has never aided me in catching a single French fish.

But the English are more fortunate, or more skilful, than I am. Every morning, at dawn, I see the tenants or owners of fishing wending their way towards the river, consulting their albums. Two men are waiting for them seated in a punt moored to a tree. They begin by a long discussion as to which fly it would be most advisable to offer as the dish of the day. In order to settle this, they carefully examine the flies that are visible on the river. A still more certain means, when it is practicable, is to procure a trout, and to open its stomach to see what it has eaten for its first breakfast. When once their choice is made, they dress four or five hooks; one is fastened to the line, the others are placed round the hat ready for use. I ought to have mentioned that fly-fishing requires a special costume. It seems to me that it is absolutely necessary to wear knickerbockers, and for the complete suit to be of homespun, with yellow or green squares, the same sort of thing that we see the English wear from time to time in the opera amongst us—but not over here!

When these preparations are once ended, the punt is pushed into the midst of the river; the two boatmen, seated at the extremities, keep it still in the current, and their master sets to work. He flourishes his line two or three times in the air, and then with an adroit turn of the rod, he throws the fly up the stream, as far away as possible, holds it on the surface of the water whilst it descends the stream, and then recommences, without growing tired of it, during four or five hours. Every morning I see seven or eight gentlemen devote themselves to this amusement. From time to time their fly catches a hat on its way, either their own or a boatman’s. This is about the only thing I ever saw them catch. When it happens, they pause an instant in order to enable the owner to recover his lost headgear, but this is the only incident which can trouble their Olympian serenity.

These are the lucky ones of this world. They pay 200l. or 300l. per annum, and sometimes more, to obtain the right of enjoying this amusement. They alone can hope to capture a salmon, but allow others to gather up the crumbs from their table. On the bank one sees gentlemen of less importance, whom the others allow to fish for trout. This is the democracy of fly-fishing. Outside all questions of sentiment or prejudices, whichever you like, I do not pity them much, for they appear to me to catch a great deal more than the others.

I am not the only one who contemplates all these beautiful scenes. I also meet on the river banks a good number of people who are taking their constitutionals—that walk for health’s sake which absorbs one-half of every good Englishman’s existence. The “constitutional” is still an institution of the country. I must say a few words about it.