Thomas Stoddart, wrote the following in 1835:
“Blame him not that he hoards up the pearls of his fancy — that his forehead is unbared for no honour — that he hath buried his virtues in a lowly place, and shrunk from the gaze and gathering of men — that he courts no patron smile, and covets no state preferment— that he is barely heedful of crowns and their creatures, of party struggles and party declensions — that he wills for no privilege but that of his meditative pastime, and runs not headlong among the meshes of care, in which are so intricately entangled the wealthy, the ambitious, and the powerful. He is happier in the nook of his choice, than the usher of sovereign mandates on the throne of his inheritance.
And when he quits his humble heritage,
It is with no wild strain — no violence ;
But, wafted by a comely angel’s breath,
He glides from Time, and on immortal sails
Weareth the rich dawn of Eternity.”
Stoddart qualified as a lawyer, but never practiced. Instead he went on to live a life which I presume was enabled by his family wealth and standing, in which he wrote and fished.
It is interesting that he published several works, the act of doing so arguably the very opposite of “burying ones virtues in a lowly place”. I suppose he shunned the public applause and prestige that he might have attained with a career in law, but was he blind to the notion that publishing his work might be the pursuit of “the gaze and gathering of men”?
It always impressed me that John Gierach seemed to shun the publicists and only attend shows and book launches under threat. As his number of books grew, so did the pressure it seems, but I recall one trade show attendee saying that he once saw Gierach enter a hall packed with flyfishers and none of them recognised him. I suspect that Gierach would have been deeply satisfied at having pulled that off. I certainly admire him for it.
Maya Angelou said that “there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story” , and I can’t help but wonder if Stoddart found that it was unbearable to leave his “high imaginings” a secret . Because Stoddart also wrote this:
“As a gift of his calling, poetry mingles in the angler’s being : yet he entreats for no memorial of his high imaginings — he compounds not with capricious Fame for her perishing honours — he breaks not the absorbing enchantment by any outcry of his, but is content to remain “a mute, inglorious Milton,” secretly perusing the epic fiction of his own heart.”
Beautiful isn’t it!
Stoddart was no “mute or inglorious Milton”. In fact he was expansive and poetic in his writing, and from my perspective was skillful at it too.
He does however encourage anglers to “keep up the fraternity of the craft”, and I believe that his writing contributed heartily to that. His texts are also dotted with the names of the fly fishing luminaries of the day, and a number of lines point to heated controversies and opposing camps. I can’t help wondering though, how this man, who was born in 1810, might have navigated the world of social media, websites and YouTube videos. Whether his balance of “keeping up the fraternity” and “secretly pursuing the epic fiction of his own heart”, might have had him, posting his pictures daily, or alternatively, fostering a hermit’s life.
What I can tell you is that his chapter is full of useful stuff, for which we would have been the poorer had he not broken free from the literary shackles which he advocates. For example, he advises on how to fight bulls, ward off dogs, avoid riverside liaisons with wanton women, and fool would-be competitive anglers by acting like a useless duffer until they bugger off.
In reviewing his writing, I conclude that I can offer no such sterling waterside advice. I did once attack a bull, but I came second. My poetry is no match to his Milton-like skills, and I haven’t even encountered any wanton women on the river banks. So all told I am inclined to avoid the “wealthy, ambitious and powerful” and stay in my hermit corner.
But like Stoddart….I am writing this. Sometimes it feels like stories want to be out, and I find myself letting them out.
I wonder if Stoddart was also conflicted.