“Leave all that to the vicar, young lady; he will, no doubt, display his classical taste in the emblematical appointments.”
“I shall terminate the festivities of the day by a grand display of fire-works; the arrangements of which will necessarily fall under my own more immediate direction. The vicar,” added the major, “will perhaps allow me to proclaim him as master of the revels; for he is, as we all well know, deeply versed in ancient customs, and I am especially anxious that every department should be conducted with classical taste.”
“I willingly accept the office,” said Mr. Twaddleton, with a gracious smile, “since there is authority for my acquiescence. The Romans, in their entertainments, usually appointed a person whom they styled king, and held responsible upon such occasions. I accept it also, on a different ground; that my presence may check the enthusiasm of the people, and restrain the hilarity of the evening within the boundary of rational decorum.”
“If in the arrangement of your banquet, my assistance can prove of any service, command me,” said Mrs. Seymour.
“Believe me sincere, my dear madam, when I say, that the kind manner in which you receive my plan, and offer to promote its execution, affords me the highest gratification; if I decline your services, it is only from a fear of usurping the sovereignty of our master of the ceremonies,” replied the major.
“What! am I to descend into the lower regions, and hold converse with your ancient Sibyl, the cook? Would you call upon me to marshal the dishes? Am I, at once, to perform the offices of ‘Dapifer,’ ‘Lardrenius,’ ‘Magister Coquorum,’ and ‘Prægustator?’” cried the horrified vicar.
“Have I not declared that every part of my entertainment shall be strictly classical? and ought not each dish to convey some moral device, some allegorical design? Are we to feed with as little discrimination as the dogs that devoured the sacred Apis?”
The knowledge which the reader must have already collected of Mr. Twaddleton’s character will have satisfied him that, in every action of his life, he was more or less influenced by the spell of ancient authority; but we doubt whether he may not yet have to learn the extent to which the reverend gentleman carried this enthusiasm. We shall, accordingly, beg to state a few instances, which will serve to illustrate this circumstance. Be it known, then, that the very first act which announced the preferment of the Reverend Peter Twaddleton to the dignity of Vicar of Overton, was not, as some might suppose, an increased rate of compensation for the tithes; nor was it a rate levied for the repairs of his house; but the removal of the vane from the spire of the church, which, as it consisted of a simple cross piece of iron, seemed to the vicar’s imagination to be wriggling about, without any consciousness of its ancient origin and dignity. He therefore, at his own expense, replaced it by the figure of a cock, which he caused to be duly executed after an authentic model. It will be remembered that the crowing of the cock warned Peter; for which reason the monks first placed the figure of that bird on their churches, as an emblem to call the people to prayers; and, since the image was made to revolve with the wind, it soon acquired the name of the weathercock. With respect to the arrangement of his table, he displayed an equal veneration for ancient forms. He perpetuated the use of the wassail bowl, which was scrupulously prepared with apples and ale, according to the most orthodox receipt. His mince-pies at Christmas were fabricated with the same inflexible adherence to ancient authority; he maintained that the introduction of meat into their composition was a scandalous heresy; that the choicest productions of the East ought alone to be admitted, since the custom was originally intended to allegorise the offerings made by the wise men who came from afar to worship, bringing spices, &c. He was also as critical with respect to the shape, as he was with regard to the composition of these dainty inventions; he insisted upon the ancient or coffin shape, which he stated to have been in imitation of the cratch, or manger, wherein the infant Jesus had lain. His table was, with the same antiquarian correctness, punctually supplied at Easter with a gammon of bacon; a custom, which would, perhaps, have been more honoured in the breach than in the observance, since it was evidently founded on the abhorrence our forefathers thought proper to express towards the Jews, at the season of commemorating the resurrection.[[61]] The idea was in direct opposition to the liberal sentiments of the vicar, but, being an ancient custom, he never ventured to question its propriety. In like manner, his tranquillity would have been sadly disturbed, had Annette ever forgotten the pancakes on Shrove-Tuesday; for he was decidedly of opinion that it was a dish which had derived its origin from the heathen Fornacalia, a festival instituted by Numa,[[62]] in honour of the goddess Fornax; and was intended to commemorate the making of bread before the invention of ovens. Upon the subject of cross-buns he displayed great profundity; he observed, that the word bun was derived from boun, a species of sacred bread described by Hesychius, and which was anciently offered to the gods; in support of which opinion he quoted Julius Pollux and Diogenes Laertius; nor did he relinquish the subject, until he had ably descanted upon the address with which heathen customs had been, as it were, naturalized, and perpetuated as Christian observances. The boun, he would say, lost its idolatrous impurity by receiving the sign of the cross; in the same manner that Druidical idols, and stones erect, by having crosses cut upon them, continued to receive a justifiable reverence, even as late as the seventh century.
In short, the extent to which our excellent but eccentric vicar was carried, on such occasions, can scarcely be credited, except by those who are acquainted with the extravagant whimsies of a genuine antiquary. We have never contemplated this part of his character without congratulating the rising generation at Overton on the circumstance of the offices of village schoolmaster and vicar of the parish not having centered in the same individual; for we have not the shadow of a doubt, so great was his veneration for ancient usages, but he would have whipped up every child within his jurisdiction, on the morning of Childermas-day, or that of the Holy Innocents, as we are informed was the ancient custom, “in order that the memorial of Herod’s murder of the Innocents might stick the closer.” On the other hand, he would readily have forgiven any offence had the boy only cited a few lines from a favourite classic; for often had he been heard to relate with much satisfaction the well-known story of the Athenian Captives, whose lives were preserved in Sicily, from their being able to repeat portions of the dramas of Euripides. Whether, in spite of the censure and remonstrance of St. Austin, he would have ventured to continue the half-holiday on a Thursday, it is difficult to say; although the high antiquity of a custom originally established in honour of Jupiter, would, doubtless, have produced its influence upon the judgment of the antiquary.
One more anecdote, and we trust our illustrations of the vicar’s character will be perfect. The reader will remember, that to Dr. Doseall, the renowned Esculapius of the village, he had given the title of Polyphemus: this might appear inconsistent with his acknowledged kindness, and we are therefore bound to state his justification. “Was it not,” he asked, “a notorious custom in Athens to give nicknames expressive of personal peculiarities? Do we not learn from Aristophanes, that the poet Theognis, from the deficient warmth of his compositions, went by the name of Snow? and moreover, did not the Athenians, as a body, from their passion for news, and their habit of swallowing open-mouthed the flying rumours of the day, receive the soubriquet of Gapers, just as the London inhabitants of the present day rejoice in that of Cockneys?”