The romance of “Spomydon,” printed by Wynkyn de Worde, celebrates the exploits of Charlemagne, for the recovery or the relics of the passion in the following lines:—
Cherles—wanne fro the hethen houndes
The spere and nayles of crystes woundes
And also the croune of thorne
And many a ryche relyke mo
Maugre of them he wanne also
And kylled them euen and morne.
Pilate.
There is a tradition at Vienne, that in the reign of the emperor Tiberius, Pontius Pilate was exiled to that city, where he died not long after, of grief and despair, for not having prevented the crucifixion of the saviour; and his body was thrown into the Rhone. There it remained, neither carried away by the force of the current, nor consumed by decay, for five hundred years; until the town being afflicted with the plague, it was revealed to the then archbishop, in a vision, that the calamity was occasioned by Pilate’s body, which unknown to the good people of Vienne was lying at the foot of a certain tower. The place was accordingly searched and the body drawn up entire, but nothing could equal its intolerable odour. Wherefore, it was carried to a marsh two leagues from the town, and there interred; but for a long series of years after, strange noises were reported by certain people to issue from this place continually; these sounds were believed to be the groans of Pontius Pilate, and the cries of the devils tormenting him. They also imagined, the neighbourhood of his body to be the cause of violent storms of thunder and lightning which are frequent at Vienne; and as the tower, where the body was found, has been several times struck by lightning, it has acquired the name of the tower of Mauconseil.[100]
It will be seen from the subjoined letter of a correspondent, who communicates his name to the editor, that remains of the ancient disguises are still to be seen in the proceedings of those persons in this country, who, towards the termination of the fast of Lent, collect materials for good cheer to make an Easter festival.
Paste Eggs.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Liverpool, Good Friday, 1826.
Sir,—Having been much entertained lately by your accounts of “festivals, and fairs, and plays,” I am induced to contribute, in some small degree, to the store of amusement in your interesting every-day miscellany. The subject on which I am to treat, is a custom that prevails in the neighbourhood of West Derby, on this day; it is known by the denomination of “paste egging,” and is practised by the humbler classes of the juvenile peasantry.