Orton

A spirit alluded to by the historian, Jean Froissart (1338-ca.1410) as the familiar of the Lord of Corasse. According to legend a clerk whom his lordship had wronged had the spirit torment his superior, but through conversation the Lord of Corasse won the spirit over and Orton became his familiar. Nightly Orton would shake his pillow and waken him to tell him the news of the world. Froissart wrote:

"So Orton continued to serve the Lord of Corasse for a long time. I do not know whether he had more than one master, but, every week, at night, twice or thrice, he visited his master, and related to him the events which had happened in the different countries he had traversed, and the lord of Corasse wrote of them to the Count of Foix, who took a great pleasure in them, for he was the man in all the world who most willingly heard news of strange countries.

"Now it happened that the Lord of Corasse, as on other nights, was lying in his bed in his chamber by the side of his wife, who had become accustomed to listen to Orton without any alarm. Orton came, and drew away the lord's pillow, for he was fast asleep, and his lord awoke, and cried, 'Who is this?' He answered, 'It is I, Orton.' 'And whence comest thou?' 'I come from Prague, in Bohemia.' 'And how far from hence is this Prague, in Bohemia?' 'Why,' said he, 'about sixty days' journey.' 'And thou hast come so quickly?' 'Faith, I go as quickly as the wind, or even swifter.' 'And thou hast wings?' 'Faith, none.' 'How then canst thou fly so quickly?' Orton replied—'It does not concern thee to know.' 'Nay,' said he, 'I shall be very glad to know what fashion and form thou art of,' Orton answered, 'It does not concern thee to know; it is sufficient that I come hither, and bring thee sure and certain news.' 'By G—, Orton,' exclaimed the lord of Corasse, 'I should love thee better if I had seen thee.' 'Since you have so keen a desire to see me,' said Orton 'the first thing thou shalt see and encounter tomorrow morning, when you rise from your bed, shall be—I.' 'That is enough,' said the Lord of Corasse. 'Go, therefore; I give thee leave for the night.'

"When the morrow came, the Lord of Corasse began to rise, but the lady was so affrighted that she fell sick and could not get up that morning, and she said to her lord, who did not wish her to keep her bed, 'See if thou seest Orton. By my faith, I neither wish, if it please God, to see nor encounter him.' 'But I do,' said the Lord of Corasse. He leapt all nimbly from his bed, and seated himself upon the edge, and waited there to see Orton, but saw nothing. Then he went to the windows and threw them upon that he might see more clearly about the room, but he saw nothing, so that he could say, 'This is Orton.' The day passed, the night returned.

"When the Lord of Corasse was in his bed asleep, Orton came, and began speaking in his wonted manner. 'Go, go,' said his master, 'thou art a fibber: thou didst promise to show me to-day who thou wert, and thou hast not done so.' 'Nay,' said he, 'but I did.' 'Thou didst not.' 'And didst thou not see anything,' inquired Orton, 'when thou didst leap out of bed?' The Lord of Corasse thought a little while, and said—'Yes, while sitting on my bed, and thinking of thee, I saw two long straws upon the pavement, which turned towards each other and played about.' 'And that was I,' cried Orton, 'I had assumed that form.' Said the Lord of Corasse: 'It does not content me: I pray thee change thyself into some other form, so that I may see and know thee.' Orton replied: 'You will act so that you will lose me.' 'Not so,' said the Lord of Corasse: 'When I have once seen you, I shall not want to see you ever again.' 'Then,' said Orton, 'you shall see me tomorrow; and remember that the first thing you shall see upon leaving your chamber, will be I.' 'Be it so,' replied the Lord of Corasse. 'Begone with you, therefore, now. I give thee leave, for I wish to sleep.'

"Orton departed. When the morrow came, and at the third hour, the Lord of Corasse was up and attired in his usual fashion, he went forth from his chamber into a gallery that looked upon the castle-court. He cast therein his glances, and the first thing he saw was the largest sow he had ever seen; but she was so thin she seemed nothing but skin and bones, and she had great and long teats, pendant and quite attenuated, and a long and inflamed snout.

"The Sire de Corasse marvelled very much at this sow, and looked at her in anger, and exclaimed to his people, 'Go quickly, bring the dogs hither, and see that this Sow be well hunted.' The varlets ran nimbly, threw open the place where the dogs lay, and set them at the sow. The sow heaved a loud cry, and looked up at the Lord of Corasse, who supported himself upon a pillar buttress in front of his chamber. She was seen no more afterwards, for she vanished, nor did any one note what became of her. The Sire de Corasse returned into his chamber pensively, and bethought himself of Orton, and said, 'I think that I have seen my familiar; I repent me that I set my dogs upon him, for I doubt if I shall ever behold him again, since he has several times told me that as soon as I should provoke him I should lose him, and he would return no more.' He spoke truly; never again did Orton return to the Lord of Corasse, and the knight died in the following year."