Story of the familiar Spirit of the Lord of Corasse.

We owe to the kindness of one of our subscribers the interesting account that follows, drawn from the chronicles of Froissard, proving that the Spirits are not a modern discovery. We ask our readers' permission to relate it in the style of the period (Fourteenth Century); it would lose its originality were it translated into modern language.

The battle of Juberoth is famous in the ancient chronicles. It took place during the war that John, king of Castile, and Diniz, king of Portugal, waged to uphold their respective claims to the latter kingdom. The Castilians and the Béarnese were cut to pieces. The fact that Froissard relates on that occasion is among the most singular. One reads in chapter XVI of book III of his chronicle that, on the day following the battle, the Count of Foix was informed of its outcome, something that the distance of the places rendered inconceivable in that age. It is a squire of Count Foix who narrates to Froissard the fact in question:

“The whole of Sunday, and Monday, and the following Tuesday, the Count of Foix being in his castle at Ortais, bore a countenance so closed and so hard that not a single word could be drawn from him. During those three days he would not leave his chamber, nor speak to knight or to squire, however close they might be, unless he summoned them; and it even happened that he ordered those to withdraw with whom he did not wish to exchange a single word during those three days. When Tuesday evening came, he called his brother, Arnaut-Guillaume, and said to him in a low voice: Our people met with difficulties that enraged me, for, as I had told them when they departed, they ended up being assaulted on the journey. Arnaut-Guillaume, who is a very prudent man and an audacious knight, knowing the manner and condition of his brother, kept silent, and the Count, who wished to test his courage, having for a long time endured his vexation, took up the word again and spoke louder than he had done the first time, saying: By God, Sir Arnaut, it is just as I tell you and we shall soon have news, but never has the country of Béarn lost so much, from a hundred years ago until today, as it has lost this time in Portugal. Several knights and squires who were present and who saw and understood the count did not dare to speak. And then, ten days later, the truth was learned from those who had been there by duty of office, who recounted it first to him, then doing so to all who wished to hear, all the things, in the form and manner in which they took place at Juberoth. This renewed the grief of the count and of the people of his country, who had lost there their brothers, their fathers, their sons, and their friends. “Holy Mary! – I said to the squire who was narrating the story to me – how could the Count of Foix know, without conjecture, from one night to the next? – By my faith, said he, he feels it well, as he demonstrated. – Then he is a diviner, said I; or he has messengers who ride as swift as the wind, or it must be some trickery. – The squire began to laugh and said: He must know it by some kind of necromancy. To tell the truth, we know nothing, in this land, of how he uses it, save by supposition. Then, said I to the squire, have the goodness to tell and declare to me the fancy that you think, and I shall be grateful to you. And if it is a thing to be kept silent, I shall keep it silent; never shall I open my mouth, whatever may happen in the world. – I beg of you, said the squire, for I would not like it to be known that I had told it. Then he led me to a corner of the castle of Ortais and afterward began to make his account, saying:

“About twenty years ago, there reigned in this country a baron who was called Raymon, Lord of Corasse. As you know, Corasse is a town seven leagues from this city of Ortais. At the time of which I speak to you the Lord of Corasse had a suit at Avignon, before the pope, concerning the tithes of the Church, in his town, against a priest of Catalonia, very wealthy and who claimed rights over those tithes of Corasse, which were well worth an annual income of a hundred florins, and the right that he had he showed and proved; by definitive sentence, pope Urban V, in general consistory, condemned the knight and ruled in favor of the priest. From the pope's last sentence he carried a letter and rode so many days that he reached Béarn and showed his bulls and his letters and entered into possession of that tithe. The Lord of Corasse stepped forward and said to the priest: Master Peter, or Master Martin – such was his name – do you think that by your letters I should lose my inheritance? I do not consider you so bold as to take it, nor that you should carry off the things that are mine, for if you do you risk your life. But go elsewhere to seek benefices, for of my inheritance you shall obtain nothing; and, once and for all, I forbid it to you. The priest mistrusted the knight, who was cruel, and did not dare to insist. He gave notice that he would return to Avignon, as in fact he did. But when he was to depart, he came into the presence of the knight and Lord of Corasse and said to him: By force, and not by right, you take from me the rights of my Church, whereby, in conscience, you commit a great wrong. I am not so strong in this country as you are, but know that the soonest I am able, I will send you a champion whom you will fear more than me. The Lord of Corasse, taking no account of these threats, said to him: Go to God, go, do what you can; I do not fear, dead or alive; nor by your words shall I lose my inheritance. “Thus the priest went off and returned, I do not know where, to Catalonia or to Avignon, and he did not forget what the Lord of Corasse had said on departing, because, when the knight least expected it, about three months later, in his castle, while he was sleeping in his bed, beside his wife, there appeared invisible messengers who began to overturn everything they found in the castle, seeming to want to lay everything to ruin, dealing blows so great in the lord's chamber that the lady, who was there, became utterly terrified. The knight heard all this very well, but uttered not a single word, for he did not wish to show lack of courage. Thus, he was cunning enough to face all adventures. These confusions and disorders in various places of the castle lasted a long time, ceasing afterward. The next morning all the guests gathered and came to the lord, at the hour when he arose, and asked him: Sir, did you not hear what we heard this night? The Lord of Corasse said no. What things did you hear? Then they told him of the storm that fell upon the castle, knocking down and breaking all the crockery of the kitchen. He fell to laughing and said that they had dreamed and that it had only been the wind. In the name of God – said the lady – I too heard it.

“When, afterward, the next night came, those storms returned again, causing greater noise than before and dealing such great blows on the doors and on the windows of the knight's chamber that it seemed everything would break apart. The knight got out of bed and could not nor would not obtain what he wished: Who is it that knocks thus at this hour at the door of my chamber? Soon they answered him: It is I. The knight asked him: Who sends you? – The priest of Catalonia sends me, to whom you do great harm, because you take from him the rights of his benefices. I will not leave you in peace until you render him good account and he is content.

“The knight asked: What are you called, you who are so good a messenger? – I am called Orthon. – Orthon, said the knight, the service of a priest is worth nothing to you. He will give and cause you much suffering. If you will believe me, I beg you, leave me in peace and serve me, and I will be very grateful to you. – Orthon thought it well to answer, for he soon drew near to the knight and said to him: Do you wish it? – Yes, said the knight, but that you do harm to no one in this house. – To no one, said Orthon; I have no power except to wake you and to keep you from sleeping, you or the others. – Do what I tell you, said the knight, and we shall come to an agreement; leave that wicked priest, who has nothing good in him, except that he grieves for you; thus, serve me. – Since you wish it, said Orthon, I wish it.

“Thus this Orthon bound himself in such a way to the Lord of Corasse, that he often came to see him at night; and when he found him sleeping he pulled the pillow or dealt blows on the doors and windows of the chamber, waking the knight, who would say to him: Orthon, let me sleep. I will not, Orthon would say, until I first give you news. The knight's wife, then, had such great fear that her hair stood on end, leading her to hide herself under the covers. – So, the knight would ask, what news do you bring me? – Orthon answered: I come from England, or from Hungary or from elsewhere. I left yesterday and such things happened. Thus, the Lord of Corasse learned, through Orthon, all that was happening in the world. He kept this messenger for five years and could not keep silent nor refrain from making himself discovered to the Count of Foix, in the manner of which I shall tell you. In the first year the Lord of Corasse came several times to the Count of Foix, at Ortais, and would say to him: Sir, such a thing happened in England, or in Germany, or in another country; and the Count of Foix, after verifying that all was true, would marvel at how he came to know such things. And he insisted so much one time that the Lord of Corasse ended by telling him how and by whom such news came to him. “When the Count of Foix learned the truth he was very pleased and said to him: Lord of Corasse, seek to be agreeable to him; I would indeed like to have such a messenger. It costs you nothing and by this means you will really come to know what happens in the world. The knight answered: Sir, I will do so. – Thus, the Lord of Corasse was served by Orthon for a long time. I do not know whether this Orthon had more than one master, but every week, two or three times, he would come to visit the Lord of Corasse, giving him news of what was happening in the countries where he had conversed, and the latter would write it to the Count of Foix, who had great joy of it.

“One time the Lord of Corasse was with the Count of Foix and they were conversing about this, so that the count asked him: Lord of Corasse, have you never seen your messenger? – Word of honor, never, not a single time. – It is marvelous, said the count; if he were as bound to me as to you, I would have asked him to show himself to me; and I beg that you take the trouble to tell me what is his form and his manner. You said that he speaks Gascon as well as I and you. – I swear, said the Lord of Corasse, it is true; he speaks as well and as beautifully as you and I; and I swear that I will seek to see him, since you advise me to. It happened that the Lord of Corasse, as on other nights, was in his bed, beside his wife, who had already grown accustomed to hearing Orthon and was no longer afraid. Then Orthon came and pulled the pillow of the Lord of Corasse, who was sleeping deeply. Waking, the Lord of Corasse asked: Who is there? – It is I, answered Orthon. And he asked him: Where do you come from? – I come from Prague, in Bohemia. – How far, said he, is all well? – Sixty days, answered Orthon. – And you came so soon? – Yes, by God; I go as swift as the wind, or more. – Then you have wings? – None, said he. How, then, can you fly so fast? Orthon answered: You have only to hear the news that I bring you. – By God, said the Lord of Corasse, I would prefer to see you. Orthon answered: Since you wish to see me, the first thing you will see and find tomorrow morning, when you leave your bed, will be I. – Enough, said the Lord of Corasse. Now go; I dismiss you for this night. The next morning the Lord of Corasse arose. The lady had such fear that she fell ill and said that she would not rise that day, but the lord ordered her to rise. – Sir, said she, I would see Orthon; and I do not want to see him in any way, if God so permits me. Then, said the Lord of Corasse: I want to see him. He got softly out of bed, but saw nothing of which he could say: I saw Orthon here. The day passed and night came. When the Lord of Corasse was lying in his bed, Orthon came and began to speak, as was his custom. Go to, said the Lord of Corasse to Orthon, you are a liar; you ought to have shown yourself well to me and you did not do it. – Yes, I did. – You did not do it. – And when you got out of bed, said Orthon, did you see nothing? The Lord of Corasse thought a little and remembered. Yes, he answered, on getting out of bed and thinking of you, I saw two wisps of straw on the floor, that turned about together. – That was I, said Orthon, in the form I had taken. – Said the Lord of Corasse: This does not suffice me; I beg you to take another form, in such a way that I may see and recognize you. – Orthon answered: You ask so much that you will lose me and I will leave you, because you demand too much. – Said the Lord of Corasse: You shall not go from me. If I had seen you once, I would not ask you again to see you anew. “Well, said Orthon, you will see me tomorrow; and take heed of the first thing you see on leaving your chamber. The next day, at the hour of terce, the Lord of Corasse arose, made himself ready and, as soon as he left the chamber came to a place that overlooks the courtyard of the castle; he cast his eyes and the first thing he saw was a sow, the largest he had ever seen; but it was so thin that it seemed to be only skin and bones; it had large ears, drooping and spotted, and a long, sharp snout. The Lord of Corasse was much amazed at the sow. As he did not see it with pleasure, he ordered his people: Loose the dogs; I want to see this sow killed and devoured. The servants went out, opened the place where the dogs were and made them assault the sow, which let out a great cry and looked fixedly at the Lord of Corasse, who was leaning on the terrace in front of the chamber and saw it no more, for it vanished, no one knowing into what it became. The Lord of Corasse entered his chamber very pensive and remembered Orthon. I believe I saw Orthon, my messenger. I repent of having set my dogs upon him. It will be a misfortune if I see him no more, for he told me several times that as soon as I recognized him I would lose him. – He told the truth. From then on he never returned to the castle of Corasse, and the knight died there the following year. “Is it true, I asked the squire, that the Count of Foix made use of such a messenger? To tell the truth: yes, it is the opinion of several men of Béarn, for nothing is done in the region and elsewhere without his willing it or applying himself to it, unless he does not know it or has not taken care. Thus, it was with good knights and squires of this country who were in Portugal. The grace and renown that he has from this was of great profit to him, because he did not lose at home the value of a spoon of gold or of silver, nor anything at all without soon noticing its lack.”

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The Chronicles of Froissart.