THE EQUINOX
is eternal. The sun burns him as he writhes naked upon the
sands of hell, and the wind cuts him bitterly to the bone, a
harsh dry wind, so that he is sore athirst. Give unto me, I
pray thee, one drop of water from the pure springs of Paradise,
that I may quench my thirst.
(The Scribe refused.)
Sprinkle water upon my head. I can hardly go on.
(This last was spoken from the triangle in the natural voice
of the Frater, which Choronzon again simulated. But he did
not succeed in taking the Frater’s form—which was absurd!
The Scribe resisted the appeal to his pity, and conjured
the demon to proceed by the names of the Most High.
Choronzon attempted also to seduce the faithfulness of the
Scribe. A long colloquy ensued. The Scribe cursed him by
the Holy Names of God, and the power of the Pentagram.)
I feed upon the names of the Most High. I churn them
in my jaws, and I void them from my fundament. I fear not
the power of the Pentagram, for I am the Master of the
Triangle. My name is three hundred and thirty and three,
and that is thrice one. Be vigilant, therefore, for I warn thee
that I am about to deceive thee. I shall say words that thou
wilt take to be the cry of the Aethyr, and thou wilt write them
down, thinking them to be great secrets of Magick power, and
they will be only my jesting with thee.
(Here the Scribe invoked Angels, and the Holy Guardian
Angel of the Frater P. . . . The demon replied:)
I know the name of the Angel of thee and thy brother
P...., and all thy dealings with him are but a cloak for thy
filthy sorceries.
(Here the Scribe averred that he knew more than the
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