The Golden Star
Demons and Devas
But now a greater clamour still resounds, when other mighty throngs come storming forth and Lucifer himself arrives with legions near uncountable. Two thousand four hundred legions follow this dread Lord, and now these multitudes fill all the sky in ring Tartarean, Stygian; and such a clamour rises now that all the welkin rings and shakes and the new-formed mountains tremble.
The fiery chariot of Lucifer pulls up, and with commanding gesture he projects on high a ball of burning black flames, and at this sign a space is made, central, wide and circular; while from above descends a group of Demon Dukes, Marquises, Counts and Earls, Knights and Prelates, Presidents of Calamities. They stand and wait expectantly and silence deep ensues, till suddenly with thunderous roar ten thousand drums burst forth in tempestuous uproar, and now four Puissant Forms proceed towards the Centre. Borne on flaming Thrones from East and West, and North and South they come. In the form of a cross the four Thrones are placed back to back in pairs, so that each Lordly Monarch faces his own Cardinal Point.
Zimimar, on Throne of ebony drawn by polar bears, his sceptre a great firebrand, faces to the North. Of evil countenance is he and black of mien and threatening; from him comes all disaster, crime, iniquity and horror.
To the West is faced the Throne of Goap, the Prince of War and bloodshed, anger, lust and hatred. His Throne is red and drawn by leopards, and in his hand a lance with pennon black, to slay the innocent when chance does place them in his way. His glittering eyes dart cruel looks all round, aye seeking victims to destroy.
And Gorson, King of Southern climes, with bow and arrow on mauve Throne, is drawn by bulky elephants from place to place. His looks are mild, and on his brow a glistening crown of gold and pearls, denoting tears of happiness. But a mighty Lord is He, who can with one kind gesture grant all Happiness and Riches; or withdraw the same at will.
Now, lastly we behold the Golden Throne of Amaymon, King of Wisdom from the East. Great dromedaries draw His Throne, and milky white are they, the precious beasts beloved of Kings and Princes of the Desert Lands. Gloriously crowned, and Sage his Brow that glows with inner fires of wise profundity.
In front of each the Kings are rank on rank of Messengers with up-turned horns; some made of whitest ivory and hollow, and some of silver, brass, or gold, with which they sound their King’s commands at his behest, when, blaring with loud blasts of trumpets he calls his wingéd Ministers.
And now a shattering roar resounds and at this savage utterance rise up the demons of the Earth, whose task it was to make the mountain-chain whose forming we have witnessed.
And, bowing deep, they make report of all that region and beyond; for when those mighty hills were raised, at other points of earth’s fair face the lands were sunk, the waters have rushed in, and seas and oceans spread their tossing waves where once great Nations blossomed fair and wise, but soon forgotten.
Wild laughter sounds from the great multitudes who shriek with glee when the tales of death, destruction, suffering and loss are told; and with loud yells of mad delight the demon hordes disport themselves and leap with joy. Their grisly steeds rear up and gallop in confusion and add their barking, growling, hissing, thundering bellows to that grim festivity of execrable clangour.
But now, at a sign from the four Kings, bright Lucifer commands his legions to restore once more a semblance of tranquillity, and that wild orchestra of demon, maniac fury is stilled again, and only the splendour of that glittering host is gleaming in a vast carouse of scintillating glister.
Now Zimimar, the Northern King, holds up on high his firebrand sceptre, and his trumpeters raise up their horns and with a shivering roar there streams from out their mouths a swarm of small black demons which spread in all directions and settle on the hills, the valleys, and the mountains far and wide. These are the seeds of future deeds of evil, plagues, disasters, sent to teach the coming generations certain lessons, hard to learn, but if grasped with due humility and wisdom they will raise the aspirant to the highest pinnacle of bliss.
But Gorson, from his golden Throne, now shoots a trembling arrow wide, and at this sign resounds a long clear call of silver horns, whilst from their mouths stream out in rising glory glittering clouds of rosy fragile little demons, with gauzy wings that glisten splendidly in rainbow hues, and far and wide they flutter and descend all over the land; and southern zephyrs blow caressingly and waft a subtle perfume through the pellucid air. Here are the seeds of Love and Kindness and good deeds, to counteract the force malign of the dread Northern Monarch’s satellites.
Thus strike the Gods themselves a balance in their Wisdom; guiding stumbling Man along his path of test and trial and reward.
And now a loud fanfare of brass, that hoarse and threatening precedes the warlike forms of tiny demons flying from the mouths of brazen trumpets, as Goap’s Band from Western Climes blare out their challenge. Fiercely their Lord points with his lance towards the corners of the earth; in one wide sweep of mail-clad fist embracing all directions. With heavy drone of steely wings the seeds of war and strife, rapine and destruction soar high to heaven, and like a plague of locusts darken all the Land.
A solemn hush now falls on all when on his golden Throne Amaymon, King of Wisdom, slowly rises and with sonorous voice proceeds to read a proclamation from a heavy roll of papyrus, inscribed with mystic characters. It is a proclamation, with message sage, Divine with Knowledge of the Highest Gods, which only Gods can understand; and therefore Man, who has within his Soul all Intellect—prescience, which will in time unfold and make him One again with THAT from which he is descended.
Amaymon’s sparkling crown sends rays of brilliant radiance within the air and lights with arcane fires the path on which Man shall wind his way to heaven, when death and life and war and love have been subdued with understanding of Celestial Holiness and pity. And all the demon legions that fill the Empyrean vault are dumb and hang their heads in shame, remorse and pain, when clear rings out that Angel Voice with Message so supreme. With clarion call ring out his golden trumpets now, and all revive; forgotten is the Holy Word; bonds of restraint are broken, licence fierce holds revel high, and even all the Princes, Dukes and Earls and Knights are powerless to still that great explosion; wrath demoniacal; antithesis of all that draws to God, unknown, forsaken in Divine Abode; His House is empty—silent are the Mansions of the Soul.
The Demons of the East and South call on Astarte, with prayer of Old Phoenicia: ‘O Virgin of the Universe, blesséd Mother and Lady of the Skies, stay this tumult unholy.’
But powerless is She, that Maid and Mother, worshipped through the Ages; impotent to still that furious mob, who now regret their pang of piety with boundless rage and burning lust to kill. And tearing, rending, clawing, screaming, that evil throng attack, and, in two camps divided, a dreadful battle in the sky ensues, and all the regions shudder in dismay.
Far in the East
Approaches snow-white Gondola.
Drawn by the figures of seven Angels
It draws near, apace.
A silent MAN sits in the bows,
With Sorrow graven on His Royal Countenance;
And sternly gazing at those heaving multitudes,
He rises up—
Jesus Christos, Son of God Himself—
Rebukes that Host
And raging of the Warriors
And at His stern command they cease—
And there is calm.
* * *
The heavens cleansed;
And but a single glowing Star
Doth shine in clear cerulean sky,
Surrounded with a Halo,
Where He, the MASTER,
Stilled that clamour.