Rank: Earl · Legions: 36 · Element: Earth · Direction: South · Enn: Avage secore on ca Andromalius
Andromalius is the seventy-second and last spirit of the Ars Goetia, an Earl great and mighty who rules over thirty-six legions of spirits. He appears in the form of a man holding a great serpent in his hand. His office is to bring back both a thief and the goods that were stolen; to discover all wickedness and underhand dealing; to punish thieves and other wicked people; and to discover treasures that lie hidden. Everything he is stands in that first image, for the serpent he holds is not his companion but his catch. The serpent has been the emblem of the crooked and the concealed for as long as anyone has told stories — the thing that moves without a sound, that goes on its belly out of sight, that strikes from cover and is gone — and it is precisely that quality, in human form, which Andromalius exists to hunt. He does not merely know about deceit. He has it in his fist: caught, lifted into view, held where everyone can see it and unable to strike. That is the whole of his character. He is the spirit who takes the hidden crooked thing and makes it visible, and who brings back what it carried off.
He is Andromalius in the Ars Goetia, and he is among the small number of spirits who do not appear in Johann Weyer's earlier catalogue of 1577, entering the tradition with the Ars Goetia itself as it was gathered into the Lemegeton in the seventeenth century. Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers and Aleister Crowley set him into modern English in their 1904 edition, and it is from there that his modern reputation comes. The text is short and entirely consistent: the man with the great serpent in his hand, the returning of thief and goods alike, the discovery of all wickedness and underhand dealing, the punishment of thieves and wicked people, the finding of hidden treasure, the thirty-six legions, and the rank of Earl. He is the last entry in the book.
Look closely at the image, because it is doing more work than it first appears. Andromalius is not shown fighting a serpent, nor fleeing one, nor being coiled by one. He is holding it — gripped, controlled, displayed. A serpent in the hand is a serpent that cannot do the one thing a serpent does, which is to strike from concealment; held up in the open air it is simply an animal, visible from end to end. And that is exactly what he does to underhand dealing. The crooked thing draws all its power from being unseen. The lie works while it is believed, the fraud while it is unnoticed, the theft while nobody knows where the goods went. Bring any of it into the light, hold it up where it can be looked at from end to end, and it loses almost everything it had. Andromalius is the hand that does the holding. The serpent is not his familiar or his symbol of wisdom; it is the deceit itself, caught and exhibited.
He closes the book, and it is worth pausing on that. The Ars Goetia is a long procession of extraordinary offers — kingdoms and armies, love and learning, invisibility, transformation, the tongues of birds, the secrets of the heavens, the thoughts of every living person. And at the end of all of it, the last spirit in the catalogue is an earl who returns stolen property, exposes dishonest dealing, and finds what has been buried. There is something almost sobering in the plainness of it. After every grand thing the book has offered, it finishes on restitution: putting back what was taken, and bringing into view what was hidden. Whatever the compilers intended, the catalogue ends on the two most ordinary and most necessary forms of justice there are.
His first office is a double one, and the doubling matters: he brings back both the thief and the goods. Most of the treasure-and-theft spirits in the book do one or the other — they reveal who took it, or they help recover what was lost. Andromalius returns both halves of the situation at once, which is the complete undoing of a theft rather than half of it. Read plainly, that is restitution in its fullest form: the property restored to the owner and the taker brought back to face what they did. Read inwardly, as this Vault reads such offices, it is the recovery of what has been taken from you in any sense — work someone else took credit for, an opportunity quietly diverted, time or trust or reputation spent by somebody else's dishonesty — along with a clear sight of who did it and how. He does not leave you with a loss and a mystery. He gives back the thing and names the manner of its going.
His second office is broader than theft and is, in practice, the one most worked today. Underhand is a marvellously exact old word: it means dealing carried on beneath the hand, under the table, out of view of the person it concerns. Andromalius discovers it. The arrangement made behind your back, the quiet misrepresentation, the figure adjusted, the promise made to two people at once, the friendliness that is doing something else — all of it is his territory. This is why he is so heavily worked in the modern revival by people in business, in litigation, in inheritance disputes, and by anyone who has the strong and unprovable sense that they are being handled. His gift here is not vengeance but sight: he shows you what is actually going on. And this Vault regards that as by far the most useful thing he offers, because most people who are being cheated do not need to be avenged nearly as much as they need to stop being confused.
Then the text says that he punishes thieves and other wicked people, and this requires the Vault's plainest handling, because it is the point at which a good spirit becomes a dangerous working.
Andromalius is the closest thing in the Goetia to a spirit of justice, and justice is exactly where people deceive themselves most reliably. The wish to see someone punished does not feel like malice from the inside. It feels like fairness, like proportion, like the restoration of a moral order — which is precisely what makes it the hardest impulse in the human repertoire to examine honestly. This Vault does not pretend the wish is unnatural or shameful. Being robbed, cheated, or lied to produces a real and legitimate anger, and being told to rise above it is usually an insult on top of an injury. But three things are true at once, and all three need saying.
The first is that you are the injured party, and the injured party is the worst available judge of proportion. Everyone who has ever been wronged has felt that the punishment they had in mind was measured and fair. Almost none of them were right, and the ones who acted usually escalated something that would have ended.
The second is that punishment returns nothing. His other offices restore: the goods come back, the truth comes out, the situation is repaired. Punishment repairs nothing at all — it only adds a second injury to the first and calls the sum justice. If what you actually want is your property, your reputation, or your peace, then recovery and exposure are the offices that deliver them, and punishment is the one that does not.
The third is the oldest warning in this Vault, and it is the same one written beside Andras: a grievance nursed and fed does its most reliable damage to the person carrying it. Time spent arranging someone else's downfall is time out of your own life, and the arrangement tends to keep you tied to the person you most want to be free of.
So this Vault takes his punishing office and reads it as the old texts read consequence generally: as something that belongs to the order of things and not to your hand. Ask Andromalius to recover what is yours. Ask him to expose what is being done in the dark, and let the exposure do whatever it does — which, with genuinely dishonest people, is usually a great deal. Do not ask him to hurt anybody. If you want the wrongdoer to face something, want them to face the truth, in daylight, where everyone can see it. That is the punishment the man with the serpent in his hand actually administers.
And here is the turn that this Vault regards as his real teaching, and a fitting one to end the whole catalogue on. His office is to discover all wickedness and underhand dealing. All of it. The text sets no boundary around the search, and it does not exempt the person who summoned him.
Anyone honest enough to call up a spirit of exposure should be honest enough to expect the light to swing round. Most of us are running some small crooked thing: the account of a falling-out that leaves out our part in it, the commitment we have quietly stopped intending to keep, the version of events we have told so often we no longer check it, the resentment we are enjoying more than we admit. None of it is monstrous. All of it is underhand dealing in the exact sense of the word — carried on beneath the hand, out of view of the person it concerns, and often out of view of ourselves.
Ask Andromalius for that. Ask him to show you the crooked things in your own dealings, the places where you are the one holding something back. It is a harder request than asking him to expose an enemy, it is worth incomparably more, and it is the only version of his gift that leaves you a better person than it found you. The serpent in his hand is a warning as much as a trophy. Anyone may find it is their own.
His last office is the finding of hidden treasure, which he shares with several spirits of the book and which sits naturally beside the rest of him: he is the one who brings the buried thing up into the light, whether it was buried by a thief, by a liar, or by time. Read inwardly, it is the same gift once more — what is valuable in you and has been covered over, disused, or forgotten, brought up where it can be seen and spent. It is a gentle note to find at the very end of the Goetia, and a characteristic one for him: the last office of the last spirit is the recovery of something worth having.
Andromalius is placed in the element of Earth and the quarter of the South — Earth for the buried treasure, the solid restitution, and the weight of consequence that he carries. For the planetary correspondence this Vault reads him under Saturn, and everything in him points there. Saturn is the planet of judgement, of consequence, of the reckoning that arrives whether or not it is wanted; he is the old lord of limits and of law, the one power in the classical scheme who is concerned with what is owed. He rules the deep earth and everything buried in it, which is where hidden treasure lies, and lead, the heaviest and least glamorous of the metals, which suits a spirit whose business is the plain restoration of what is owed rather than any brilliance. Above all, Saturn is time, and time is the great discoverer of underhand dealing: every concealment in the world is a wager against Saturn, and the house always wins eventually. Andromalius simply arrives sooner. And there is a last fitness in the pairing that this Vault cannot let pass unmentioned. Saturn is the outermost of the seven classical planets, the final sphere, the boundary of the visible cosmos beyond which the old astronomers reckoned nothing moved. The last spirit of the seventy-two stands under the last planet of the spheres. Where the Vault's other saturnine spirits wear him as endurance, depth, and the discipline of limits, Andromalius wears him as the reckoning: the debt called in, the hidden brought up, the account settled. Set his metal as lead, his day as Saturday, and his colours the grey of lead and the green of the serpent in his hand. These correspondences are read as symbolic rather than handed down as documented tradition; the grimoire gives only his element, his form, and his offices.
In the old demonology Andromalius is regarded as one of the more straightforwardly useful spirits of the catalogue, valued for the recovery of stolen property and the exposure of dishonesty, and noted for the vividness of his serpent-bearing form. He is absent from Weyer's earlier list and enters with the Ars Goetia, where he is given the final place. Commentators have often remarked on the appropriateness of that placement — that a book so concerned with hidden knowledge, concealed treasure, and secret counsel should conclude with the spirit whose entire function is to bring what is hidden into the open.
Carried into the modern revival through the 1904 Mathers and Crowley edition, Andromalius has become one of the most frequently worked spirits in the entire Goetia, and probably the most worked of the final dozen. He is approached for stolen and lost property, for fraud and betrayal, for business dealings that do not add up, for legal and inheritance disputes, and very often simply for clarity — by people who know they are being deceived and cannot yet see how. Modern practitioners generally report him as direct, businesslike, and quick, with results that arrive as information rather than drama: the document that surfaces, the inconsistency that becomes obvious, the person who overplays their hand. The more thoughtful working of him leans on recovery and exposure rather than on his punishing office, which is also this Vault's counsel.
The Character of the Earl, and the Close of the Book
Andromalius is direct, exacting, and strangely clean for a spirit at the end of such a catalogue — the man with the serpent held up in his fist, who returns what was taken, names the manner of its going, and drags underhand dealing out where it can be looked at. He asks for honesty and he is a poor choice for anyone unwilling to be examined himself, since his commission covers all wickedness and makes no exception for the operator. Met with a wish for revenge he offers the shortest path to a grievance that will outlast its cause. Met with a wish to recover what is yours and to see clearly what is being done in the dark, he is among the most practical and most bracing of all the spirits of the Goetia.
And with him the seventy-two are complete. It is worth noticing how the book ends against how it began. The Ars Goetia opens with Bael, a king whose gift is to make a person invisible, and it closes with Andromalius, an earl whose gift is to make the hidden visible. Between the first spirit who conceals and the last who uncovers stand seventy blazing offers of knowledge, power, love, wealth, and transformation. That the catalogue should close not on a crown or an army but on a hand holding a serpent up to the light — on restitution, and on the plain refusal to let a hidden thing stay hidden — is as fitting an ending as the old compilers could have given it.
Andromalius appears in the form of a man holding a great serpent in his hand -- and the detail that matters is the holding. He does not fight the serpent or flee it or stand coiled by it; he grips it and lifts it into view, where it is visible from end to end and cannot do the one thing a serpent does, which is strike from concealment. The serpent is not his familiar but his catch: deceit itself, taken and exhibited. Those who work with him describe a direct, exacting, businesslike presence, notably free of theatre or menace, with a quality of steady scrutiny that many find uncomfortable in a way they cannot immediately place -- the sense of standing before something that is looking at all of your dealings rather than only the one you came about. He is widely reported as quick to arrive and quicker to get to the point.
Enn: Avage secore on ca Andromalius
Working with Andromalius is working with the last spirit of the Goetia -- the Earl who holds the serpent up in his fist, who brings back both the thief and the goods, who drags underhand dealing into the open, and who finds what lies buried. His gift, in this Vault's reading, is twofold and neither half is vengeance: he restores what was taken, and he makes the hidden visible. He is also a spirit of exposure whose commission has no exception written into it for the person who summoned him, so come to him prepared to be looked at. What follows is a guide built on that.
Come to Andromalius plainly and honestly, and come with your facts in order -- he is a direct and businesslike spirit and has little patience for a vague grievance. Before you begin, write down what was actually taken or what is actually being concealed, separating what you know from what you suspect; the discipline of that alone often does half his work. Cleanse yourself and the space, and set his seal at the centre of the working. Where the correspondences are followed, the saturnine suits him: the grey of lead and the green of the serpent, the metal lead, the hours of Saturn and of Saturday, and a stone or a handful of earth to suit his element. Then open the way by reciting his Enn -- Avage secore on ca Andromalius -- until a steady, exacting, scrutinising presence gathers, and state your business without embroidery.
For his first office, name the loss precisely: the object, the money, the credit, the opportunity, the trust. Ask him to bring it back, and ask him also for the manner of its going -- who took it and how -- for he returns both halves and you are entitled to both. Take his answers as leads to be followed in the ordinary world rather than as conclusions: a direction to look in, a document to ask for, a question to put to the right person. His results characteristically arrive as information rather than as marvels, and the recovery generally happens through your own hands once you can see where to put them.
For his broadest and most-worked office, bring him the situation that does not add up. Ask Andromalius to show you what is actually being done beneath the hand: the arrangement behind your back, the figure that has been adjusted, the friendliness that is doing something else. Ask for sight rather than for retribution -- most people who are being cheated need to stop being confused far more than they need to be avenged, and clarity is the thing that lets you act well. Then act on what you see through proper means: the conversation, the record, the auditor, the lawyer. Exposure is his instrument, and with genuinely dishonest people exposure is usually sufficient.
Hold this line, and understand why it is drawn here rather than out of squeamishness. Do not ask Andromalius to punish anyone. You are the injured party, and the injured party is the least reliable judge of proportion alive -- everyone who was ever wronged believed the penalty they had in mind was measured, and most were mistaken. Punishment also returns nothing: his other offices restore the goods, the truth, and your peace, while this one adds a second injury to the first and calls the total justice. And a grievance that is fed does its surest damage to the one carrying it, keeping you tied to the person you most want to be free of. If you want the wrongdoer to face something, ask that they face the truth in daylight where it can be seen. That is the punishment the man with the serpent actually administers, and it is enough.
This is his deepest working and the one this Vault most recommends. His commission is to discover ALL wickedness and underhand dealing, and it exempts nobody -- so ask him, deliberately, to show you your own. The account of a falling-out that leaves out your part. The commitment you have quietly stopped intending to keep. The version of events you have repeated so often you no longer check it. The resentment you are enjoying more than you admit. None of it is monstrous and all of it is dealing beneath the hand. This is a harder request than asking him to expose an enemy, it is worth far more, and it is the only use of him that leaves you better than it found you. Write down what surfaces, particularly the parts you want to argue with.
Ask him also for treasure that is hidden: outwardly, what is buried, mislaid, or unclaimed; inwardly, what is valuable in you and has been covered over, disused, or forgotten. It is the gentlest of his offices and a fitting one to close a working with -- the last gift of the last spirit being the recovery of something worth having.
Practitioners describe Andromalius as direct, quick, and unnervingly attentive, with a sense of being examined more broadly than you asked for. When he has heard, his help tends to arrive as plain information rather than drama: a document that surfaces, a discrepancy that becomes obvious on a second look, someone who overplays their hand and says too much, a lost thing turning up somewhere you had already looked. Many report the situation simply becoming legible -- the point at which you stop feeling crazy and start seeing the shape of it. Look also for uncomfortable clarity about your own conduct, which with him is a sign of a working going well rather than badly. Keep a written record with dates.
Work with Andromalius honestly and specifically. Bring facts, not a mood. Ask for recovery and for sight; do not ask for harm. Do not use what he shows you to accuse anyone publicly before you can substantiate it -- an impression from a working is a lead, not evidence, and a person wrongly named has no way to answer it. Follow his information through ordinary and proper channels, which is where it is designed to land. Be prepared for his exposure to include you, and treat that as the working succeeding. And when it is finished, close with respect and gratitude, and let him go. He is the last of the seventy-two, the hand that holds the serpent up to the light, and to the seeker who wants what is theirs returned and what is hidden made plain, he is among the most practical and most bracing of all the spirits of the Goetia.