Rank: Marquis · Legions: 29 · Element: Water · Direction: North · Enn: Tasa Forneus on ca lirach
Forneus is the thirtieth spirit of the Ars Goetia — a mighty and great Marquis who governs twenty-nine legions of spirits, drawn partly from the angelic Order of the Thrones and partly from the Order of the Angels. He appears in the form of a great sea-monster, rising vast and strange out of the deep. He teaches and makes those who seek him wonderfully knowing in the art of rhetoric; he gives the knowledge and understanding of tongues; he causes a person to have a good name; and — the gift for which he is most treasured — he makes one beloved of foes as well as of friends. In Forneus the seeker meets the sea-monster whose speech wins regard: a spirit of language turned wholly toward being well thought of and well loved, whose deep art is not merely to speak but to be received. He is approached, in the reverent tradition, for eloquence, for the learning of tongues, for the honest winning of a good name, and for the rare grace of being loved even by those who have stood against one.
He descends to the modern practitioner through the long chain of grimoires under the steady name Forneus. He appears among the marquises of the infernal hierarchy in Johann Weyer's Pseudomonarchia Daemonum of 1577, and was carried over as the thirtieth spirit when that material was gathered into the Ars Goetia, the first book of the Lemegeton or Lesser Key of Solomon in the seventeenth century. Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers and Aleister Crowley fixed the modern English text in their edition of the Goetia in 1904, and Jacques Collin de Plancy kept his memory among the spirits of his Dictionnaire Infernal. Across all of these the account holds firm: the mighty and great Marquis in the form of a great sea-monster, who makes men wonderfully knowing in rhetoric, gives a good name and the understanding of tongues, and makes one beloved of foes as well as friends, ruling over twenty-nine legions of the Thrones and the Angels.
The grimoires describe Forneus in a form unlike almost any of his fellows: he comes as a great sea-monster. Where others appear as crowned kings, knights in armour, or courtly lords, Forneus rises out of the deep — vast, strange, and unhuman. The sea in the old imagination was the realm of what could not be seen or measured, the place of depths and of things that surface unexpectedly, and a monster of that sea is a creature of the unfathomed. It is a curious shape for a spirit of speech and of good repute, and reflective readers have found a meaning in the contrast: that the power to be well spoken of rises from depths a person does not see, and that what makes one loved is often as vast and strange as the sea. To picture Forneus rightly is to see that great shape breaking the surface, and to remember that regard, like the sea, has a depth beneath its face.
Forneus holds the rank of Marquis — the grimoires call him a mighty and great one — and rules twenty-nine legions of spirits. As with a few of the most notable spirits, those legions are drawn from the high angelic host: partly from the Order of the Thrones, the choir of divine contemplation said to stand nearest the throne of the Most High, and partly from the Order of the Angels, the choir nearest to humankind. It is a telling pairing, this reaching from the highest contemplation down to the closest attendants of people, and it suits a spirit whose art bridges the same distance: the loftiest craft of speech turned toward the most human of needs — to be thought well of, and to be loved.
The first of Forneus's named gifts is rhetoric, and the grimoires give it a striking emphasis: he makes men wonderfully knowing in the art. Rhetoric, in the old learning, was the disciplined craft of persuasion — the arranging of words so that they move and convince. Forneus teaches it, the text says, wonderfully well, and he is sought by all who must speak and be believed: the advocate, the speaker, the writer, the one who must make a case. But with Forneus the craft is never an end in itself, for every other gift he holds concerns what speech achieves in the hearts of those who hear it.
Like Ronove before him, Forneus gives the knowledge and understanding of tongues — the comprehension of languages, the crossing of the oldest wall between people. The text is careful to give him both words: knowledge and understanding, the learning of a tongue and the grasping of what is said in it. He is sought by students of languages, by translators, and by all who must reach across the distance that different speech creates.
It should be said plainly that Forneus shares two of his gifts with Ronove, the twenty-seventh spirit: both teach rhetoric, and both give the knowledge of tongues. The tradition does not explain the overlap, and honesty requires noting it rather than inventing a difference where the text gives none. Yet in what surrounds those shared arts the two spirits part clearly. Ronove is the master of language as craft: he teaches rhetoric very well, gives the tongues, and provides good servants — the equipment of one who commands speech. Forneus is the master of what language wins: he teaches rhetoric wonderfully, gives the tongues, and then gives a good name and the love even of enemies. Ronove hands you the instrument; Forneus is concerned with the music it makes in others. One is the art of speaking; the other is the art of being received.
The gift that is Forneus's own is reputation: he causes a person to have a good name. This is a quiet and precious office, and it is distinct from the honour-gifts of his fellows. Gusion grants honour and dignity; Naberius restores an honour that has been lost; Berith confirms a dignity and makes it secure. Forneus gives none of these exactly — he gives a good name: the way one is spoken of when one is not in the room, the repute that goes before a person and opens the door before they knock. It is not a title or a standing but something subtler and often more valuable: to be well thought of. And it follows naturally from his art, for a good name is made largely of words — of what is said about a person by others — and the master of speech is fittingly the one who shapes it.
The gift for which Forneus is most treasured, and the highest of his offices, is this: he makes one beloved of foes as well as of friends. Mark the word. Botis makes peace with an enemy; Ronove wins favours from friends or foes; Glasya-Labolas causes love among friends and foes. Forneus's phrasing goes to the heart of it — to be beloved, and by those who stood against you. It is among the rarest of human achievements and among the most freeing: not merely the ending of enmity but its transformation into affection, so that the one who was your adversary is glad of you. That a spirit of speech should hold this gift is no accident, for it is words, more than anything, that turn an enemy into a friend — the right thing said, the case made, the understanding reached. He is sought by all who would be loved across a divide.
What gathers Forneus's gifts into one is that they all concern how a person lives in the minds of others. He teaches the craft of speech; he opens the barrier of tongues; he gives the good name one is spoken of with; he makes one beloved even by adversaries. Each is a step further into the same country: not what you can say, but what you become to those who hear you. And his form suits it, for reputation and love are exactly like the sea — vast, moving, deep beneath their surface, and not wholly in one's own control. The great monster rising from the deep is the image of that: the power that lifts a name comes from somewhere beneath, in the hearts of others, and Forneus is its lord.
Within demonolatry and the modern left-hand path, Forneus is honoured as the sea-monster of eloquence and regard — a spirit of rhetoric, tongues, good repute, and the love even of enemies, approached with respect and an honest wish to be well received. The reverent practitioner does not regard him as a slave to be coerced by threats, as the older exorcists' rites would have it, but as a mighty and deep being to be met with sincerity. He is widely held to be generous with those who come to him honestly, and especially close to those who must speak and be believed, who must learn a tongue, who would have a good name, or who long to be loved where they have been resented. To work with Forneus in this spirit is to be taught not only how to speak but how to be received.
The journey from the medieval and renaissance grimoires to the modern altar has changed how Forneus is approached without much changing who he is said to be. The old rites framed every Goetic spirit as a danger to be bound within a triangle and compelled by divine names. The modern reverent practitioner, by contrast, comes to Forneus with the seal, the Enn, and an honest wish — most often for eloquence, for the learning of a tongue, for a good name honestly earned, or for the healing of a resentment into regard. His gifts of reputation and love are sought as things won truly rather than manufactured, for a good name built on a false impression is not what he gives. The forms have softened; the spirit described is the same great sea-monster who has taught speech and won regard for four centuries and more.
In contemporary demonolatry Forneus is approached through his seal and his Enn — the chanted phrase Tasa Forneus on ca lirach — by which practitioners open the way to him and hold his presence near. He is called upon for the art of rhetoric and the power to be believed, for the knowledge and understanding of languages, for a good name and fair repute, and for the winning of love and regard from friends and from those who have stood against one. Those who keep company with him describe a presence that is vast, deep, and oddly gentle — a sense of something great rising from below, of a strange and unhurried attention, of words and regard moving more easily afterward. He rewards sincerity and an honest wish to be well received, and he is, by the long testimony of the tradition, a generous and deep master to those who come to him in earnest.
What endures across every telling is the deep regard of him. Forneus is the sea-monster of the good name: the vast shape from the deep, the wonderful teacher of rhetoric, the giver of tongues, the maker of a fair repute, and — rarest of all — the one who makes a person beloved even by their foes. He is strange where many spirits are courtly, deep where many are bright, and close to two of the most human of longings — to be thought well of, and to be loved even by those who once stood against us. He asks for sincerity and an honest wish to be received truly rather than falsely, and to those who bring them he is, by the steady witness of the grimoires and of those who work with him still, a mighty and great Marquis: the deep that lifts a name, and the speech that turns an enemy into one who loves you.
The grimoires describe Forneus in a form unlike almost any of his fellows: he comes as a great sea-monster, rising vast and strange out of the deep. Where others appear as crowned kings, knights in armour, or courtly lords, Forneus is a creature of the unfathomed — the sea being, in the old imagination, the realm of what cannot be seen or measured, the place of depths and of things that surface unexpectedly. It is a curious shape for a spirit of speech and good repute, and reflective readers find a meaning in the contrast: the power to be well spoken of rises from depths a person does not see. Those who work with him today describe a presence that is vast, deep, and oddly gentle — something great rising from below, a strange and unhurried attention.
Enn: Tasa Forneus on ca lirach
Working with Forneus is an apprenticeship not merely in speaking but in being received. He is a mighty and great Marquis of the deep whose gifts are the craft of rhetoric, the understanding of tongues, the good name one is spoken of with, and — his highest office — the being beloved of foes as well as friends. His is the art of what words do in the hearts of those who hear them. He comes as a great sea-monster out of the unfathomed, and he answers those who come to him with sincerity and an honest wish to be well received rather than merely well regarded. What follows is a guide to that relationship: how to approach the Marquis, how to learn his rhetoric and his tongues, and how to seek a good name and the love even of an adversary.
Come to Forneus as you would come to a vast and deep master whose regard you genuinely seek — with respect, sincerity, and an honest wish to be received truly. He is not a spirit to be summoned idly, for his gifts touch how you live in the minds of others, and he answers best to those who wish to be well thought of for real reasons rather than to manufacture a false impression. Approach him with respect for his depth and his strangeness, steady and sincere, neither grovelling nor presuming, and be clear about the art you would learn or the regard you would win. The relationship with him is built upon sincerity, and the honest seeker he tends to meet with a deep generosity.
Prepare a clean and quiet place where you will not be disturbed, and prepare yourself with an open and unhurried mind. Many practitioners cleanse themselves and the space beforehand and set out his seal as the single focus of the working. Because his nature is bound up with the sea, some bring emblems of water into the working — a bowl of clean water, a shell, a stone from a shore — and because his art is speech, some bring the language's book, the speech to be shaped, or a written statement of the name or regard they seek. Settle your breathing, and bring with you a clear sense of what you seek: the rhetoric to be mastered, the tongue to be learned, the good name to be won, or the enmity to be turned toward regard.
Open the way to Forneus by setting your attention upon his seal and reciting his Enn — Tasa Forneus on ca lirach — slowly and steadily, letting the chanted words carry your intent and call his presence near. Repeat the Enn until you feel the air of the working change: a gathering of vast, deep presence, a sense of something great and unhurried rising from below, a strange and gentle attention. Do not rush this; his is not a swift spirit but a deep one, and the working is best begun in patience.
To seek Forneus as a teacher of rhetoric, name the art of persuasion you would gain and ask him to make you wonderfully knowing in it, as the grimoires say he does. Bring the speech, the argument, or the writing you must make into the working, and ask for the shaping of it. Then do the work of the craft — write, revise, and speak — for rhetoric is a discipline. And remember what distinguishes his teaching: with Forneus the craft is never an end in itself. Ask not merely how to say a thing well but how to be heard well, for his whole art bends toward what your words do in another's heart.
To seek his tongues, name the language you would learn or the speech you would understand, and ask him for both the knowledge and the understanding of it — the text is careful to give him both words, the learning of a tongue and the grasp of what is said in it. Bring the book or the study into the working, and then study in earnest, for his gift eases and deepens the learning rather than replacing it. Ask especially for the understanding, for it is in being understood and understanding that his gifts do their real work.
The gift that is his own is the good name, and to seek it, name plainly the repute you would have — to be well thought of in your circle, your work, your craft — and ask him for a good name. Understand what he offers: not a title, not a standing secured, but the way you are spoken of when you are not in the room. And understand the condition his gift implies: a good name is made of what others truly say, and it is built on what you actually are and do. Ask him for the fair repute, and then be worth it — do the work well, deal honestly, and let the words that go before you be true ones. He shapes how you are received; he does not manufacture a person you are not.
His highest office is to make one beloved of foes as well as of friends, and to seek it, name honestly the person or the quarter where you would be loved rather than merely tolerated — including, in his particular strength, the adversary whose resentment you would see turned to regard. Ask him to make you beloved there. This is not the bending of another's will but the turning of enmity into genuine affection, and it asks something of you: be honest about your own part in the enmity, be willing to meet the other as one who genuinely wants their good, and let your words and dealings give them a real reason. He turns hearts through speech and through what speech reveals of a person; so give him something true to work with. Of all his gifts this is the rarest and the most freeing — to be glad of, by one who once stood against you.
Practitioners describe the signs of Forneus's presence and favour in deep and unhurried terms fitting to a monster of the sea. There may be a gathering sense of vast, quiet presence, a feeling of something great and slow near at hand, an impression of depth beneath the working. In the days that follow some report words coming more easily and landing better, a language opening, an unexpected kind word said of them by someone unseen, a reputation quietly improving, or — most strikingly — a softening from a quarter that had been hostile, a former adversary become warm. Keep a written record of what comes during and after the working, for his gifts move slowly and beneath the surface, as the sea does.
Work with Forneus honestly and with a genuine wish to be received truly. Seek his rhetoric to be believed for good reason rather than to deceive, for the craft of persuasion turned to falsehood corrupts his finest gift. Seek his good name honestly and then be worth it — a repute built on a false impression is not what he gives, and it does not hold. Seek his tongues in order to understand others truly, and study in earnest. Seek to be beloved of an adversary through genuine goodwill and honest amends, not by manipulating a person against their judgement; be honest about your own part in the enmity, and give the other a real reason for the regard you ask. Come to him always in good faith, sincere in your wish to speak truly and to be received as you actually are — for he is a mighty and deep Marquis who answers sincerity with eloquence, a fair name, and the rare grace of being loved across a divide, and falseness with silence.