The Sorrows of Satan by Marie Corelli: Summary, Bright Episodes & Review

The Sorrows of Satan by Marie Corelli is a novel that is easy to mistake for a striking mystical story, yet very quickly it becomes clear that the reader is facing something far more than a tale “about the devil.” It is a book about the temptation of success, about the price a person is willing to pay for recognition, and about how subtly evil can speak the language of common sense.

Corelli writes in the atmosphere of the late nineteenth century—a time when faith in progress existed alongside weariness with empty salons, famous names, and beautiful promises. Against this backdrop, the story sounds especially sharp: outward prosperity often turns out to be nothing more than scenery, while the most important choices are made in silence, within oneself.

The Sorrows of Satan by Marie Corelli, book cover.

The novel draws the reader in by raising timeless questions without slipping into dry moralizing. It shows how easy it is to confuse freedom with permissiveness, talent with vanity, and love with self-interest.

At the same time, it possesses tension and intrigue: the reader follows the plot, only to gradually realize that the central conflict unfolds not in the outer events, but within the soul of the protagonist.

The Sorrows of Satan – Summary & Plot Overview

At the center of Marie Corelli’s novel The Sorrows of Satan stands the young writer Geoffrey Tempest—a man of talent and education who has reached a complete dead end in life. His literary ambitions shatter against the indifference of publishers, debts continue to pile up, and faith in his own calling slowly gives way to irritation and bitterness.

In this state, he is especially vulnerable: the world appears unjust, society hypocritical, and success a privilege granted not to the worthy, but to the fortunate. It is precisely at this moment that a mysterious stranger enters his life, introducing himself as Prince Lucio Rimânez.

Lucio gives the impression of an extraordinary man: infinitely wealthy, free from conventions, sharp-witted, and, most importantly, deeply attuned to Tempest’s unspoken desires. A strange friendship quickly forms between them, built on Lucio’s intellectual superiority and Geoffrey’s growing dependence on his support.

With almost no explanation, the hero receives a vast inheritance that instantly transforms his position in society. Poverty disappears, the doors of high society swing open, and past humiliations seem to be erased from memory. Tempest begins a new life in which money determines everything—from reputation to love.

Yet with the acquisition of wealth comes a gradual loss of inner grounding. The world the hero longed to enter proves to be cold and calculating. Those around him value not talent or character, but status, outward brilliance, and useful connections.

Tempest sinks ever deeper into social life, where success demands constant compromises with one’s conscience. His gift as a writer—once a source of both pain and hope—slips into the background, giving way to vanity and the desire to be recognized at any cost.

The romantic storyline occupies a special place in the novel. Tempest’s marriage appears to be a logical continuation of his new status, yet here too the illusions quickly dissolve. Feelings are replaced by calculation, and sincerity by graceful gestures devoid of inner substance. Love, which might have become a form of salvation, turns into yet another kind of transaction.

Against this backdrop, Lucio’s words and actions take on an increasingly unsettling tone. He seems to watch the hero’s downfall from the sidelines—at times gently nudging him forward, at other times pointing, with bitter irony, to the consequences of the choices he has made.

Gradually, it becomes clear that Lucio is not merely an eccentric benefactor. His view of the world, his contempt for human greed, and his strange compassion for fallen souls reveal a figure far more complex and symbolic. Through his dialogues with Lucio, the novel moves beyond social and psychological storytelling and takes on a philosophical dimension.

Corelli raises questions about the nature of evil, free will, and a person’s responsibility for their own desires. No one commands Tempest to act as he does, yet every decision binds him ever more tightly to the very things he once sought to escape.

The novel’s climax is built not on external conflict, but on inner awakening. The hero begins to realize that wealth and success have not only failed to bring him happiness, but have stripped him of his authentic self. This awareness arrives late and painfully: the purity of his original intentions cannot be restored, just as the choices already made cannot be erased.

The revelation of Lucio’s true nature is less a shocking twist than the logical conclusion of Tempest’s entire journey. The devil in this novel does not tempt through brute force—he waits patiently for a person to agree, of their own free will, to trade their soul for comfort and recognition.

In its finale, The Sorrows of Satan leaves the reader without comforting conclusions. This is not a story about punishment in the literal sense, but about the inner emptiness that inevitably follows the betrayal of one’s true self. Corelli shows that the hero’s tragedy lies not in the fact that he encountered the devil, but in how readily he accepted the idea that happiness could be bought.

The novel becomes a warning disguised as a striking narrative: evil rarely appears frightening—more often it speaks reasonably, politely, and with great persuasiveness.

Major characters

Geoffrey Tempest

Geoffrey Tempest is the central figure of the novel and its primary “testing ground.” At the beginning of the story, he appears as a poor but proud writer, convinced of his own talent yet deeply disillusioned with the world. His inner conflict grows out of a painful mismatch between how he sees himself and how society perceives him. Tempest sincerely believes that injustice has deprived him of recognition, and it is precisely this conviction that makes him especially vulnerable.

When he acquires wealth, his transformation is not sudden but gradual: step by step, he abandons his former principles, justifying each compromise by the need to “live like everyone else.” His tragedy lies not in weakness of character, but in self-deception—he clings for too long to the belief that outward prosperity can replace inner honesty.

Lucio Rimânez

Lucio Rimânez is one of the most memorable and complex figures in the novel. He appears as a dazzling aristocrat, endowed with wealth, intelligence, and a rare freedom from social conventions. Lucio does not impose his will directly and does not appear demonic in the conventional sense. On the contrary, he is observant, ironic, and at times even compassionate.

His role is not that of a blunt tempter, but of a subtle catalyst for other people’s desires. He sees through others with remarkable clarity and is rarely mistaken about their motives. Beneath his outward contempt for human greed lies a profound weariness and sorrow that give his character a tragic depth. Lucio is not so much a source of evil as a mirror in which the weaknesses of those around him are reflected.

Mavis Clare

Mavis Clare serves as a moral counterpoint to the fashionable society that Tempest longs to enter. She is sincere, pure in her feelings, and incapable of thinking in terms of advantage or gain. In her character, Corelli embodies the possibility of a different kind of life—quiet, honest, devoid of outward brilliance, yet rich in inner meaning.

Mavis performs no grand gestures and engages in no philosophical debates, yet it is precisely her presence that highlights the depth of the hero’s moral decline. She sees Tempest as a person rather than a status, which makes her both close to him and deeply unsettling. Her fate in the novel underscores the idea that genuine purity rarely survives in a world where everything has a price.

Sybil Elton

Sybil Elton embodies the social ideal that so strongly attracts Tempest after he acquires wealth. She is beautiful, refined, and perfectly attuned to the rules of high society. Unlike Mavis, Sybil is neither cruel nor deceitful, yet her feelings are shallow and shaped by social expectations.

Marriage to her becomes, for Tempest, a symbol of his final entry into the world of outward success. Their relationship lacks genuine intimacy, and it is precisely this absence that gives it its tragic quality. Sybil does not deceive the hero deliberately—she simply lives as she has been taught to live, and in doing so, exposes the emptiness of the world to which he aspired.

Key Moments & Memorable Scenes

One of the most significant moments in the novel is Lucio Rimânez’s first appearance in Geoffrey Tempest’s life. The meeting unfolds without outward drama, yet it is precisely in its calmness that a hidden threat can be felt. Lucio makes no grand promises and delivers no lofty speeches—he simply appears at a moment when the hero is inwardly ready to accept any form of help.

This scene sets the tone for the entire work: decisive turns of fate occur quietly, almost imperceptibly, as if by mutual consent.

The episode of the sudden acquisition of wealth is no less significant. Corelli presents it not as a triumph, but as a strange, almost unreal event after which the world begins to look different. Tempest’s reaction—a mixture of delight, disbelief, and hidden relief—reveals how deeply he had been broken by his former poverty.

At this moment, the reader clearly sees how easily the hero allows money to reshape his attitude toward people, toward art, and toward himself.

A series of scenes depicting Tempest’s entry into high society is also particularly memorable. There is no open conflict here, yet every social gathering becomes a test. Compliments ring false, conversations feel hollow, and the admiration of others seems conditional.

These episodes matter because they reveal that the world the hero once dreamed of is, in reality, spiritually barren. Corelli deliberately avoids satire, choosing instead to focus on the inner sense of emptiness that steadily grows.

The dialogues between Tempest and Lucio hold a special place in the novel. There are no direct confessions in them, yet almost every word carries a double meaning. Lucio speaks about human nature, art, and morality with a cold clarity that is more unsettling than open cruelty.

These conversations gradually lead the hero—and the reader—toward an understanding of the true nature of what is happening, without shattering the illusion all at once.

The climactic moment comes with Tempest’s moral awakening, when he finally realizes that he has paid for success not only with money, but with his own inner wholeness. This is not a sudden shock, but a slow, painful awareness in which there is no saving escape.

The final scenes connected with the revelation of Lucio’s true nature linger in the memory not because of their spectacle, but because of their heavy emotional aftertaste. The novel leaves the reader alone with a question that never loses its relevance: at what point do comfort and recognition begin to cost too much?

Why You Should Read “The Sorrows of Satan”?

The Sorrows of Satan is worth reading above all because it is a novel of reflection, disguised as a striking story. Marie Corelli offers the reader neither easy answers nor a convenient moral. She does not instruct, preach, or pass judgment. Instead, the novel gently yet persistently leads toward questions that are hard to dismiss: what we truly mean by success, where the line lies between an honest desire for a better life and an inner betrayal, and whether outward recognition can genuinely bring fulfillment.

The book is especially compelling in the way it portrays evil. Here, it does not shout, intimidate, or act through brute force. It reasons logically, speaks the language of rationality, and appeals to human fatigue and disappointment.

This is precisely why the novel has not lost its relevance: the mechanisms of temptation that Corelli describes are easily recognizable in the modern world, where success is often measured by appearance, and personal worth by usefulness and status. The Sorrows of Satan invites reflection on just how voluntary our compromises truly are.

It is also important that the novel does not read like a dry philosophical parable. It has a plot, intrigue, and psychological tension. Corelli knows how to hold the reader’s attention without overloading the text with abstract reflections.

All ideas are woven into the characters’ lives, their mistakes, and illusions. The reader does not remain a detached observer, but moves alongside the protagonist, gradually realizing how subtly priorities shift and how easily one can justify one’s own weaknesses.

Another reason to turn to this book is its lingering emotional aftertaste. The novel does not end with the final page, nor does it offer a sense of closure. Instead, it leaves an inner pause, a space for reflection.

This is not a story about punishment or retribution, but about the loss of inner wholeness and the price a person pays for refusing to remain true to themselves.

The Sorrows of Satan is worth reading for those who seek in literature not comfort, but an honest conversation. It is a novel for thoughtful reading, for moments when one does not wish to escape reality, but to look at it more closely—and perhaps to ask oneself questions that are not always pleasant to answer.