SCENE 2. by Percy Bysshe Shelley: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
Cyprian, a scholar deeply infatuated with a woman, makes a desperate pact by offering his soul to Hell — and Hell responds.
The poem
CYPRIAN: O memory! permit it not That the tyrant of my thought Be another soul that still Holds dominion o’er the will, That would refuse, but can no more, _5 To bend, to tremble, and adore. Vain idolatry!—I saw, And gazing, became blind with error; Weak ambition, which the awe Of her presence bound to terror! _10 So beautiful she was—and I, Between my love and jealousy, Am so convulsed with hope and fear, Unworthy as it may appear;— So bitter is the life I live, _15 That, hear me, Hell! I now would give To thy most detested spirit My soul, for ever to inherit, To suffer punishment and pine, So this woman may be mine. _20 Hear’st thou, Hell! dost thou reject it? My soul is offered! DAEMON (UNSEEN): I accept it. [TEMPEST, WITH THUNDER AND LIGHTNING.] CYPRIAN: What is this? ye heavens for ever pure, At once intensely radiant and obscure! Athwart the aethereal halls _25 The lightning’s arrow and the thunder-balls The day affright, As from the horizon round, Burst with earthquake sound, In mighty torrents the electric fountains;— _30 Clouds quench the sun, and thunder-smoke Strangles the air, and fire eclipses Heaven. Philosophy, thou canst not even Compel their causes underneath thy yoke: From yonder clouds even to the waves below _35 The fragments of a single ruin choke Imagination’s flight; For, on flakes of surge, like feathers light, The ashes of the desolation, cast Upon the gloomy blast, _40 Tell of the footsteps of the storm; And nearer, see, the melancholy form Of a great ship, the outcast of the sea, Drives miserably! And it must fly the pity of the port, _45 Or perish, and its last and sole resort Is its own raging enemy. The terror of the thrilling cry Was a fatal prophecy Of coming death, who hovers now _50 Upon that shattered prow, That they who die not may be dying still. And not alone the insane elements Are populous with wild portents, But that sad ship is as a miracle _55 Of sudden ruin, for it drives so fast It seems as if it had arrayed its form With the headlong storm. It strikes—I almost feel the shock,— It stumbles on a jagged rock,— _60 Sparkles of blood on the white foam are cast. [A TEMPEST.] ALL EXCLAIM [WITHIN]: We are all lost! DAEMON [WITHIN]: Now from this plank will I Pass to the land and thus fulfil my scheme. CYPRIAN: As in contempt of the elemental rage A man comes forth in safety, while the ship’s _65 Great form is in a watery eclipse Obliterated from the Oceans page, And round its wreck the huge sea-monsters sit, A horrid conclave, and the whistling wave Is heaped over its carcase, like a grave. _70 [THE DAEMON ENTERS, AS ESCAPED FROM THE SEA.] DAEMON [ASIDE]: It was essential to my purposes To wake a tumult on the sapphire ocean, That in this unknown form I might at length Wipe out the blot of the discomfiture Sustained upon the mountain, and assail _75 With a new war the soul of Cyprian, Forging the instruments of his destruction Even from his love and from his wisdom.—O Beloved earth, dear mother, in thy bosom I seek a refuge from the monster who _80 Precipitates itself upon me. CYPRIAN: Friend, Collect thyself; and be the memory Of thy late suffering, and thy greatest sorrow But as a shadow of the past,—for nothing Beneath the circle of the moon, but flows _85 And changes, and can never know repose. DAEMON: And who art thou, before whose feet my fate Has prostrated me? CYPRIAN: One who, moved with pity, Would soothe its stings. DAEMON: Oh, that can never be! No solace can my lasting sorrows find. _90 CYPRIAN: Wherefore? DAEMON: Because my happiness is lost. Yet I lament what has long ceased to be The object of desire or memory, And my life is not life. CYPRIAN: Now, since the fury Of this earthquaking hurricane is still, _95 And the crystalline Heaven has reassumed Its windless calm so quickly, that it seems As if its heavy wrath had been awakened Only to overwhelm that vessel,—speak, Who art thou, and whence comest thou? DAEMON: Far more _100 My coming hither cost, than thou hast seen Or I can tell. Among my misadventures This shipwreck is the least. Wilt thou hear? CYPRIAN: Speak. DAEMON: Since thou desirest, I will then unveil Myself to thee;—for in myself I am _105 A world of happiness and misery; This I have lost, and that I must lament Forever. In my attributes I stood So high and so heroically great, In lineage so supreme, and with a genius _110 Which penetrated with a glance the world Beneath my feet, that, won by my high merit, A king—whom I may call the King of kings, Because all others tremble in their pride Before the terrors of His countenance, _115 In His high palace roofed with brightest gems Of living light—call them the stars of Heaven— Named me His counsellor. But the high praise Stung me with pride and envy, and I rose In mighty competition, to ascend _120 His seat and place my foot triumphantly Upon His subject thrones. Chastised, I know The depth to which ambition falls; too mad Was the attempt, and yet more mad were now Repentance of the irrevocable deed:— _125 Therefore I chose this ruin, with the glory Of not to be subdued, before the shame Of reconciling me with Him who reigns By coward cession.—Nor was I alone, Nor am I now, nor shall I be alone; _130 And there was hope, and there may still be hope, For many suffrages among His vassals Hailed me their lord and king, and many still Are mine, and many more, perchance shall be. Thus vanquished, though in fact victorious, _135 I left His seat of empire, from mine eye Shooting forth poisonous lightning, while my words With inauspicious thunderings shook Heaven, Proclaiming vengeance, public as my wrong, And imprecating on His prostrate slaves _140 Rapine, and death, and outrage. Then I sailed Over the mighty fabric of the world,— A pirate ambushed in its pathless sands, A lynx crouched watchfully among its caves And craggy shores; and I have wandered over _145 The expanse of these wide wildernesses In this great ship, whose bulk is now dissolved In the light breathings of the invisible wind, And which the sea has made a dustless ruin, Seeking ever a mountain, through whose forests _150 I seek a man, whom I must now compel To keep his word with me. I came arrayed In tempest, and although my power could well Bridle the forest winds in their career, For other causes I forbore to soothe _155 Their fury to Favonian gentleness; I could and would not; [ASIDE.] (thus I wake in him A love of magic art). Let not this tempest, Nor the succeeding calm excite thy wonder; For by my art the sun would turn as pale _160 As his weak sister with unwonted fear; And in my wisdom are the orbs of Heaven Written as in a record; I have pierced The flaming circles of their wondrous spheres And know them as thou knowest every corner _165 Of this dim spot. Let it not seem to thee That I boast vainly; wouldst thou that I work A charm over this waste and savage wood, This Babylon of crags and aged trees, Filling its leafy coverts with a horror _170 Thrilling and strange? I am the friendless guest Of these wild oaks and pines—and as from thee I have received the hospitality Of this rude place, I offer thee the fruit Of years of toil in recompense; whate’er _175 Thy wildest dream presented to thy thought As object of desire, that shall be thine. ... And thenceforth shall so firm an amity ’Twixt thee and me be, that neither Fortune, The monstrous phantom which pursues success, _180 That careful miser, that free prodigal, Who ever alternates, with changeful hand, Evil and good, reproach and fame; nor Time, That lodestar of the ages, to whose beam The winged years speed o’er the intervals _185 Of their unequal revolutions; nor Heaven itself, whose beautiful bright stars Rule and adorn the world, can ever make The least division between thee and me, Since now I find a refuge in thy favour. _190 NOTES: _146 wide glassy wildernesses Rossetti. _150 Seeking forever cj. Forman. _154 forest]fiercest cj. Rossetti.
Cyprian, a scholar deeply infatuated with a woman, makes a desperate pact by offering his soul to Hell — and Hell responds. A demon appears, pretending to be a shipwreck survivor, and discloses that he is a fallen angel, exiled from Heaven for defying God. He promises Cyprian boundless power and companionship in return for his loyalty. This moment feels like a classic deal with the devil, with a trap being laid, and Cyprian remains unaware that he is the target.
Line-by-line
O memory! permit it not / That the tyrant of my thought
So beautiful she was—and I, / Between my love and jealousy,
Hear'st thou, Hell! dost thou reject it? / My soul is offered!
What is this? ye heavens for ever pure, / At once intensely radiant and obscure!
And nearer, see, the melancholy form / Of a great ship, the outcast of the sea,
As in contempt of the elemental rage / A man comes forth in safety,
It was essential to my purposes / To wake a tumult on the sapphire ocean,
Collect thyself; and be the memory / Of thy late suffering, and thy greatest sorrow
Since thou desirest, I will then unveil / Myself to thee;—for in myself I am
Thus vanquished, though in fact victorious, / I left His seat of empire,
For by my art the sun would turn as pale / As his weak sister with unwonted fear;
And thenceforth shall so firm an amity / 'Twixt thee and me be,
Tone & mood
The tone shifts between two distinct registers that reflect the two main speakers. Cyprian starts out feverish and self-critical—the rhythm is urgent, and his imagery of blindness and trembling conveys a physical sense of losing control. When the storm hits, the tone transforms into something more dramatic and awe-inspiring, filled with wonder at nature's fury. The Daemon's lengthy speech adopts a cooler, more regal tone, carrying a bitter grandeur that avoids self-pity. By the end, the scene takes on a seductive and foreboding quality—the Daemon's final offer feels almost warm, which is precisely the intention.
Symbols & metaphors
- The shipwreck — The Daemon stages the shipwreck like a theatrical performance—a show of destructive force intended to impress Cyprian and set the stage for their encounter. On a larger scale, the wrecked ship reflects Cyprian's own spiritual condition: what once seemed seaworthy has been cast onto the rocks by uncontrollable forces.
- The storm and lightning — The tempest serves as the Daemon's calling card, while also reflecting Cyprian's inner turmoil at the scene's beginning. Both the natural storm and Cyprian's emotional upheaval are portrayed through themes of electricity, blindness, and overwhelming force — the external chaos mirrors his internal struggle.
- The soul as currency — Cyprian's soul serves as the currency in this deal, given impulsively and accepted without hesitation. Shelley views it not as a mere religious idea but as the most personal thing someone can have — the shock of the offer lies in its origin of love, rather than greed.
- The Daemon's fall from Heaven — The Daemon's backstory — a brilliant advisor who turned against a King of kings and opted for destruction instead of repentance — closely mirrors Milton's Satan. In Shelley's narrative, this fall symbolizes the price of pride and the tempting rationale behind refusing to yield, themes that will also trap Cyprian.
- The wilderness and forest — The wild, untamed landscape where the scene unfolds exists beyond any civilized order — whether moral, social, or divine. It's the perfect backdrop for a soul-selling: no witnesses, no institutions, and no safety net. The Daemon refers to it as a "Babylon of crags," connecting it to ancient visions of corrupt power.
- The King of kings' palace of stars — God's palace, adorned with stars referred to as "gems of living light," symbolizes the organized, radiant cosmos from which the Daemon was cast out. This imagery not only highlights the beauty of the loss but also adds to the power of the Daemon's speech — he is recounting something truly magnificent that he has discarded.
Historical context
This scene is Shelley's translation of *El mágico prodigioso* (1637) by Spanish Golden Age playwright Pedro Calderón de la Barca, a work often referred to as the Spanish *Faust*. Shelley undertook the translation in 1822, the final year of his life, while residing in Italy. The play centers on Cyprian, a pagan scholar in third-century Antioch, who, in his quest for a Christian woman named Justina, makes a Faustian deal with the Devil. Shelley was attracted to this material both for its bold theological themes and for the Daemon figure — proud, unrepentant, and intellectually powerful — which reflected his own enduring interest in challenging authority. This scene falls within a larger Romantic tradition that reimagines Satan as a tragic hero, a concept famously initiated by Milton's *Paradise Lost* and further explored by Blake and Byron. Shelley's translation stands out for its lyrical vibrancy and the empathy it offers to the Daemon's self-justification.
FAQ
It's a scene from a verse drama — Shelley's translation of Calderón's *El mágico prodigioso*. The characters express themselves in verse, giving it a poetic feel, yet it's organized like a play with stage directions and various speakers. Shelley frequently wrote in dramatic form, blurring the lines between his lyric poetry and his verse plays.
Yes, functionally. The Daemon refers to himself as a former advisor to the King of kings who was cast out due to his pride—a clear retelling of the Satan story from Christian tradition. Shelley chooses the term "Daemon" instead of "Devil" or "Satan," partly to stay true to Calderón's original and partly because it adds a more philosophical, less exaggerated depth to the character.
That's what makes the scene feel so human and unsettling. Cyprian isn't trading his soul for power or immortality — he’s acting out of deep pain from unrequited love and is clearly not thinking straight. Shelley shows this as a genuine emotional breakdown rather than a cold calculation. The desperation is what matters.
The parallels are clear: a brilliant scholar, a demonic deal, a woman as the catalyst, and the allure of forbidden knowledge and power. Calderón's play came before Goethe's *Faust* and is seen as a standalone take on the same archetypal story. Shelley recognized both influences. While Goethe's Faust is fueled by intellectual ambition, Cyprian's initial desire is purely erotic — although the Daemon quickly shifts to tempting him with magical knowledge as well.
He shares this in his aside: he orchestrated the shipwreck to approach Cyprian, planning to use Cyprian's two greatest strengths — his love and his wisdom — against him. He intends to leverage love to keep Cyprian feeling desperate and his intellectual curiosity to draw him into magic. It's a clever trap, not a simple one.
This is intentional. Shelley viewed Milton's Satan as a symbol of heroic defiance against tyranny, and he expanded on that idea here. The Daemon's choice to refuse repentance — opting for "ruin with the glory of not being subdued" instead of submission — is presented as a form of integrity, albeit a distorted one. Shelley's deep skepticism towards authority, including divine authority, influences his portrayal of the character.
Cyprian watches as the ship's crew succumbs to the storm, noting that even those still alive are in the throes of dying—trapped in a moment of unrelenting destruction. It's a grim realization about how death can linger instead of coming swiftly. This reflection also resonates with Cyprian himself, who has just sold his soul and is now experiencing a kind of spiritual decay.
The Daemon becomes friends with Cyprian, teaching him magic, and ultimately creates a phantom of Justina to please him. However, the phantom turns into a skeleton, exposing the hollowness of the deal. Justina then converts Cyprian to Christianity, and both are martyred. The play concludes as a saint's legend, with Cyprian's soul redeemed despite the pact, which is part of why Shelley found it theologically intriguing.