Elvira Character Analysis

‘’Tis a young creature,’ said she, ‘who is totally ignorant of the world. She has been brought up in an old castle in Murcia, with no other society than her mother’s, who, God help her! has no more sense, good soul, than is necessary to carry her soup to her mouth. […]’

‘[…] Artless yourself, you suspect not others of deceit; and viewing the world through the medium of your own truth and innocence, you fancy all who surround you to deserve your confidence and esteem. What pity, that these gay visions must soon be dissipated! What pity, that you must soon discover the baseness of mankind, and guard against your fellow-creatures as against your foes!’

‘I tremble for your sister,’ said she; ‘I have heard many traits of the domina of St Clare’s character from a friend who was educated in the same convent with her: she reported her to be haughty, inflexible, superstitious, and revengeful. […] Though naturally violent and severe, when her interests require it, she well knows how to assume an appearance of benignity. […]’

He reflected on the enormity of the crime, the consequences of a discovery, and the probability, after what had passed, of Elvira’s suspecting him to be her daughter’s ravisher. On the other hand it was suggested, that she could do more than suspect; that no proofs of his guilt could be produced; that it would seem impossible for the rape to have been committed without Antonia’s knowing when, where, or by whom; and finally, he believed that his fame was too firmly established to be shaken by the unsupported accusations of two unknown women. The latter argument was perfectly false. He knew not how uncertain is the air of popular appease, and that a moment suffices to make him to-day the detestation of the world, who yesterday was its idol. The result of the monk’s deliberations was, that he should proceed in his enterprise.

Ambrosio shuddered at himself when he reflected on his rapid advances in iniquity. The enormous crime which he had just committed, filled him with real horror. The murdered Elvira was continually before his eyes, and his guilt was already punished by the agonies of his conscience. Time, however, considerably weakened these impressions: one day passed away; another followed it, and still not the least suspicion was thrown upon him. Impunity reconciled him to his guilt. He began to resume his spirits; and as his fears of detection died away, he paid less attention to the reproaches of remorse.

She paused. The abbot shuddered when she mentioned Elvira. Antonia imputed his emotion to pity and concern for her.

‘’Tis a young creature,’ said she, ‘who is totally ignorant of the world. She has been brought up in an old castle in Murcia, with no other society than her mother’s, who, God help her! has no more sense, good soul, than is necessary to carry her soup to her mouth. […]’

‘[…] Artless yourself, you suspect not others of deceit; and viewing the world through the medium of your own truth and innocence, you fancy all who surround you to deserve your confidence and esteem. What pity, that these gay visions must soon be dissipated! What pity, that you must soon discover the baseness of mankind, and guard against your fellow-creatures as against your foes!’

‘I tremble for your sister,’ said she; ‘I have heard many traits of the domina of St Clare’s character from a friend who was educated in the same convent with her: she reported her to be haughty, inflexible, superstitious, and revengeful. […] Though naturally violent and severe, when her interests require it, she well knows how to assume an appearance of benignity. […]’

He reflected on the enormity of the crime, the consequences of a discovery, and the probability, after what had passed, of Elvira’s suspecting him to be her daughter’s ravisher. On the other hand it was suggested, that she could do more than suspect; that no proofs of his guilt could be produced; that it would seem impossible for the rape to have been committed without Antonia’s knowing when, where, or by whom; and finally, he believed that his fame was too firmly established to be shaken by the unsupported accusations of two unknown women. The latter argument was perfectly false. He knew not how uncertain is the air of popular appease, and that a moment suffices to make him to-day the detestation of the world, who yesterday was its idol. The result of the monk’s deliberations was, that he should proceed in his enterprise.

Ambrosio shuddered at himself when he reflected on his rapid advances in iniquity. The enormous crime which he had just committed, filled him with real horror. The murdered Elvira was continually before his eyes, and his guilt was already punished by the agonies of his conscience. Time, however, considerably weakened these impressions: one day passed away; another followed it, and still not the least suspicion was thrown upon him. Impunity reconciled him to his guilt. He began to resume his spirits; and as his fears of detection died away, he paid less attention to the reproaches of remorse.

She paused. The abbot shuddered when she mentioned Elvira. Antonia imputed his emotion to pity and concern for her.