I rejoice to hear you ripped out branches
rooted deep in you--this dense vast forest's
trammels--while caught therein, your heart weighed down
by nightmares seen--you expelled the darkness
within the light it obscured. Now your fine
spirit, no longer confused, stained by false
ideas, turns to God; light, free at last from
sordid cares, you listen to good advice.
Since you've tried your shoulders' strength on a path
base and grim, sinister, I don't believe
you'll risk more failure, shame, this agony
on your face. The iron chains tightened round
your heart, dug, ringed into your chest your hand
loosened, and see they've melted away. Good.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V IV:390. See also B E30:218; MSs L, CASI, RA, Ve. To Gian Matteo Giberto, at time of sack of Rome (2 others interlocutors have been proposed: Giovanna d'Aragona, wife to Ascanio; Franceso Delle Torre, Matteo's servant). Key