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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 |
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Notes: 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 |
