Synopsis

"Firstly, I revealed in salutary confession the secret filth of my misdeed, which had long been festering in stagnant silence; and I made it my custom to confess often, and thus to display the wounds of my blinded soul..." (Petrarch, 1352, in a letter to his brother). I wish to avoid any "classical" misunderstandings of the above quote by stating clearly here that any sacrifice of love is, yes, "filth" or at the very least "misdeed." An academic reading of Petrarch tends to bias thought that there are kinds of love which might be wrong: I do not believe this. (SB)