she no
longer dares smile, lest he be consumed like Semele when she beheld
Jove. The magnetic power of her glance suffices again, however, to
transfer him to the seventh heaven, that of Saturn (revolved by
Thrones). This sphere is the abiding place of contemplative and
abstinent hermits and monks. There our poet beholds a ladder, up whose
steps silently ascend those whose lives were spent in retirement and
holy contemplation. Amazed by all he sees, and conscious he no longer
hears the music of the spheres, Dante wonders until informed by one of
the spirits, coming down the steps to meet him, that at this stage the
heavenly music is too loud and intense for human ears. Seeing his
interlocutor suddenly become a whirling wheel of light, Dante inquires
what this may mean, only to be told spirits obscured on earth by
fleshly garments shine brightly in heaven. The spirit then gives his
name (St. Peter Damian), vividly describes the place where he built
his hermitage, and declares many modern prelates have sinned so
grievously through lechery or avarice that they are now detained in
Inferno or Purgatory. As he speaks, spirit after spirit flits down the
stairs, each bound on some errand of charity to the spheres below.

_Canto XXII._ Startled by a loud cry, Dante is reassured by St.
Damian's statement that no harm can befall him in heaven. Next
Beatrice directs his attention to some descending spirits, the most
radiant of which is St. Benedict, who explains how blissful spirits
often leave the heavenly abode "to execute the counsel of the
Highest." He adds that Dante has been selected to warn mortals, none
of whom will ever be allowed to venture hither again. Then St.
Benedict describes his life on earth and inveighs against the
corruption of the monks of Dante's time.

His speech ended, St. Benedict vanishes, and Beatrice wafts Dante up
the mystic stairs, through the constellation of the Gemini, to the
eighth heaven, that of the Fixed Stars (revolved by the Cherubim).
Declaring he is so near "the last salvation" that his eyes should be
unclouded, Beatrice removes the last veil from his sight, and bids him
gaze down at the spheres through which they have passed, and "see how
vast a world thou hast already put beneath thy feet." Smiling at the
smallness of the earth left behind him, Dante, undazzled by the mild
light of the moon or the glow of the sun, gazes at the seven revolving
spheres until all the scheme of creation is "m