CANTO XXIIAstounded, to the guardian of my stepsI turn’d me, like the chill, who always runsThither for succour, where he trusteth most,And she was like the mother, who her sonBeholding pale and breathless, with her voiceSoothes him, and he is cheer’d; for thus she spake,Soothing me: “Know’st not thou, thou art in heav’n?And know’st not thou, whatever is in heav’n,Is holy, and that nothing there is doneBut is done zealously and well? Deem now,What change in thee the song, and what my smilehad wrought, since thus the shout had pow’r to move thee.In which couldst thou have understood their prayers,The vengeance were already known to thee,Which thou must witness ere thy mortal hour,The sword of heav’n is not in haste to smite,Nor yet doth linger, save unto his seeming,Who in desire or fear doth look for it.But elsewhere now l bid thee turn thy view;So shalt thou many a famous spirit behold.”Mine eyes directing, as she will’d, I sawA hundred little spheres, that fairer grewBy interchange of splendour. I remain’d,As one, who fearful of o’er-much presuming,Abates in him the keenness of desire,Nor dares to question, when amid those pearls,One largest and most lustrous onward drew,That it might yield contentment to my wish;And from within it these the sounds I heard.“If thou, like me, beheldst the charityThat burns amongst us, what thy mind conceives,Were utter’d. But that, ere the lofty boundThou reach, expectance may not weary thee,I will make answer even to the thought,Which thou hast such respect of. In old days,That mountain, at whose side Cassino rests,Was on its height frequented by a raceDeceived and ill dispos’d: and I it was,Who thither carried first the name of Him,Who brought the soul-subliming truth to man.And such a speeding grace shone over me,That from their impious worship I reclaim’dThe dwellers round about, who with the worldWere in delusion lost. These other flames,The spirits of men contemplative, were allEnliven’d by that warmth, whose kindly forceGives birth to flowers and fruits of holiness.Here is Macarius; Romoaldo here:And here my brethren, who their steps refrain’dWithin the cloisters, and held firm their heart.”I answ’ring, thus; “Thy gentle words and kind,And this the cheerful semblance, I beholdNot unobservant, beaming in ye all,Have rais’d assurance in me, wakening itFull-blossom’d in my bosom, as a roseBefore the sun, when the consummate flowerHas spread to utmost amplitude. Of theeTherefore entreat I, father! to declareIf I may gain such favour, as to gazeUpon thine image, by no covering veil’d.”“Brother!” he thus rejoin’d, “in the last sphereExpect completion of thy lofty aim,For there on each desire completion waits,And there on mine: where every aim is foundPerfect, entire, and for fulfillment ripe.There all things are as they have ever been:For space is none to bound, nor pole divides,Our ladder reaches even to that clime,And so at giddy distance mocks thy view.Thither the Patriarch Jacob saw it stretchIts topmost round, when it appear’d to himWith angels laden. But to mount it nowNone lifts his foot from earth: and hence my ruleIs left a profitless stain upon the leaves;The walls, for abbey rear’d, turned into dens,The cowls to sacks choak’d up with musty meal.Foul usury doth not more lift itselfAgainst God’s pleasure, than that fruit which makesThe hearts of monks so wanton: for whate’erIs in the church’s keeping, all pertains.To such, as sue for heav’n’s sweet sake, and notTo those who in respect of kindred claim,Or on more vile allowance. Mortal fleshIs grown so dainty, good beginnings last notFrom the oak’s birth, unto the acorn’s setting.His convent Peter founded without goldOr silver; I with pray’rs and fasting mine;And Francis his in meek humility.And if thou note the point, whence each proceeds,Then look what it hath err’d to, thou shalt findThe white grown murky. Jordan was turn’d back;And a less wonder, then the refluent sea,May at God’s pleasure work amendment here.”So saying, to his assembly back he drew:And they together cluster’d into one,Then all roll’d upward like an eddying wind.The sweet dame beckon’d me to follow them:And, by that influence only, so prevail’dOver my nature, that no natural motion,Ascending or descending here below,Had, as I mounted, with my pennon vied.So, reader, as my hope is to returnUnto the holy triumph, for the whichI ofttimes wail my sins, and smite my breast,Thou hadst been longer drawing out and thrustingThy finger in the fire, than I was, ereThe sign, that followeth Taurus, I beheld,And enter’d its precinct. O glorious stars!O light impregnate with exceeding virtue!To whom whate’er of genius lifteth meAbove the vulgar, grateful I refer;With ye the parent of all mortal lifeArose and set, when I did first inhaleThe Tuscan air; and afterward, when graceVouchsaf’d me entrance to the lofty wheelThat in its orb impels ye, fate decreedMy passage at your clime. To you my soulDevoutly sighs, for virtue even nowTo meet the hard emprize that draws me on.“Thou art so near the sum of blessedness,”Said Beatrice, “that behooves thy kenBe vigilant and clear. And, to this end,Or even thou advance thee further, henceLook downward, and contemplate, what a worldAlready stretched under our feet there lies:So as thy heart may, in its blithest mood,Present itself to the triumphal throng,Which through the’ etherial concave comes rejoicing.”I straight obey’d; and with mine eye return’dThrough all the seven spheres, and saw this globeSo pitiful of semblance, that perforceIt moved my smiles: and him in truth I holdFor wisest, who esteems it least: whose thoughtsElsewhere are fix’d, him worthiest call and best.I saw the daughter of Latona shineWithout the shadow, whereof late I deem’dThat dense and rare were cause. Here I sustain’dThe visage, Hyperion! of thy sun;And mark’d, how near him with their circle, roundMove Maia and Dione; here discern’dJove’s tempering ’twixt his sire and son; and henceTheir changes and their various aspectsDistinctly scann’d. Nor might I not descryOf all the seven, how bulky each, how swift;Nor of their several distances not learn.This petty area (o’er the which we strideSo fiercely), as along the eternal twinsI wound my way, appear’d before me all,Forth from the havens stretch’d unto the hills.Then to the beauteous eyes mine eyes return’d.
Astounded, to the guardian of my stepsI turn’d me, like the chill, who always runsThither for succour, where he trusteth most,And she was like the mother, who her sonBeholding pale and breathless, with her voiceSoothes him, and he is cheer’d; for thus she spake,Soothing me: “Know’st not thou, thou art in heav’n?And know’st not thou, whatever is in heav’n,Is holy, and that nothing there is doneBut is done zealously and well? Deem now,What change in thee the song, and what my smilehad wrought, since thus the shout had pow’r to move thee.In which couldst thou have understood their prayers,The vengeance were already known to thee,Which thou must witness ere thy mortal hour,The sword of heav’n is not in haste to smite,Nor yet doth linger, save unto his seeming,Who in desire or fear doth look for it.But elsewhere now l bid thee turn thy view;So shalt thou many a famous spirit behold.”Mine eyes directing, as she will’d, I sawA hundred little spheres, that fairer grewBy interchange of splendour. I remain’d,As one, who fearful of o’er-much presuming,Abates in him the keenness of desire,Nor dares to question, when amid those pearls,One largest and most lustrous onward drew,That it might yield contentment to my wish;And from within it these the sounds I heard.“If thou, like me, beheldst the charityThat burns amongst us, what thy mind conceives,Were utter’d. But that, ere the lofty boundThou reach, expectance may not weary thee,I will make answer even to the thought,Which thou hast such respect of. In old days,That mountain, at whose side Cassino rests,Was on its height frequented by a raceDeceived and ill dispos’d: and I it was,Who thither carried first the name of Him,Who brought the soul-subliming truth to man.And such a speeding grace shone over me,That from their impious worship I reclaim’dThe dwellers round about, who with the worldWere in delusion lost. These other flames,The spirits of men contemplative, were allEnliven’d by that warmth, whose kindly forceGives birth to flowers and fruits of holiness.Here is Macarius; Romoaldo here:And here my brethren, who their steps refrain’dWithin the cloisters, and held firm their heart.”I answ’ring, thus; “Thy gentle words and kind,And this the cheerful semblance, I beholdNot unobservant, beaming in ye all,Have rais’d assurance in me, wakening itFull-blossom’d in my bosom, as a roseBefore the sun, when the consummate flowerHas spread to utmost amplitude. Of theeTherefore entreat I, father! to declareIf I may gain such favour, as to gazeUpon thine image, by no covering veil’d.”“Brother!” he thus rejoin’d, “in the last sphereExpect completion of thy lofty aim,For there on each desire completion waits,And there on mine: where every aim is foundPerfect, entire, and for fulfillment ripe.There all things are as they have ever been:For space is none to bound, nor pole divides,Our ladder reaches even to that clime,And so at giddy distance mocks thy view.Thither the Patriarch Jacob saw it stretchIts topmost round, when it appear’d to himWith angels laden. But to mount it nowNone lifts his foot from earth: and hence my ruleIs left a profitless stain upon the leaves;The walls, for abbey rear’d, turned into dens,The cowls to sacks choak’d up with musty meal.Foul usury doth not more lift itselfAgainst God’s pleasure, than that fruit which makesThe hearts of monks so wanton: for whate’erIs in the church’s keeping, all pertains.To such, as sue for heav’n’s sweet sake, and notTo those who in respect of kindred claim,Or on more vile allowance. Mortal fleshIs grown so dainty, good beginnings last notFrom the oak’s birth, unto the acorn’s setting.His convent Peter founded without goldOr silver; I with pray’rs and fasting mine;And Francis his in meek humility.And if thou note the point, whence each proceeds,Then look what it hath err’d to, thou shalt findThe white grown murky. Jordan was turn’d back;And a less wonder, then the refluent sea,May at God’s pleasure work amendment here.”So saying, to his assembly back he drew:And they together cluster’d into one,Then all roll’d upward like an eddying wind.The sweet dame beckon’d me to follow them:And, by that influence only, so prevail’dOver my nature, that no natural motion,Ascending or descending here below,Had, as I mounted, with my pennon vied.So, reader, as my hope is to returnUnto the holy triumph, for the whichI ofttimes wail my sins, and smite my breast,Thou hadst been longer drawing out and thrustingThy finger in the fire, than I was, ereThe sign, that followeth Taurus, I beheld,And enter’d its precinct. O glorious stars!O light impregnate with exceeding virtue!To whom whate’er of genius lifteth meAbove the vulgar, grateful I refer;With ye the parent of all mortal lifeArose and set, when I did first inhaleThe Tuscan air; and afterward, when graceVouchsaf’d me entrance to the lofty wheelThat in its orb impels ye, fate decreedMy passage at your clime. To you my soulDevoutly sighs, for virtue even nowTo meet the hard emprize that draws me on.“Thou art so near the sum of blessedness,”Said Beatrice, “that behooves thy kenBe vigilant and clear. And, to this end,Or even thou advance thee further, henceLook downward, and contemplate, what a worldAlready stretched under our feet there lies:So as thy heart may, in its blithest mood,Present itself to the triumphal throng,Which through the’ etherial concave comes rejoicing.”I straight obey’d; and with mine eye return’dThrough all the seven spheres, and saw this globeSo pitiful of semblance, that perforceIt moved my smiles: and him in truth I holdFor wisest, who esteems it least: whose thoughtsElsewhere are fix’d, him worthiest call and best.I saw the daughter of Latona shineWithout the shadow, whereof late I deem’dThat dense and rare were cause. Here I sustain’dThe visage, Hyperion! of thy sun;And mark’d, how near him with their circle, roundMove Maia and Dione; here discern’dJove’s tempering ’twixt his sire and son; and henceTheir changes and their various aspectsDistinctly scann’d. Nor might I not descryOf all the seven, how bulky each, how swift;Nor of their several distances not learn.This petty area (o’er the which we strideSo fiercely), as along the eternal twinsI wound my way, appear’d before me all,Forth from the havens stretch’d unto the hills.Then to the beauteous eyes mine eyes return’d.