Oh, Madonna certainly had been, in short compassionate their miseries, he ordered the inspiration of heaven aquellas go sore deliver all the care of Abbot Sting! It seemed to him that he had left there, in his confessional dark blue, all the sorrows, the terrors, the black farrapagem of remorse that he drowned the soul. Every one of her consolations as persuasive desapparecer felt the darkness which covered the heaven: now saw all blue, and when he prayed, as Our Lady did not lift his face angry. It was so different that aquellas way of confessing the abbot! His ways were not representative of a rigid d’frowning God, had in him something feminine and maternal passing of the soul as a caress, in a place of her stand before the eyes of the accident scenario flames of Hell, show you a vast merciful heaven with doors wide open, and multiplied the paths that lead there, so sweet and so easy to walk only the obstinacy of the rebels refuse to tental them. God appeared, n’aquella soft interpretation of the afterlife, as a good grandfather smiling, Our Lady was a sister of charity, the holy, hospitable comrades! Religion was a lovely, all bathed in grace, in which a tear just to redeem a pure existence of sin. What differente from the grim doctrine which had grounded a small [582] and flies! So different as-capella d’aquellas small village of the vast mass of stone of the Cathedral there, the old cathedral, the thickness of walls separating cubits of human life and nature: everything was dark, melancholy, penance, faces severe d’images; anything that makes the joy of the world came alli, nor the blue top, nor birds, nor the air off the meadows, nor the laughter of the living lips; that there was some artificial flower, the fly-dogs there he stood at the gate not to let the little children, until the sun was exiled, and all the light there was came from the chandeliers funeral. And alli in capellita of Poya, that familiarity with the nature of the good God! Penetrated through the open doors of honeysuckle scented the breeze; little one playing sound walls were whitewashed, the altar was like a Jardinet and an orchard; pardaes daring came up with the chirping of pedestaes crosses, sometimes serious metta an ox through the door with his nose familiarity of the old stable of Bethlehem, or a lost sheep was rejoiced to see one of their race, the Paschal Lamb, sleep plentifully to the bottom of the altar with the holy cross between his paws.