St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1894-05-13


brother, after having scanned us through a
peep-hole opened the door and invited US in,
smiling as pleasantly as our young Basque
friend upstairs.
He ushered US into a large, sunny parlor.
Certainly" he replied to our question, Eve
could see any part Of the convent we desired
to. If we would be kind enough to be seated
and wait for few moments, he would bring
French father to be our guide.'' Indeed, it
would be impossible to find more hospita-
BILE house or more amiable hosts.
The father designated to conduct us came
in shortly, with outstretched hand. His face
was kind and frank; his eyes looked straight
into yours. He was cordial, affable and gay.
The convent through which he led us was
endless, immense truly a labyrinth = in
which he told us young novices often lost
their way. With its white and bare walls 1t
was very much like other converts. Its in
Vulnerable corridors were lined with cells,
which looked out upon the surrounding
peaceful and uncultivated country over each
narrow doorway was written the name of the
father who slept there. There were numbers
of French, English and Russian names; the
Society of Jesus extends its hidden hand all
over the world.
But the greatest wonder Of the place was
the old feudal castle of Saint Ignatius, which
we had entered by chance at first. It was
one of those nests the home Of a remorseful
man, OF the middle ages in Spain, with arch
aical walls of stone and red brick, uneyenly
cemented together. It is united, moulded
like precious plaything, into the immense
and redoubtable convent which emanated
from his brain. It is held in such veneration
that the rooms which had sheltered him, no
matter of what their interior decoration con-
sists, have been left in their primitive condi-
ton. It's antiquity makes the structure
which surrounds it, Notwithstanding its age
appear almost modern by comparison; its
smallness seems more astonishing in the
midst Of the gigantic proportion of the mon
astery which overlooks it; it is like a play
thing, a toy fort, formerly built by children.
Sanctuary lamps and incense burn night and
day everywhere. The Jesuits, who have sue
ceeded one another for centuries, have taken
upon themselves the religious task of orna-
menting it from ceiling to floor, and there
are chapels and gliding even in its small sta
bles. The Chinese pagoda like hall, with it's
beams of golden leaves While hywe had seen
on our first arrival, had been the principal
room Of the castle = modest enough, no
doubt, formerly 7sWhose great beams had
been so verberated that their luxurious COW
ering was like the goiden box which enclosed
a relic.
Loyola is located between two small and
very old Basque towns, situated near each
other-Aspeitia and Ascoitia-both typical,
hofh c4,, Al;
time, as is attestsd bS Iieirssombre houses
with wroughtipen balconies, small shops
and still smaller business activity. Both
boast Of churches, sanctified as at Loyola,
by the terrestrial passage Of Saint Ignatius,
and which are, even for Spain, of unusual
magnificence. At Aspeitia, behind the main
altar, from tiles to ceiling, is screen of deli
cate golden foliage sculptured in wood, with
a patience more like that of the Chinese.
In both of the towns, over which hangs a
sultry, heavy autumn sun, the principal
industry appears to be the manufacture of
alpargates (espardriIles) and avarcac these
are Basque shoes made of sheep skins and
tied on the feet, after the style of ancient
sandals).
At Ascoitia especially it is comical to see
an uninterrupted line of Alpargatiers work
ing with feverish haste. You would almost
think that the entire universe barefooted,
was an1iously awaiting the fulfllment of a
gigantic order for Alpargates. The people
saw and hammer increasingly, and the woven
soles are piled like little mountains around
them.
The same carriage which had brought us
in the black obscurity of the night carried US
hacl RI ZI1narrae J1nder br;cbt IN, -,,,,
We passed great many heavy oxen carts
loaded with odoriferous apples, travelling
slowly, their great numbering wheels grinding
over the roads. Our bedecked horses gall
loped along musically over little mounds of
dead leaves, through delightful valleys and
beside the swollen brooks, whose murmurs
had reached us in our nocturnal journey.
PIERRE LOTT.