Windy Jaca, up on its terrace, its back to the snowy Colorado, is especially connected with that disastrous forerunner of the Spanish revolution, which coming to premature birth ended in premature death. We may see there the Street of the Martyrs, renamed by a Republic, born after all without bloodshed, in memory of its first blood sacrifice. Yet in spite of its rather red modernity, little Jaca still cherishes rags and tatters of tradition, and up there on its chilly height a local thaumaturgical goddess holds as much sway as she would in Andalusia. On the 25th of June the town celebrates its feast in honour of Santa Orosia. That is the moment to see the old Jaca behaving as it did before its seventeen towers came down, and its encircling walls were laid flat.