At noon of Sunday, the 6th of July, the fiesta exploded.

There is no other way to describe it.

People had been coming in all day from the country, but they were assimilated in the town and you did not notice them.

The square was as quiet in the hot sun as on any other day.

The peasants were in the outlying wine-shops.

There they were drinking, getting ready for the fiesta.

They had come in so recently from the plains and the hills that it was necessary that they make their shifting in values gradually.

They could not start in paying café prices.

They got their money's worth in the wine-shops.

Money still had a definite value in hours worked and bushels of grain sold.

Late in the fiesta it would not matter what they paid, nor where they bought.

Now on the day of the starting of the fiesta of San Fermin they had been in the wine-shops of the narrow streets of the town since early morning.

Going down the streets in the morning on the way to mass in the cathedral, I heard them singing through the open doors of the shops.

They were warming up. There were many people at the eleven o'clock mass. San Fermin is also a religious festival.

I walked down the hill from the cathedral and up the street to the café on the square.

It was a little before noon. Robert Cohn and Bill were sitting at one of the tables.

The marble-topped tables and the white wicker chairs were gone.

They were replaced by cast-iron tables and severe folding chairs.

The café was like a battleship stripped for action.

Today the waiters did not leave you alone all morning to read without asking if you wanted to order something. A waiter came up as soon as I sat down.

"What are you drinking?" I asked Bill and Robert.

"Sherry," Cohn said.

"Jerez (西语，雪利酒)," I said to the waiter.

Before the waiter brought the sherry the rocket that announced the fiesta went up in the square.

It burst and there was a gray ball of smoke high up above the Theatre Gayarre, across on the other side of the plaza.

The ball of smoke hung in the sky like a shrapnel burst, and as I watched, another rocket came up to it, trickling smoke in the bright sunlight.

I saw the bright flash as it burst and another little cloud of smoke appeared.

By the time the second rocket had burst there were so many people in the arcade, that had been empty a minute before, that the waiter, holding the bottle high up over his head, could hardly get through the crowd to our table.

People were coming into the square from all sides, and down the street we heard the pipes and the fifes and the drums coming.

They were playing the riau-riau music, the pipes shrill and the drums pounding, and behind them came the men and boys dancing.

When the fifers stopped they all crouched down in the street, and when the reedpipes and the fifes shrilled, and the flat, dry, hollow drums tapped it out again, they all went up in the air dancing.

In the crowd you saw only the heads and shoulders of the dancers going up and down.

In the square a man, bent over, was playing on a reed-pipe, and a crowd of children were following him shouting, and pulling at his clothes.

He came out of the square, the children following him, and piped them past the café and down a side street.

We saw his blank pockmarked face as he went by, piping, the children close behind him shouting and pulling at him.

"He must be the village idiot," Bill said. "My God ! look at that !"

Down the street came dancers. The street was solid with dancers, all men.

They were all dancing in time behind their own fifers and drummers.

They were a club of some sort, and all wore workmen's blue smocks, and red handkerchiefs around their necks, and carried a great banner on two poles.

The banner danced up and down with them as they came down surrounded by the crowd.

"Hurray for Wine ! Hurray for the Foreigners !" was painted on the banner.

"Where are the foreigners?" Robert Cohn asked.

"We're the foreigners," Bill said.

All the time rockets were going up. The café tables were all full now.

The square was emptying of people and the crowd was filling the cafés.

"Where's Brett and Mike?" Bill asked.

"I'll go and get them," Cohn said.

"Bring them here."

The fiesta was really started. It kept up day and night for seven days.

The dancing kept up, the drinking kept up, the noise went on.

The things that happened could only have happened during a fiesta.

Everything became quite unreal finally and it seemed as though nothing could have any consequences.

It seemed out of place to think of consequences during the fiesta.

All during the fiesta you had the feeling, even when it was quiet, that you had to shout any remark to make it heard.

It was the same feeling about any action. It was a fiesta and it went on for seven days.

That afternoon was the big religious procession.

San Fermin was translated from one church to another.

In the procession were all the dignitaries, civil and religious.

We could not see them because the crowd was too great.

Ahead of the formal procession and behind it danced the riau-riau dancers.

There was one mass of yellow shirts dancing up and down in the crowd.

All we could see of the procession through the closely pressed people that crowded all the side streets and curbs were the great giants, cigar-store Indians,

thirty feet high, Moors, a King and Queen, whirling and waltzing solemnly to the riau-riau.

They were all standing outside the chapel where San Fermin and the dignitaries had passed in, leaving a guard of soldiers, the giants, with the men who danced in them standing beside their resting frames, and the dwarfs moving with their whacking bladders through the crowd.

We started inside and there was a smell of incense and people filing back into the church, but Brett was stopped just inside the door because she had no hat, so we went out again and along the street that ran back from the chapel into town.

The street was lined on both sides with people keeping their place at the curb for the return of the procession. Some dancers formed a circle around Brett and started to dance.

They wore big wreaths of white garlics around their necks.

They took Bill and me by the arms and put us in the circle.

Bill started to dance, too.

They were all chanting. Brett wanted to dance but they did not want her to.

They wanted her as an image to dance around.

When the song ended with the sharp riau-riau ! they rushed us into a wine-shop.

We stood at the counter. They had Brett seated on a wine-cask.

It was dark in the wine-shop and full of men singing, hard-voiced singing.

Back of the counter they drew the wine from casks.

I put down money for the wine, but one of the men picked it up and put it back in my pocket.

"I want a leather wine-bottle," Bill said.

"There's a place down the street," I said. "I'll go get a couple."

The dancers did not want me to go out.

Three of them were sitting on the high wine-cask beside Brett, teaching her to drink out of the wine-skins.

They had hung a wreath of garlics around her neck.

Some one insisted on giving her a glass. Somebody was teaching Bill a song.

Singing it into his ear. Beating time on Bill's back.

I explained to them that I would be back.

Outside in the street I went down the street looking for the shop that made leather winebottles.

The crowd was packed on the sidewalks and many of the shops were shuttered, and I could not find it.

I walked as far as the church, looking on both sides of the street.

Then I asked a man and he took me by the arm and led me to it. The shutters were up but the door was open.