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Excited shouts were carrying the errand of Colonel Guerra swiftly over the city, and everywhere it was discovering hearers as ready for it as had been the officers at the gate. He may have been looking a little pale when he entered the parlor of the Paez mansion, for Señora Paez at once arose and came to meet him, inquiring, anxiously: "Señor Carfora, what is the matter? Has anything happened?"
I recalled the scene in the Parliament House, when the replies to the King's message, which had been sent by each chief town, were read by the Speaker: the grave indignation of some, the somewhat bombastic protestations of others, the question put of submission or war, the shout of "Guerra! guerra!" ringing too loud, methought, to be good metal; the "Suoni la tromba" at that night's theatre, the digging at the fortifications, women carrying huge stones, men more willing to shout for them than to do their own share, Capuchin friars digging with the best, finally, the wild dance of men, women, cowled and bearded monks, all together, brandishing their spades and shovels in cadence to the military band.
Her readers might even, perhaps, have determined which of her own heroines she personated. For all these things Gerald liked his old friend the more. Her lips framed the words, "Come up! Come up!" while her hand made the equivalent signs. He nodded assent, and with Guerra walking beside him started on his way.
The judgment was that the painter must live by his trade, and that as Guerra had given him painting to do he must therefore provide him with the wherewithal to live, seeing that the artist swore he had done his best to catch the likeness.
Stor. vol. xv. pp. 377 to 453. Machiavelli's treatise De re militari, or I libri sull' arte della guerra, was the work of his later life; it was published in 1521 at Florence. Though Machiavelli deserves the credit of this military system, the part of Antonio Giacomini in carrying it into effect must not be forgotten.
The captain of his own was our English Guy de Montfort, on whom rested the power and the fate of his grandfather, the pursuer of the Waldensian shepherds among the rocks of the wild goats. The last, and it is said the goodliest, troop was of the exiled Guelphs of Florence, under Guido Guerra, whose name you already know.
Hardly had the door closed behind them, however, before Colonel Guerra again sat down, hoarsely muttering between his set teeth: "The snake-hearted villains! What they really hoped for was to find the fort and garrison in bad condition and unprovided, so that they might ruin me. They want my disgrace and removal, to make room for one of them.
"The Lord knows. Possibly he does know, for I refer to Lorenzo the poet. He wrote a line so I heard yesterday which runs like this: 'Don't go fighting against the Spring." Mr. Eager could not resist the opportunity for erudition. "Non fate guerra al Maggio," he murmured. "'War not with the May' would render a correct meaning." "The point is, we have warred with it. Look."
Mendez had a servant called Antonio Guerra, who worked on his farm, and who appears to have been much in his confidence, and just as Ripa passed the Spaniard's door, he met Guerra coming in an opposite direction, and asked him if Mendez had gone to the supper yet; to which Guerra answered that he supposed he had, but he did not know.
Guerra contented that he had ordered a portrait, that a picture bearing no likeness to the lady in question was not a portrait, and that he had therefore a right to refuse payment. The painter replied that it was a portrait as it had been painted from life.
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