The Three Musketeers

“Sir,” said Aramis, parodying Jussac’s manner, “if it depended upon ourselves, we should accept your polite invitation with the utmost pleasure; but unfortunately the thing is impossible. M. de Treville has forbidden it. Move on, therefore; it is the best thing you can do.”

This mockery exasperated Jussac. “We will charge you,” said he, “if you disobey.”

“They are five,” said Athos in a low voice, “and we are only three; we shall be beaten again, and we must die here; for I positively swear that I will not again appear before the captain a vanquished man.”

Athos, Porthos, and Aramis closed up to each other, whilst Jussac drew up his men. This moment of delay sufficed for d’Artagnan to form his resolution. It was one of those moments weighed with a man’s whole destiny; it was a choice between the king and the cardinal, and this choice, once made, must be adhered to. To fight was to disobey the law, to risk his head, and, by one blow, to make an enemy of a minister more powerful than the king himself. All this the young man plainly perceived, and we must do him the justice to declare that he did not hesitate a single instant.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “you must allow me to correct one thing which you have said. You affirmed that you were but three; but it appears to me that there are four of us.”

“You are not one of us,” said Porthos.

“True,” replied d’Artagnan, “I have not the dress, but I have the heart and soul of a musketeer; I feel it, sir, and it impels me along, as it were, by force.”

“Hark ye, young man!” cried Jussac, who doubtless, from d’Artagnan’s gestures and the expression of his countenance, had divined his intentions; “you may retire; we permit you; save your skin, and that quickly.”

But d’Artagnan moved not a step.

“You are unquestionably a man of spirit,” said Athos, pressing the young man’s hand.

“Come, come; decide, decide!” exclaimed Jussac.

“We must make up our minds,” said Porthos and Aramis.

“You are truly generous,” said Athos to d’Artagnan.

But all three thought of d’Artagnan’s youth, and feared his inexperience.

“We are but three, and one of us wounded, exclusive of this boy,” remarked Athos; “and yet it will be said that we were four men.”

“Ay, but to retreat!” said Porthos.

“It is difficult,” said Athos.

“Quite impossible!” said Aramis.

D’Artagnan comprehended the cause of their irresolution. “Gentlemen,” said he, “only try me, and I pledge you my honour that I will not leave this spot except as a conqueror.”

“What is your name, my fine fellow?” said Athos.

“D’Artagnan, sir.”

“Well, then, Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan, forward!” exclaimed Athos.

“So, you have made up your minds, gentlemen?” cried Jussac for the third time.

“Quite so,” replied Athos.

“And what is your resolve?” demanded Jussac.

“We are about to have the honour of charging you,” replied Aramis, raising his hat with one hand, and drawing his sword with the other.

“Ah! you resist!” cried Jussac.

“Mortdieu! Does that surprise you?”

And the nine combatants rushed upon each other with a fury which did not, however, exclude a kind of method. Athos took Cahusac, one of the cardinal’s favourites; Porthos selected Biscarrat; and Aramis found himself opposed to two adversaries. As for d’Artagnan, he sprang towards Jussac himself.

The heart of the young Gascon throbbed violently, not with fear, but with eagerness. He fought with the fury of an enraged tiger, turning round his adversary, and every moment changing his guard and position. Jussac, as we have before said, was a most skilful and experienced swordsman; nevertheless, he found the utmost difficulty in defending himself against his adversary, who, active and nimble, perpetually deviated from all the received rules of fencing, attacking on all sides at once, and yet at the same time guarding himself like one who had the greatest respect in the world for his own person. At length the struggle was brought to a conclusion by Jussac’s rashness. Furious at being thus held at bay by one whom he regarded as a mere boy, he became less cautious, and committed various indiscretions; whilst d’Artagnan, who, although deficient in practice, had a profound knowledge of the theory of the art, redoubled his agility. Jussac, eager to dispatch him, made a tremendous lunge, at the same time breaking ground; but d’Artagnan parried the thrust, and whilst Jussac recovered himself, he glided like a serpent under his weapon, and passed his sword through his body; Jussac fell heavily on the ground.

D’Artagnan now cast a rapid and anxious glance over the field of battle. Aramis had already killed one of his adversaries, but the other pressed him sharply. He was, however, in very good trim, and could well defend himself. Biscarrat and Porthos had both received wounds, Porthos in the arm, and his adversary in the thigh; but as neither of these wounds was severe, they only fought the more fiercely. Athos, wounded afresh by Cahusac, looked more and more pale, but did not yield an inch; he had merely changed hands, and fought with his left. According to the laws of duelling at that period, d’Artagnan was at liberty to assist any one of his companions; and whilst he sought to ascertain which of them most required his aid, he caught a glance from Athos, which served instead of speech. Athos would have died sooner than call for assistance; but his look plainly denoted how much he required support. D’Artagnan at once comprehended his meaning, and with a single bound he fell on Cahusac’s flank, exclaiming, “Turn, sir guardsman, or I kill you!”

Cahusac did turn, just as Athos, whom his extreme courage had alone sustained, sunk upon one knee. “Hollo, young man!” exclaimed Athos, “do not kill him, I beseech you; I have an old affair to settle with him when I am cured. Disarm him only; deprive him of his sword—that’s it—good, very good!”

This exclamation escaped Athos on perceiving the sword of Cahusac flying from his hand a distance of twenty paces. D’Artagnan and Cahusac both rushed forward to secure the weapon; but d’Artagnan being the most active, reached it first, and placed his foot upon it. Cahusac then went to the guardsman killed by Aramis, seized his rapier, and was returning to d’Artagnan; but on his way he encountered Athos, who during this momentary pause had recovered his breath, and fearing that d’Artagnan might kill his opponent, wished to renew the contest. D’Artagnan perceived that he would offend Athos if he did not permit him to have his own way; and in a few minutes Cahusac fell pierced in the throat. At the same moment Aramis placed the point of his sword at the breast of his fallen adversary, and compelled him to sue for mercy.

Porthos and Biscarrat alone remained fighting. Porthos, whilst fighting, indulged himself in a thousand fantastic jests and humours, asking Biscarrat what time of day it was, and congratulating him on the company his brother had just obtained in the regiment of Navarre. This jesting, however, gained him no advantage; for Biscarrat was one of those indomitable spirits who die, but do not surrender. It was time, however, to stop the fight, as the guard might arrive, and arrest all the combatants, whether wounded or not, whether royalists or cardinalists. Athos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan, therefore, surrounded Biscarrat, and summoned him to surrender. Although alone against all four, and with a wound which had passed through his thigh, Biscarrat refused to yield; but Jussac, raising himself on his elbow, requested him to desist. Biscarrat, however, like d’Artagnan, was a Gascon: he therefore only laughed, and pretended not to hear; and finding time, between the parries, to point with his sword to the ground at his feet—

“Here,” said he, “will Biscarrat die, the sole survivor of those that were with him.”

“But they are four—four against one!” cried Jussac; “yield, I command you!”

“Ah, if you command me, it is another thing,” said Biscarrat; “you are my commander, and I must obey.”

And suddenly springing backwards, he broke his sword across his knee, in order that he might not give it up, threw the pieces over the wall of the convent; and then, crossing his arms, he whistled a cardinalist air.

Bravery is always respected, even in an enemy. The musketeers saluted Biscarrat with their swords, and returned them to their scabbards. D’Artagnan did the same; and then, assisted by Biscarrat, the only one who remained on his legs, he carried Jussac, Cahusac, and that one of the adversaries of Aramis who was only wounded, under the porch of the convent. The fourth, as we have said, was dead. They then rang the bell, and confiscating four out of the five swords, they set off, intoxicated with joy, towards M. de Treville’s hotel. They proceeded arm in arm, occupying the whole breadth of the street; and as they detained every musketeer they met, the march soon became like a triumphal procession. D’Artagnan’s heart was in a delirium of exultation, as he marched between Athos and Porthos.

“If I am not yet a musketeer,” said he to his new friends, whilst passing the threshold of M. de Treville’s hotel, “I am at least next door to one. Is it not so?”

6 His Majesty King Louis the Thirteenth

THE AFFAIR MADE a great noise. M. de Treville strongly censured his musketeers in public; but privately they heard only his congratulations. As, however, it was essential that no time should be lost in gaining the king, M. de Treville hastened to the Louvre. But he was too late; the king was closeted with the cardinal, and M. de Treville was informed that his majesty was engaged, and could not then see any one. In the evening, M. de Treville returned. The king was at play, and was winning; and his majesty, being very covetous, was in an excellent humour. Therefore, as soon as he saw M. de Treville, he exclaimed—

“Come here, my captain, that I may chide you. Are you aware that his eminence came to complain to me of your musketeers, and with so much emotion as to be indisposed? Well, really, these musketeers of yours are perfect devils—thorough hang-dogs!”

“No, sire,” replied M. de Treville, who at the first glance saw the turn the affair was likely to take. “No, on the contrary, they are good creatures, gentle as lambs, and who, I am confident, have only one wish, that their swords should never leave their scabbards except in time of war. But what are they to do? the guards of the cardinal are continually seeking opportunities of quarrelling with them; and, for the honour of the regiment, the poor young men are obliged to defend themselves.”

“Hark ye, M. de Treville,” said the king; “hark ye! Is this a religious fraternity—these men of yours—that you are speaking of? Truly, my dear captain, I am half inclined to deprive you of your command, and bestow it upon Mademoiselle de Chemerault, to whom I have promised an abbey. Do not suppose, however, that I give implicit credence to this simple story of yours. I am called Louis the Just, M. de Treville; and soon, very soon, we shall see———”

“And it is because I confide in that justice, sire, that I shall calmly and patiently await your majesty’s good pleasure.”

“Wait then, sir, wait then,” said the king, “and it will not be long.”

In fact, at that moment the chances of the game turned against the king, who began to lose what he had before gained. Therefore he was not sorry to find an excuse (to use an expression of the gaming table, of which we confess we know not the origin) for making Charlemagne. The king therefore rose, and putting into his pocket the money which was before him, and most of which he had won—

“La Vieuville,” said he, “take my place. I must talk with M. de Treville on an affair of importance. Ah! I had eighty louis before me: lay down the same sum, that those who have lost may not want their revenge. Justice above all things!”

Then turning towards M. de Treville, and walking with him towards a recess in one of the windows—

“Well, sir,” continued he, “you affirm that it is the guards of his eminence who seek quarrels with your musketeers?”

“Yes, sire; invariably.”

“Well, and how did this affair happen? Relate the facts; for you know, my dear captain, a judge must hear both parties.”

“Oh! by my faith, in the most simple and natural manner: three of my best soldiers, whom your majesty knows by name, and whose services you have often appreciated, and who, I can assure your majesty, are wholly devoted to your service—three of my best soldiers, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, had made a party of pleasure with a young Gascon, a volunteer, whom I had introduced to them the same morning. The party was to be held at St. Germain’s, I believe; and the rendezvous was fixed at Carmes-Deschaux, when it was interrupted by de Jussac, Cahusac, Biscarrat, and two other musketeers of the cardinal who doubtless did not assemble there in such force without some intention in opposition to the edicts.”

“Ah! you give me ground for a conjecture,” said the king; “doubtless they came there to have an affair of honour.”

“I do not accuse them, sire, but I leave your majesty to judge what five armed men could be doing in a spot so retired as is the neighbourhood of the convent.’

“Very true, Treville; yes, you are right.”

“But, when they saw my musketeers, they changed their intentions, and forgot their individual and personal hatred, to indulge their enmity towards our corps; for your majesty well knows that the musketeers, who are wholly for the king, and nothing but the king, are the natural enemies of the guards, who are for the cardinal alone.”

“Yes, Treville,” said the king sorrowfully; “and it is a sad thing, believe me, thus to see two parties in France—two royal heads, as it were, under one crown. But this must be brought to an end. You say, then, that the guards sought a difference with the musketeers?”

“I say it is probable that this was the case, but I do not swear to it, sire. Your majesty well knows how difficult it is to discover the truth, unless, indeed, one were gifted with that admirable penetration which has caused Louis XIII. to be named the Just.”

“There again you are right, Treville. But your musketeers were not alone; there was a boy with them.”

“Yes, sire, and a wounded man; so that three of the king’s musketeers, of whom one was wounded, and this boy, not only made head against five of the most formidable of the cardinal’s guards, but even bore four of them to the earth.”

“Why, it is a complete victory!” exclaimed the king, radiant with joy—“a most complete victory!”

“Yes, sire, as complete as that of the bridge of Cé.”

“Four men—of whom one was wounded, and another a boy—do you say?”

“A stripling; but who behaved so nobly on this occasion, that I shall take the liberty of recommending him to your majesty.”

“What is his name?”

“D’Artagnan, sire; he is the son of one of my oldest friends—the son of a man who was engaged in the Partizan war on the side of the king your father, of glorious memory.”

“And you say this youth acquitted himself bravely? Tell me all about it, Treville, for you know how I love to hear of war and combats.”

And the king placed himself in an attentive posture, at the same time twirling his moustache in a military manner.

“Sire,” replied M. de Treville, “as I have already told you, M. d’Artagnan is almost a child; and as he has not the honour of being a musketeer, he was in plain clothes. The cardinal’s guards, perceiving his youth and also that he was a civilian, invited him to retire before they commenced their assault.”

“Thus we may clearly perceive, Treville,” interrupted the king, “that it was the guards who began the attack.”

“Most assuredly, sire, there cannot be a doubt on the subject. They therefore warned him to retire; but he replied that as he was at heart a musketeer, and wholly devoted to his majesty, he should remain with the musketeers.”

“Brave youth!” murmured the king.

“And he did remain with them; and in him your majesty has the resolute and valiant champion who gave Jussac that terrific sword thrust which has so much enraged the cardinal.”

“He who wounded Jussac?” exclaimed the king. “He—a boy! Treville, it is impossible!”

“It is as I have the honour to inform your majesty.”

“Jussac! one of the best duellists in the realm!”

“Yes, sire; but he has now found his master.”

“Treville, I must see this young man,” said Louis; “I must see him; and if I can do anything———However, we will think about that.”

“When will your majesty condescend to receive him?”

“Tomorrow, at twelve, Treville.”

“Shall I bring him alone?”

“No, bring the other three. I wish to thank them all at the same time. Men so brave are rare, Treville, and such devotion ought to be rewarded.”

“At twelve, sire, we will be at the Louvre.”

“By the private staircase, Treville—by the private staircase; it is unnecessary to let the cardinal know it.”

“Yes, sire.”

“You understand, Treville; an edict is always an edict; at all events, fighting is forbidden by the law.”

“But this combat,” said Treville, “is altogether different from the common duels: it was a sudden brawl; and the proof of it is, that there were five of the cardinal’s guards against three of the musketeers and M. d’Artagnan.”

“It is quite true,” said the king; “yet, nevertheless, Treville, come by the private staircase.”

Treville smiled; but conceiving that he had already secured an important advantage, by thus inducing the pupil to rebel against his master, he respectfully saluted the king, and, with his permission, made his retiral.

The same evening the three musketeers were apprised of the honour intended for them. As they had long known the king, they were not much enchanted by the news; but d’Artagnan, with his Gascon imagination, saw in it his future fortunes, and passed the night amid golden dreams. By eight in the morning he was with Athos, whom he found dressed, and ready to go out.

As they were not to see the king until twelve o’clock, and Athos had engaged to meet Porthos and Aramis at a tennis-court, near the Luxembourg stables, to play a match of tennis, he invited d’Artagnan to join them. Although ignorant of the game, which he had never played, d’Artagnan accepted the invitation, not knowing how otherwise to dispose of his time in the interval. Porthos and Aramis were already there, knocking the balls about. Athos, who was very skilful in all athletic games, went to one side with d’Artagnan, and challenged them. But at the first movement which he made, although he played with his left hand, he found that his wound was too fresh to permit such an exertion. D’Artagnan, therefore, remained alone; and as he declared that he was too unskilful to play a regular game, they only sent the balls about, without counting the points. One of these balls, however, driven by the Herculean hand of Porthos, passed so near d’Artagnan as to satisfy him that, had it hit him full in the face, instead of going on one side, his royal audience would have been lost, as, in all probability, he would thereby have been rendered unfit to be presented to the king. Now, since, in his Gascon imagination, all his fortune depended upon this audience, he politely saluted Porthos and Aramis, declaring that he would not renew the game until he was up to their standard, and then took his station near the ropes and the gallery.

Unfortunately for d’Artagnan, amongst the spectators there was one of the cardinal’s guards, who was irritated by the previous night’s defeat of his companions, and had resolved to take the first opportunity of avenging it. He now believed that this opportunity had arrived, and addressing a bystander—

“It is no wonder,” said he, “that this young man is afraid of the ball; he is, doubtless, a musketeer recruit.”

D’Artagnan turned as if bitten by a serpent, and looked fiercely at the guardsman who had uttered this insolent remark.

“I’faith,” continued the latter, proudly curling his moustache, “you may look at me as much as you please, my little gentleman. What I have said, I mean.”

“And since what you have said explains itself,” replied d’Artagnan, in a low voice, “I will thank you to follow me.”

“Ah! indeed! and when, pray?” said the guardsman, with the same air of mockery.

“Immediately, if you please.”.

“Doubtless you know who I am?”

“I have not the slightest idea; and, what is more, I do not care.”

“And yet you are wrong; for if you knew my name, perhaps you would be less courageous.”

“Indeed! and pray what is your name?” said d’Artagnan.

“Bernajoux, at your service.”

“Well, M. Bernajoux,” replied d’Artagnan with the utmost tranquillity, “I shall await you at the gate.”

“Proceed, sir; I will follow you.”

“But do not be in too great haste, sir,” said d’Artagnan, “lest it should be perceived that we go out together; for, considering how we are about to be engaged, you must be aware that too many witnesses might prove inconvenient.”

“There is some sense in that,” replied the guardsman, much surprised that his name had not produced a greater effect on the young man.

The name of Bernajoux was indeed known to every one, except d’Artagnan; for he was one of those who constantly figured in the daily brawls which all the edicts of the king and the cardinal could not suppress.

Porthos and Aramis were so much occupied by their game, and Athos was watching them so attentively, that they did not even perceive the departure of their young companion, who, as he had promised, waited a moment at the door for his opponent. In fact, d’Artagnan had no time to lose, considering the expected audience, which was fixed for twelve o’clock. He therefore cast his eyes around, and seeing that there was no one in the street—

“Faith, sir,” said he to his adversary, “although your name is Bernajoux, it is very fortunate for you that you have to deal with a musketeer recruit only. However, be content: I will do my best. On your guard, sir!”

“But,” said he whom d’Artagnan thus addressed, “it appears to me this place is badly chosen, and that we should be better behind the abbey of St. Germain, or in the Pré-aux-Clercs.”

“True enough,” replied d’Artagnan, “but, unfortunately, my time is precious, as I have an important engagement precisely at twelve; therefore draw, sir, draw!”

Bernajoux was not the man to wait the repetition of such a compliment. In an instant, therefore, his sword glittered in his hand, and he rushed upon his adversary, whom, on account of his extreme youth, he hoped to intimidate.

But d’Artagnan had served his apprenticeship the evening before, and now fresh, and elated with his victory, as well as inflamed with hopes of future favour, he was fully resolved not to recede an inch. The two swords were therefore engaged, even to the guard; and as d’Artagnan kept his ground firmly, his adversary was obliged to retreat a single step. By this movement Bernajoux’s sword deviated from “opposition,” and d’Artagnan, seizing the opportunity, made a lunge which wounded his adversary in the shoulder. He immediately stepped back one pace, and raised his sword; but Bernajoux, declaring that it was nothing, made a blind thrust at d’Artagnan, and impaled himself upon his sword. Nevertheless, as Bernajoux neither fell, nor declared himself vanquished, but merely retreated towards the hotel of M. de la Tremouille, in whose service he had a relative, d’Artagnan, ignorant of the severity of his adversary’s wound, pressed him closely, and doubtless would have despatched him by a third thrust, had not the clash of the rapiers reached the tennis-court, from which now rushed, sword in hand, two of the guardsman’s friends (who had heard him exchange words with d’Artagnan), and fell upon the conqueror. But Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, now also joined the fray; and at the moment when the two guardsmen attacked their young comrade, forced them to turn. At that instant Bernajoux fell; and as the guards were then only two against four, they began to cry out—“To our aid! hotel de la Tremouille!” At this cry, all the inmates of the hotel rushed out, and fell upon the four friends; who, on their side, exclaimed “Help, musketeers!”

The latter cry was very common; for it was known that the musketeers hated the cardinal, and they were beloved for the very hatred they bore towards his eminence. Hence, in those quarrels, the guards of all the other regiments, excepting those actually belonging to the Red Duke, as Aramis had designated the cardinal, generally sided with the king’s musketeers. Of three guardsmen, who were passing, of the company of M. des Essarts, two came to the assistance of the four friends, whilst the third ran to the hotel of M. de Treville, crying, “Help! musketeers, help!” As usual, M. de Treville’s hotel was full of soldiers, who ran to the assistance of their comrades, and the battle became general. But the superiority of force was with the musketeers; and the cardinal’s guards, with M. de la Tremouille’s people, retired into the hotel, the doors of which they secured in time to exclude their opponents. As for the wounded man, he had been carried away at first, and, as we have said, in very bad plight.

Excitement amongst the musketeers and their allies was at its height, and they deliberated whether they should not set fire to the hotel, to punish the insolence of M. de la Tremouille’s retainers, who had presumed to charge the king’s musketeers. The proposition had been made and received with enthusiasm, when fortunately it struck eleven o’clock; and d’Artagnan and his companions, remembering their audience, and not wishing a feat so daring to be performed without their aid, succeeded in quelling the commotion; they therefore contented themselves with throwing some stones at the door, and then left the place. Besides, those whom they regarded as their leaders had just left them to proceed towards the hotel of M. de Treville, who, already aware of this fresh insult, awaited their arrival.

“Quick, to the Louvre!” said he; “to the Louvre, without losing one moment; and let us endeavour to see the king before the cardinal prejudices him. We will narrate the affair as a consequence of that of yesterday, and the two will be disposed of together.”

M. de Treville, accompanied by the four young men, hastened towards the Louvre; but, to the great surprise of the captain of the musketeers, he was informed that the king had gone to the chase in the forest of St. Germain. M. de Treville caused this intelligence to be twice repeated, and each time his companions observed his countenance become darker.

“Had his majesty formed the intention of hunting, yesterday?” demanded he.

“No, your excellency,” replied the valet. “The master of the hounds came this morning to announce that he had roused a stag; at first the king said he would not go, but subsequently he could not resist the pleasure which the chase promised him, and he set out after dinner.”

“And has the king seen the cardinal?” demanded M. de Treville.

“In all probability,” replied the valet, “for this morning I saw the horses harnessed to the cardinal’s carriage; I inquired where it was going, and was told to St. Germain.”

“We are anticipated,” said M. de Treville. “I shall see the king this evening; but, as for you, I would not counsel you at present to attempt it.”

The advice was too reasonable; especially as that of a man who knew the king too well, to be opposed by the young men. M. de Treville therefore requested them to return to their respective homes, and await his orders.

On reaching his hotel, it occurred to M. de Treville that it would be prudent to be in advance with his complaint. He therefore despatched a letter to M. de la Tremouille, requesting him to dismiss from his house the cardinal’s guards; and, further, to reprimand his own people for charging the musketeers. M. de la Tremouille, however, being already prejudiced by his equerry, whose relative Bernajoux was, replied that neither M. de Treville nor his musketeers had a right to complain, but, on the contrary, he himself; the musketeers having not only attacked and wounded his people, but also threatened to burn his mansion. Now, as a dispute between two such great men might last a long time, each being likely to adhere obstinately to his opinion, M. de Treville thought of an expedient to bring it to a close; and this was to go himself to M. de la Tremouille. He therefore repaired to his hotel, and caused himself to be announced.

The two noblemen saluted each other politely, for, although they were not friends, they yet esteemed each other. They were both brave and honourable men; and as M. de la Tremouille was a protestant, and therefore rarely saw the king, he intrigued on no side, and had contracted few prejudices in his social relations. On the present occasion, however, his reception of his visitor, though polite, was colder than usual.

“Sir,” said M. de Treville, “we each believe that we have cause of complaint against the other, and I am now here to see if we cannot together clear up the matter.”

“Most willingly,” replied M. de la Tremouille, “but I tell you beforehand that I have full information, and am satisfied all the blame rests with your musketeers.”

“You are too just a man, sir, and too reasonable,” observed M. de Treville, “not to accept the proposition I shall now make to you.”

“Proceed, sir; I will hear it.”

“How is M. Bernajoux, the relative of your equerry?”

“Why, sir,” replied Tremouille, “he is very ill indeed. Besides the wound which he received in the arm, and which is not dangerous, he has also received another, which has passed through his lungs; so that the physician gives but a poor account of him.”