Perceiving at last that the butcher intended him no hurt, the good father told him the reason why he had hidden himself in the sty.  Then was their fear turned to laughter, except, indeed, that the poor Friar’s leg was too painful to suffer him to be merry.  However, the butcher brought him into the house, where he caused the hurt to be carefully dressed.

His comrade, who had deserted him in his need, ran all night long, and in the morning came to the house of the Lord of Fors, where he lodged a complaint against the butcher, whom he suspected of killing his companion, seeing that the latter had not followed him.  The Lord of Fors forthwith sent to Grip to learn the truth, and this, when known, was by no means the cause of tears.  And he failed not to tell the story to his mistress the Duchess of Angouleme, mother of King Francis, first of that name. (4)

     4 Many modern stories and anecdotes have been based on this
     amusing tale.—­Ed.

“You see, ladies, how bad a thing it is to listen to secrets that do not concern us, and to misunderstand what other people say.”

“Did I not know,” said Simontault, “that Nomer-fide would give us no cause to weep, but rather to laugh?  And I think that we have all done so very heartily.”

“How comes it,” said Oisille, “that we are more ready to be amused by a piece of folly than by something wisely done?”

“Because,” said Hircan, “the folly is more agreeable to us, for it is more akin to our own nature, which of itself is never wise.  And like is fond of like, the fool of folly, and the wise man of discretion.  But I am sure,” he continued, “that no one, whether foolish or wise, could help laughing at this story.”

“There are some,” said Geburon, “whose hearts are so bestowed on the love of wisdom that, whatever they may hear, they cannot be made to laugh.  They have a gladness of heart and a moderate content such as nought can move.”

“Who are they?” asked Hircan.

“The philosophers of olden days,” said Geburon.  “They were scarcely sensible of either sadness or joy, or at least they gave no token of either, so great a virtue did they deem the conquest of themselves and their passions.  I too think, as they did, that it is well to subdue a wicked passion, but a victory over a natural passion, and one that tends to no evil, appears useless in my eyes.”

“And yet,” added Geburon, “the ancients held it for a great virtue.”

“It is not maintained,” said Saffredent, “that they all were wise.  They had more of the appearance of sense and virtue than of the reality.”

“Nevertheless, you will find that they rebuke everything bad,” said Geburon.  “Diogenes himself, even, trod on the bed of Plato, who was too fond (5) of rare and precious things for his taste, and this in order to show that he despised Plato’s vanity and greed, and would put them under foot.  ‘I trample with contempt,’ said he, ‘upon the pride of Plato.’”