t seems to have been a good joke in France then; it is so
now,--wonderfully fresh and new,--defying time and endless repetition.
American eyes do not see much fun in it; they rather turn away in
disgust. But on the risible organs of the French purgative medicines
operate violently; and the favorite weapon of their medical service,
primitive in shape and exaggerated in dimensions, is a property
indispensable to every theatre. Regnard used it as a part of the stage
machinery,--worked it in as a stock pleasantry, the effect of which was
certain. Were he writing now, he would do the same thing. But in the
"Joueur" nobody is ill; it may be read by that typical creature, the
"most virtuous female," publicly and without a blush.

Gentlemen and ladies whose morals are not fully fledged are generally
advised to beware of attempting to skim over the fiction of modern
France. They may take up Regnard without risking a fall; for there is
little danger of being led astray by the picaresque knaveries of Scapin
and Lisette. In 1700 love for another man's wife had not come to be
considered one of the fine arts. Nowadays the victims of this kind of
misplaced affection are the heroes of French novels and plays. The
husband, odious and tiresome _ex officio_, has succeeded to the miserly
father or tyrannical guardian. He is the giant of French romance, who
keeps the lovely and uneasy lady locked up in Castle Matrimony. He
cannot help himself, poor fellow!--he is compelled to fill that
unenviable position, whenever Madame chooses. Sentimental young Arthurs
and Ernests stand in the place of Ergaste and Cleante, and are always
ready to make war upon the unlucky giant. They overcome him as of old,
scale the walls, and carry off the capricious fair one. We have hardly
changed for the better. Ergaste and Cleante were not sentimental, but
they were marrying men and broke no commandments.

Regnard's life of fifty years covers the whole of the literary age of
Louis XIV. Before 1660 the French had no literature worth preserving,
except Rabelais, Montaigne, a few odes of Malherbe, a page or two of
Marot, and the tragedies of Corneille. Pascal published the "Provincial
Letters" in the year of Regnard's birth. La Fontaine had written a few
indifferent verses; Moliere was almost unknown. In 1686, when Regnard
became an author, the Voitures, Balzacs, and Benserades, the men of
fantastic conceits, the vanguard of the grand army of French wits, had
marche