Regnard was almost as much of a pagan as his favorite Horace,--called for wines, roses, and perfumes, and sang his Lydia and his Lalage almost in the same words. His creed and his philosophy were pagan. He adored three goddesses,--_la Comedie_, _la Musique_, _la bonne Chere_; his solution of the problem of life was enjoyment. "Fair tout ce qu'on veut, vivre exempt de chagrin, Ne se rien refuser,--Voila tout mon systeme, Et de mes jours ainsi j'attraperai la fin." Wisdom was given to man to temper pleasure,--to avoid excess, which destroys pleasure. Regnard had agreeable recollections of the past; the present satisfied him; he was as careless of the unknown future as De Retz, whose _epouvantable tranquillite_, appalling ease of mind on that point, so shocked poor Mme. de Sevigne. All other speculations he put quietly aside with a doubt or a _cui bono_. It was a witty and refined selfishness, and nothing beyond. Spiritual light, faith, none; hope that to-morrow might pass as smoothly as to-day; love, only that particular affection which man feels for his female fellow-creature. Such a heathenish frame of mind will find little favor in this era of yearnings, seekings, teachings. It was, indeed, a lamentable condition of moral darkness; but the error, though grievous, has its attractive side. "On court apres la verite; Ah! croyez moi, l'erreur a son merite." It is a relief in these dyspeptic times to turn back to Regnard, the big, rosy, and jolly pagan, enjoying to the utmost the four blessings invoked upon the head of Argan by the chorus of Doctors:-- "Salus, honor et argentum. Arque bonum appetitum." Comfortable, contented with himself and with the world, he was free from the sadness, the misgivings, and the enervating doubts which overrun so many morbid minds,--symptoms of moral weakness, and of the want of healthy occupation. Hence lady poets, more than all others, love to indulge in these feeble repinings, and take the privilege of their sex to shed tears on paper. In his bachelor establishment, Rue de Richelieu, there was, he tells us,-- "Grande chere, vin delicieux, Belle maison, liberte toute entiere, Bals, concerts, enfin tout ce qui peut satisfaire Le gout, les oreilles, les yeux." The _Societe choisie_ was numerous; for a good cook never fails to make friends for his master, and Regnard's cook dealt with fat capons, plover, and ortolans. His lettuce, mushrooms, and artichokes were grown under his own eyes. The choice vintages of France, in casks, lay in his cellar. He gave wine to nourish wit, not to furnish an opportunity for ostentatious gabble about age and price. How he revels in the description of good cheer! There rises from his pages _fumet_ of game and the _bouquet d'un vin exquis_. "Et des perdrix! Morbleu! d'un fumet admirable Sentez plutot, Quel baume! Mon Dieu!"