The theatre was another passion, which, in her, was derived from intelligence and her natural taste for things of the understanding. It was the only pleasure (except that of writing letters) which lasted to the end of her life. She was not of the opinion of Bossuet, Bourdaloue, and other great religious oracles of the day in the matter of theatres; she forestalled the opinion of the future and that of the most indulgent moralists. "With regard to the priests who forbid the theatre," she says, rather irreverently, "I shall say no more, except this, that if they saw a little further than their own noses they would understand that the money people spend on going to the play is not ill-spent; in the first place, the comedians are poor devils who earn their living that way; and next, comedies inspire joy, joy produces health, health gives strength, strength produces good work; therefore comedies should be encouraged, and not forbidden." She liked to laugh, and the "Malade Imaginaire" diverted her to such a degree that one might think in reading her letters that she was trying to imitate all that is most physical and unfit for women in its style of pleasantry. And yet "the 'Malade Imaginaire' is not the one of Molière's plays that I like best," she says; "Tartuffe pleases me better." And in another letter: "I cannot write longer, for I am called to go to the theatre; I am to see the 'Misanthrope,' the one of Molière's plays that gives me the most pleasure." She admired Corneille and quotes the "Death of Pompey." I do not know whether she liked "Esther," but she must surely have loved Shakespeare. "I have often heard his Highness, our father," she writes to her half-sister, "say that there are no comedies in the world finer than those of the English." After the death of Monsieur and during the last years of Louis XIV. she adopted a way of life that was very precise and retired. "I live here quite deserted (May 3, 1709) for everybody, young and old, runs after favour. The Maintenon cannot endure me, and the Duchesse de Bourgogne likes only what that lady likes." She became at last absolutely a hermit in the midst of the Court. "I consort with no one here, except my own people; I am as polite as I can be to everybody, but I contract no intimate relations with any one, and I live alone; I go to walk, I go to drive, but from two o'clock to half-past nine I never see a human face; I read, I write, or I amuse myself in making baskets like the one I sent my aunt." Sometimes, however, to enliven this long interval from two o'clock to half-past nine, her ladies would play at _hombre_ or _brelan_ beside her writing-table.