The unfortunate husband began to “play the devil” again, and, though Henri, in the hope of bending him to his will, had the meanness to give orders to Sully that the instalment of his pension due at Midsummer should not be paid him, and to threaten him with even more severe measures unless he mended his ways, his complaints grew louder than ever. Violent scenes took place between him and the King, in one of which Condé allowed the word “tyranny” to escape him, and his Majesty, losing all control of himself, replied that the only occasion on which he had merited such a reproach was when he had recognized the prince for what he was not—that is to say, a legitimate son.
Finally, Condé took his wife back to Valery, and, though Henri employed every means in his power to induce him to return, it was to no purpose. “Beaumont,” writes the King to the Constable, on 23 September, “returned yesterday, and says that he found our friend (Condé) more unmanageable than ever. He leaves Valery this morning for Muret.”[154]
Muret was a château belonging to Condé in Picardy, not far from the Flemish frontier, and the prince’s pretext for removing thither was the excellent hunting which the neighbourhood afforded. Early in November, he and his wife went to join a hunting-party at the Abbey of Verteuil, and, while they were there, M. de Traigny, governor of Amiens, invited the Princesse de Condé and the dowager-princess, who was with her, to dine at his country-house, situated some three leagues from the abbey. We will allow Lenet, the faithful servant of the Condés, who had the story from the princess’s own lips, to relate what followed:
“It would seem very much as though this party had been concerted with the King, but he was, at any rate, informed of it by the Sieur de Traigny, who always abetted him in his pleasures, so that the princesses, while on their way thither, saw a carriage pass with the King’s liveries and a great number of hounds. The princess-mother, who was passionately attached to her son, and watched the actions of the young princess very narrowly, feared that, under the pretext of some hunting excursion, the King had prepared for them a rendezvous. She summoned the huntsmen, whom she saw at a distance; but one of them, advancing before the others, came to the door of the coach to answer the princess’s questions, and disarmed her fears, by telling her that a captain of the hunt, who was in the neighbourhood to celebrate the feast of St. Hubert, had placed the relays where she saw them, because he was hunting a stag with some of his friends. Whilst the princess-dowager was speaking to the huntsman, the young princess, who was at the coach-door, glanced at the others, who stood some little distance off, and perceived that one of them was the King, who, the better to disguise himself under the livery he wore, had put a large black patch over his left eye and held two greyhounds in a leash. The princess told us that she had never been more astonished in her life, and that she did not dare to mention what she had seen to her mother-in-law, from fear lest she should inform her husband. At the same time, she confessed to us that this gallantry had not displeased her, and, continuing her story, she told us that, having arrived at Traigny and entered the salon, she remarked upon the extreme beauty of the view, whereupon Madame de Traigny said to her that, if she cared to put her head out of a window which she would show her, she would see one still more agreeable. Advancing to it, she perceived that the King was placed at the window of a pavilion opposite, he having preceded her after having had the pleasure of seeing her on the road, and that he held all the time one hand to his lips, as though to send her a kiss, and the other to his heart, to show her that he had been wounded.
“The surprise of this rencontre did not allow the princess time to reflect what she should do, and she retired abruptly from the window, exclaiming, ‘Ciel! what is this? Madame, the King is here!’ On which the princess-dowager, greatly incensed, divided her words between giving directions for the horses to be immediately harnessed to her coach and loading Traigny and his wife with reproaches. Even the King, who hastened to the spot on hearing the commotion, did not escape her anger. The enamoured prince employed all the entreaties which his passion could dictate, and all the promises possible, to induce her to remain, but to no purpose; for the princesses re-entered their coach and returned forthwith to Verteuil, where that same night the princess-mother broke the promise which the King had extracted from her, and related the whole story to her son.”
A few days later, Condé received a letter from the King, written in a strain half-coaxing and half-menacing, summoning him to Court, to be present at the approaching accouchement of the Queen. Etiquette required that the first Prince of the Blood should be in attendance on these auspicious occasions, and it was impossible for him to refuse. But he came alone. Henri was furious, and his anger and disappointment rendered him so insupportable to all about him, that Marie de’ Medici herself begged Condé to send for his wife, promising to keep the strictest watch over her. Such was the King’s wrath that he apparently could not trust himself to interview his cousin personally, but sent for the prince’s secretary Virey,[155] and told him that, if Condé desired a divorce from his wife, he would not oppose it, and would even undertake to obtain the parents’ consent. The prince, it should be explained, had no such wish, but, a few months before, after a stormy interview with the King, he had chanced to observe to the Duc de Villeroy, whom he had met on leaving the royal presence, and who had inquired the cause of his agitation, that, rather than consent to his own dishonour, or expose himself any longer to his Majesty’s anger, he would get himself “dismarried”; and these hasty words, which had been duly reported to the King, had been wrested into a request for a divorce.[156]
Virey withdrew, and the next day returned and handed the King a very skilfully-worded memorial from Condé, which had been drafted for him by the Président de Thou, wherein he begged his Majesty to appoint such persons as he might think fit to assist him with their counsel in this delicate affair; adding that, until the matter was decided, he did not doubt that the King would think it necessary that the princess should remain at Muret.
This answer completely disconcerted the amorous monarch’s plans, and made him more angry than ever. Ignoring the memorial, he turned furiously upon Virey, to whose influence he attributed the firm tone which Condé maintained, reproached him bitterly with the counsels he had given the prince, threatened him with his severe displeasure, and, finally, dismissed him, bidding him tell his master that, if he declined to yield to his will or attempted the slightest violence against the princess, he would give him cause to rue it. He added that, had he been still only King of Navarre, he would at once have challenged the prince to a duel.
After receiving the King’s message, Condé decided to feign submission, and accordingly begged his Majesty’s leave to return to Muret to fetch his wife. His request, as we may suppose, was readily granted, and on 25 November, the day on which the ill-fated Henriette-Marie was born, he set out for Picardy.
On the evening of the 29th, while Henri was at the card-table, word was brought him that a messenger had arrived from Picardy with intelligence that Monsieur le Prince had early that morning left Muret, in a coach with his wife, accompanied by his chamberlain, the Baron de Rochefort, Virey, and two of the princess’s ladies. Condé had given out that they were bound on a hunting-expedition; but the messenger—an archer of the Guard named Laperrière—had learned from his father, who was in the prince’s service, that the party had taken the road to Flanders.