The dismissal of the only person who appeared to feel for her any sympathy aggravated for a time the malady of Claire-Clémence, and was no doubt the cause of the “emportements” of which her husband speaks. But they do not appear to have lasted long, and by Holy Week 1665, she was sufficiently recovered to assist at the ceremonies of the Lord’s Supper, when the Queen, in accordance with ancient custom, served at table twelve poor women, whose feet she washed. The Princesse de Condé, aided by Mlle. d’Alençon and the Princess of Baden, carried the dishes to her Majesty.
During the next six years, Claire-Clémence continued to lead the same secluded life, emerging now and again from her retirement to assist at some Court ceremony, such as the baptism of the Dauphin at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, on which occasion she was one of the princesses to whom fell the duty of dressing the infant prince. After this brilliant ceremony, however, the appearances of the princess in public became so rare that people appear to have almost forgotten her existence, when, at the beginning of 1671, a mysterious affair, which was to complete the ruin of her life, came to make her, for a moment, the talk of both Court and town.
About two o’clock in the afternoon of 13 January, Claire-Clémence, having just dined, was alone in her apartments at the Hôtel de Condé, when the door opened, and her former favourite, the dismissed footman, Duval, entered the room unannounced. The ease with which he had succeeded in making his way to the princess’s apartments is explained by the fact that at this hour of the day all the servants were at dinner, and that there was no one at hand to inquire his business. Duval had come to demand money—the arrears of the pension which the princess had promised him, but which, owing to the unsatisfactory state of her finances, had only been paid very irregularly. On being told that it was impossible to comply with his request at once, he became very insolent and spoke in so loud a tone that a young musketeer, the Comte Jean Louis de Bussy-Rabutin, formerly page to the Princesse de Condé, who had just entered the ante-chamber, opened the door to see what was the matter. Rabutin, after asking the impudent rascal how he dared to address her Highness in such a manner, ordered him to leave the house immediately; Duval angrily refused, and both drew their swords and rushed upon each other. The princess endeavoured to separate them, and received a wound “above the right breast,”[210] which, though not dangerous, bled profusely. She fell to the ground in a swoon; the servants, attracted by the noise, came rushing in, and the combatants, profiting by the confusion, succeeded in effecting their escape, though not before they had both been recognized.
Such was the version which spread in Paris and was generally accepted, until the singular attitude of Condé piqued the curiosity of the public and invested the affair with an atmosphere of mystery and scandal. The prince, who had long sought an occasion for disembarrassing himself of a wife whom he had never loved, and who was no longer able to be of use to him, did not hesitate a moment to place the very worst construction upon what had occurred. Although suffering cruelly from the gout, he at once ordered his coach and set out for Paris, and, refusing even to see his wife, demanded of the King the punishment of a crime of lèse-majesté and a lettre de cachet against the princess. Louis XIV., who had been himself so far from conceiving any suspicions that he had already paid a personal visit to the injured lady, refused at first to accede to the latter request, and Condé returned to Chantilly in a very bad temper.
However, he was not the kind of person to be easily discouraged, and on 15 January, in the presence of the captain of his guards and the curé of Chantilly, he drew up and signed a document authorizing the Princesse de Condé to make a donation of her property to her son, the Duc d’Enghien. At the same time, he caused a deed to be prepared which stated that the princess, “on account of the tenderness and affection which she had always had for the person of the very high, very excellent and puissant prince Monseigneur Henri Jules de Bourbon, Duc d’Enghien, her son, Prince of the Blood, peer and Grand Master of France, etc., etc., and to recognize the great respect and obedience which he had always had for her, made a donation to him of all her movable property, furniture, titles, actions, immovables, pretensions, in whatsoever place they might be situated, reserving, nevertheless, the enjoyment by usufruct of all her said goods, during her lifetime, to dispose of them as might seem good to her.”[211]
The same day, the Duc d’Enghien, accompanied by two notaries, proceeded to the Hôtel de Condé, informed his mother of the wishes of Monsieur le Prince, and presented the deed for her signature. The unfortunate princess signed without demur this kind of anticipated will, in which it seemed that her husband desired to cut her off from the world of the living. She was no doubt under the impression that her compliance might suffice to appease the conjugal wrath, and did not appear to understand that it was tantamount to a confession that she was no longer responsible for her actions.
As the Duc d’Aumale observes, this deed had not the character of a spoliation, since the usufruct was respected and the free disposition of the princess’s jewels and plate assured. Yet, when viewed in the light of what followed, it had an odious appearance, and nothing in this sad affair has more disposed public opinion against Condé and his son.
Meanwhile, an active search had been made for the culprits. Duval was discovered at the house of a canon of the Sainte-Chapelle, whom he had persuaded to give him shelter, and conducted, with his hands tied behind his back, to the prison of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Rabutin was more fortunate. After lying hidden for a week at the Hôtel des Mousquetaires, he succeeded in effecting his escape to Germany, where he married a lady of royal blood, the Princess Dorothea of Holstein, and rose to high rank in the Imperial service.
As the crime with which Duval was charged was that of having attempted the life of a Princess of the Blood, he was tried by the Grande Chambre and the Tournelle, sitting together. The evidence of Claire-Clémence, taken on commission on 17 January, proved most unfortunate for her, since, from a generous but mistaken desire to shield two men who had been in her service—Rabutin had not yet succeeded in effecting his escape from Paris, and the police were hunting for him high and low—she professed entire ignorance of the cause of the affray. Duval, she declared, had come to ask for money, of which he explained that he was in great need, and she had promised to give it to him in two or three days. (It will be observed that she said nothing about the loud and insolent tone in which he had demanded it, and which had been the cause of Rabutin’s appearance upon the scene.) After he had left her, she had heard a commotion in the ante-chamber adjoining her salon, and, going out to see what was the matter, had received a wound in the breast, from which she immediately lost consciousness, without having recognized the persons who were fighting.
Duval was three times interrogated. On the first two occasions he stoutly denied that he was in any way culpable, but on the third he confessed, and admitted that it was he who had wounded the princess. In view of the latter’s reticence, however, the Court regarded these admissions with considerable suspicion, and, being of opinion that the charge was not fully proved, instead of condemning him to death, merely sentenced him to the galleys.