The result of the proceedings against Duval, joined to the singular attitude of Monsieur le Prince, gave to the affair, in the opinion of a considerable section of the public, a new complexion; and it was now freely asserted that the two men who had drawn upon each other in the princess’s presence had been rivals in her affections. Such was the view taken by Madame de Sévigné, who, in a letter to her cousin Bussy,[212] thus expresses herself:
“I have just been told of an extraordinary adventure which occurred at the Hôtel de Condé, and which deserves to be related to you. Here it is: Madame la Princesse having conceived an affection for one of her footmen named Duval, the latter was foolish enough to suffer impatiently the good-will which she likewise testified for the young Rabutin, who had been her page. One day, when they both happened to be in her chamber, Duval having said something that was wanting in respect to the princess, Rabutin drew his sword to chastise him. Duval drew his also, and the princess, throwing herself between them to separate them, was wounded in the breast. Duval has been arrested, and Rabutin has taken to flight. However honourable the subject of the quarrel may be, I like not the name of a footman coupled with that of Rabutin.”[213]
To which her scandal-loving correspondent replies:
“Our cousin’s adventure is neither beautiful nor ugly; the mistress does him honour, and the rival shame.”
At the same time, most of her contemporaries refused to believe that the sweet and unfortunate Claire-Clémence had been seriously culpable, and, though several of Condé’s biographers, to efface a stain on the escutcheon of their hero, have not hesitated to reproduce this calumny, others, such as Louis Joseph de Bourbon and Earl Stanhope, are of a different opinion, and blame severely the conduct of the prince.[214] “How is it possible,” asks the latter, “to think that the suspicion of the prince was well founded? How can we believe that a princess married nearly thirty years, and, up to this time, entirely free from the slightest imputation—always held sacred by calumny, which spares so few, ever irreproachable in the midst of a most corrupt Court—could have waited till the age when passions have subsided to indulge them? How reconcile such irregularities with that exalted piety which she had practised from her youth upwards? How can we, without any proof, admit such accusations against the woman who had always devoted herself so courageously and constantly to the service of a husband who slighted her? Against the heroine of Montrond and Bordeaux; against Clémence de Maillé? And again, what accusations? Not only of an illicit attachment, but the shameless sharing of her favours between two of her own domestics!”[215]
Condé, who had never scrupled to jeer at the conjugal misfortunes of others, now, in his turn, became an object of ridicule. Chansons and epigrams at his expense began to circulate in Paris, and served to exasperate him still further against his wife. In the first days of February, he again demanded of the King a lettre de cachet, and this time Louis XIV. did not refuse, and signed an order which exiled the princess to the Château of Châteauroux, in Berry. No time was lost in executing it, and as soon as the doctors pronounced her able to stand the fatigue of the journey, she left Paris.
On the day of her departure, she sent for the curé of Saint-Sulpice, with whom she had a long conversation. “Monsieur,” said she, as she bade him farewell, “this is the last time that you will speak to me, since I shall never return from the place to which the King is sending me. But the confession which I now make to you will proclaim my innocence for ever.” Her parting from her son was heartrending, and, after embracing him again and again, she swooned away in his arms. As soon as she recovered, the carriage started for Châteauroux.
The château which Condé had selected as his wife’s prison, and where she was destined to remain for the rest of her days, stands upon a hill on the left bank of the Indre, and commands a magnificent view of the surrounding country. It was built by Raoul le Large, seigneur de Déols, about the middle of the tenth century,[216] an age when security was naturally the primary consideration, and, though its sombre appearance had been a good deal modified from time to time, it was still far from a cheerful habitation.
The princess was followed thither by her whole Household: dame d’honneur, chevalier d’honneur, equerry, almoner, physician, apothecary, comptroller, waiting-women, chef, scullions, coachmen and footmen; and an allowance of 50,000 livres a year was made her for the maintenance of this establishment. She was permitted to walk in the grounds of the château, and even to take carriage exercise in the vicinity, but always very carefully watched and guarded; while no stranger was under any pretext allowed to approach her. Apart from these restrictions, she was treated, at any rate at first, with all the consideration and respect due to her exalted rank, and her captivity was not of the harsh and brutal character with which some writers have invested it.
Nevertheless, the isolation to which she was subjected, the deadly monotony of her existence in this gloomy fortress, soon began to have its effect upon her already tottering reason. Her disorder took the form of terror. From incessant brooding over her wrongs, the husband who had repaid her unselfish devotion with such harshness and ingratitude became, in moments of hallucination, a monster who, not content with burying her alive, was resolved to rid himself of her altogether, and frequently she refused to touch dishes that were offered her, from fear lest they should contain poison.