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I had purposed to finish the story of Marlborough and his Times in this volume; but as the massive range of the material came fully into view it was clear that this could not be done without altering the balance and proportion of the work and failing to give a level, comprehensive account. I have therefore ended this volume after the campaign of 1708.

At this point Louis XIV saw himself to be definitely defeated, and his whole desire was for peace, almost at any price. On the other hand, the Allies, although war-wearied and discordant, had extended the original objects of the war, raised their terms, and hardened their hearts. At the same time Marlborough’s power, triumphant in the field, and now accepted as paramount throughout the Grand Alliance, was completely undermined at home. He and his faithful colleague Godolphin had lost all effective hold upon Queen Anne, had no control of the Whigs, and were pursued by the malignity of the Tories. The Whig Junto had at last forced themselves upon the Queen, and established for the first time a powerful party Administration supported by majorities in both Houses of Parliament. Upon this rigid, tightly built, but none the less brittle platform Marlborough and Godolphin were still able to act, and Marlborough was to be furnished with greater means to conduct the war than he had ever before possessed. But the hollowness of his foundations was apparent to Europe, and especially to the enemy. It was known at Versailles that the Queen was estranged from Sarah, that she wished to extend her favour to the Tories, or Peace Party, as they had now unitedly become, and that she was in intimate contact by the backstairs through her bedchamber woman Abigail Masham with Harley, the leader of the Opposition. The knowledge of these deadly facts, coupled with the harsh demands of the Allies, encouraged France to struggle forward, until the fall of Marlborough broke the strength and blunted the action of the Grand Alliance, and brought it to a situation incomparably worse than that of 1708.

The constitutional and European issues debated in this present volume are peculiarly apposite to the times in which we live. At home they involve and portray, first, the Union of Great Britain; secondly, the establishment of party government as the expression of a Parliamentary Constitution; and, thirdly, the shaping of the Cabinet system, in the forms in which these arrangements were destined to survive for over two hundred years. By the Great Rebellion against Charles I, and by the Revolution of 1688, the House of Commons had gained the means of controlling policy through the power of the purse. But in the reign of Anne the Sovereign still preserved, not only in theory but in practice, the right to choose Ministers. Naturally the Crown, lifted above party, sought to maintain its own power by forming Court Governments, or, as we should now call them, national Governments, from both the organized political factions and from outside them. The stresses of a prolonged world war and the vast pre-eminence of Marlborough favoured such an inclination. He understood with his deep sagacity that only a peace party can make or wage a war with united national strength. His fears that a Tory Party in opposition would weaken, if not destroy, the war effort of England, and the Queen’s fears that, without the Tories in the Government, she would fall wholly into the hands of the Whigs, with all that that implied in Church and State, constituted a bond of harmony between servant and Sovereign which carried on our weak country and the loose confederacy of which it was the prop through the darkest, and at times apparently the hopeless, years of the struggle.

But after the glories of Blenheim had roused the martial enthusiasm of the English nation the Whigs, with their ardour for Continental war and leadership, obtained in very large measure, and in the end entirely, control not only of the Lords but of the Commons. It was not surprising that they insisted upon predominance in the Government. The dismissal of the high Tories, the intermediate system of the moderates of both parties which Harley rendered possible, and the steady incursion of the Whig leaders into the Cabinet Council comprised an evolution which in the compass of this volume led from a royal or national to a party administration in the height of a prolonged but successful war. Marlborough and Godolphin were forced step by step to yield to remorseless Parliamentary pressures, and make themselves the reluctant instruments of bringing them to bear upon the Queen. In so doing they, and still more Sarah—that keen Whig partisan—lost with the stubborn Queen the influence which alone had enabled them to cope with so many difficulties, and found themselves ultimately shorn of every source of organized domestic strength. All that remained was Marlborough’s universally acknowledged indispensability, whether for the victorious waging of war or the successful negotiation of peace.

The reader will be able to judge for himself whether they could have taken any other course. Upon the whole I incline to the view that greater risks should have been run in 1707 to preserve the coalition character of the Government, to placate the Queen, and to work with Harley. On the other hand, the House of Commons was master of the money, and no Minister, however magnificent and successful, could long withstand its hostility. Secondly, the Cabinet system in its rapid adolescence presented insoluble problems to its members. Great nobles and famous statesmen sat round the Council Board united by no party bond, and owing allegiance to rival factions engaged in bitter Parliamentary conflict. Once the Queen’s loyalties began to be in doubt, divergent personal and party interests manifested themselves in treacherous disclosures and intrigues. When Marlborough’s sword brought home the triumphs of Ramillies and Oudenarde, when all men saw the princes and states of Europe arrayed against France under his supreme direction, these disruptive tendencies were held in suspense, and all bathed their hands in streams of martial glory and growing British power. But a barren or adverse campaign relaxed all ties, and Marlborough’s defeat in the field, or even failure in a major siege, would have destroyed them. When in Marlborough’s conduct of war we see now violent and sudden action with armies marching night and day, and all hazards dared for a decision, now long delays and seeming irresolution, the dominating fact to be remembered is that he could not afford to be beaten. So he never was beaten. He could not bear the impact of defeats such as his warrior comrade Eugene repeatedly survived. Neither in his headquarters at the front nor behind him at home did he have that sense of plenary authority which gave to Frederick the Great and to Napoleon their marvellous freedom of action. It is the exhibition of infinite patience and calculation, combined upon occasion with reckless audacity, both equally attended with invariable success, which makes his military career unique. When British generals of modern times feel themselves hampered by the tardy or partial action of allies, or embarrassed by the political situation at home, let them draw from the example of Marlborough new resources of endurance, without losing his faculty of “venturing all.”

In these pages I also show the seamy side. A shorter account would, if justice were done, be compelled to dwell almost entirely upon the broad achievements. I have faithfully endeavoured to examine every criticism or charge which the voluminous literature upon this period contains, even where they are plainly tinctured with prejudice or malice, even where they rest on no more than slanderous or ignorant gossip. In the main Marlborough’s defence rests upon his letters to Sarah and Godolphin. It is strange that this man who consciously wrote no word of personal explanation for posterity should in his secret, intimate correspondence, which he expected to be destroyed, or at least took no trouble to preserve, have furnished us with his case in terms far more convincing than anything written for the public eye. The reader’s attention is especially drawn to these letters, not only those that have never been published, and which are now printed in their quaint, archaic style, but to the immense series drawn from Coxe’s Life and Murray’s Dispatches. I have sedulously endeavoured to reduce them, in the interests of the narrative, but in so many cases they are the narrative, and tell the tale far better than any other pen. They plead for Marlborough’s virtue, patriotism, and integrity as compulsively as his deeds vindicate his fame. Although no scholar, and for all his comical spelling, he wrote a rugged, forceful English worthy of the Shakespeare on which his education was mainly founded. He held the whole panorama of Europe in his steady gaze, and presented it in the plainest terms of practical good sense.

How vain and puerile seem the calumnies with which the Deputy Goslinga has fed Continental historians, and with which Thackeray’s Esmond has familiarized the English-speaking world, beside Marlborough’s plain day-to-day accounts of his hopes and fears in the long-drawn struggle for Lille! How base appear the slanders with which Tory faction assailed him in those vanished days! Everything Marlborough writes to his wife and cherished friends rings true, and proves him the “good Englishman” he aspired to be.

I have not sought to palliate his vice or foible in money matters. In his acquisitive and constructive nature the gathering of an immense fortune and artistic treasures wherewith to found and endow his family was but a lower manifestation of the same qualities which cemented the Grand Alliance and led England to Imperial greatness. His avarice never prejudiced his public duty. For the sake of petty economies, mostly affecting himself, he let himself become a joke among the officers and soldiers who trusted and loved him; while at the same time he made generous benefactions of which the world knew nothing to his children, friends, and subordinates, and to strangers in distress; or spent large sums upon buildings which would long outlast him. An instinctive hatred of waste in all its forms, private and public, and particularly where his own comfort was concerned, was his dominant motive. Narrowly he scrutinized the expenses of the army; but the soldiers praised the precision with which their food and rations reached them through all the long campaigns. With zest he collected the percentages for which he held the Royal Warrant on the bread contracts and on the pay of the foreign troops; but never was Secret Service money more lavishly or more shrewdly expended. Given only a small addition to the great authority he wielded, he would have brought the war to a victorious end with half its havoc and slaughter; would have made a wise and stable peace in harmony with the highest interests of England and of Europe; and at the same time blandly pocketed the largest possible commissions on these august transactions. We see him in the midst of his hardest struggles cheered by the prospect of a small perquisite of plate, and yet unhesitatingly brushing aside the revenues of a viceroyalty when his acceptance of that princely office would have impaired the cohesion of the Allies. Half the money which he gave in private kindness, if spent upon his table in camp, would have doubled his popularity. It would not have affected his worth.

Most of the English characters of the earlier campaigns present themselves again in this volume. Marlborough is everywhere attended at the front by his devoted friends Cadogan and Cardonnel, the former combining the functions of Chief of the Staff and Quartermaster-General, the latter presiding over and conducting a correspondence which extended from the Duke’s Headquarters to every capital in Europe. We find again Marlborough’s brothers—George managing the Admiralty, and Charles at the head of the Infantry; and his great fighting officers Orkney, Lumley, Argyll, and his younger men, Brigadiers Meredith and Palmes. The war in Spain introduces remarkable personalities. Peterborough, Galway, Stanhope, each in his own way shows the plethora of quality and ability at the disposal of the Crown in these famous years. Godolphin still guards Marlborough’s home base; Heinsius and Hop and Buys preserve his profound relations with the Dutch republic. Wratislaw is his contact with the Empire. There are some grand German princes and warriors in the heroic Hesse-Darmstadt, the Prince of Hesse, and the Prussian cavalrymen Rantzau and Natzmer. Always through the drama runs the brotherhood in arms of Marlborough and Eugene.

In one other main aspect the story of this volume has a peculiar interest for us to-day. We see a world war of a League of Nations against a mighty, central military monarchy, hungering for domination not only over the lands but over the politics and religion of its neighbours. We see in their extremes the feebleness and selfish shortcomings of a numerous coalition, and how its weaker members cast their burdens upon the strong, and sought to exploit the unstinted efforts of England and Holland for their own advantage. We see all these evils redeemed by the statecraft and personality of Marlborough, and by his military genius and that of his twin captain, Eugene. Thus the causes in which were wrapped the liberties of Europe were carried to safety for several generations.

In a final volume I design to describe the fall of Marlborough after his main work was done. Here again the tale is rich in suggestion and instruction for the present day; for it illustrates what seems to have become the tradition of Britain—indomitable in distress and danger, exorbitant at the moment of success, fatuous and an easy prey after her superb effort had run its course. Here we shall see harsh and excessive demands producing innumerable unforeseen reactions upon the defeated nations. Here in foretaste we may read the bitter story of how in the eighteenth century England won the war and lost the peace.

I have followed in these pages the method of the earlier volumes. The reader should consult the preface to Volume III for some comments upon the authorities to whom I have recurred. The bibliography has been extended to cover the new years through which the story now runs. It will be seen that I have drawn deeply upon the records of foreign archives and the writings of Continental historians. There is no doubt that they give a more vivid and vital picture of Marlborough’s life and times than anything which had appeared in the English language until the illuminating and impartial work of Professor Trevelyan.

I have tried as far as possible to tell the story through the lips of its actors or from the pens of contemporary writers, feeling sure that a phrase struck out at the time is worth many coined afterwards. Great pains have again been taken with the diagrams and maps in order that the non-military reader may without effort understand ‘what happened and why.’ I am again indebted to Brigadier R. P. Pakenham-Walsh in this respect, and for his assistance in the whole technical field. Commander J. H. Owen, R.N., has helped me in naval matters. I again renew my thanks to all those who have so kindly allowed me to reproduce pictures and portraits in their possession, and also to those who have placed original documents at my disposal. I make my acknowledgments in every case. I also record my thanks to the present Duke of Marlborough for continuing to me all that freedom of the Blenheim archives without which my task could neither have been begun nor pursued.

Documents never before made public are distinguished by an asterisk (*) and left for the most part in their original form.

In the diagrams, except where otherwise stated, fortresses held by the Allies are shown as black stars and those occupied by the French as white stars.

METHOD OF DATING

Until 1752 dates in England and on the Continent differed owing to our delay in adopting the Reformed Calendar of Gregory XIII. The dates which prevailed in England were known as Old Style, those abroad as New Style. In the seventeenth century the difference was ten days, in the eighteenth century eleven days. For example, January 1, 1601 (O.S.), was January 11, 1601 (N.S.), and January 1, 1701 (O.S.), was January 12, 1701 (N.S.).

The method used has been to give all dates of events that occurred in England in the Old Style, and of events that occurred abroad in New Style. Letters and papers are dated in the New Style unless they were actually written in England. In sea battles and a few other convenient cases the dates are given in both styles.

It was also customary at this time—at any rate, in English official documents—to date the year as beginning on Lady Day, March 25. What we should call January 1, 1700, was then called January 1, 1699, and so on for all days up to March 25, when 1700 began. This has been a fertile source of confusion. In this book all dates between January 1 and March 25 have been made to conform to the modern practice.

References in the text to pages in preceding volumes of MARLBOROUGH apply to the English edition. The following list gives the correct references to the American edition:

The General Election which began in May 1705 produced changes in English politics which at first seemed only slight and beneficial, but which set in train events of decisive importance to Marlborough and his fortunes. The Captain-General was capable of enduring endless vexations and outfacing extreme hazards. But he had one sensitive spot. In the armour of leather and steel by which in public affairs he was encased there was a chink into which a bodkin could be plunged. He sought not only glory but appreciation. When according to his judgment he had done well he yearned for the praise of his fellow-countrymen, and especially of those Tory squires—‘the gentlemen of England,’ as they styled themselves—to whom he naturally belonged, but with whom he was ever at variance. They were the audience whose applauses he sought to compel; and when instead of admiration he received their sneers and belittlings his indignation was profound. “Blenheim indeed!” quoth they. “What was that? A stroke of luck, and the rest the professional knowledge of Eugene.” Rooke was the man and the sea war the theme. The campaign of 1705, was it not a failure? All this Continental exertion and expense were follies which should be stopped. How much longer must the blood and treasure of England be consumed in European struggles while rich booty glittered neglected across the oceans and the Church was in danger at home? Thus the Tories. On the other hand stood the Whigs, logical, precise, resolute, the wholehearted exponents of the great war on land and of England rising to the directing summit of the world.

Sarah, as we can judge from John’s replies, must have confronted him with this contrast in many a letter. She saw, with a woman’s unsentimental discernment, that his illusions about the Tories were vain. They would ever be his foes, and would in the end work his ruin. Her hatred of them ran bitter and strong. With deft hand she picked and shot at him the Tory taunts that would sting him most; and others no doubt wrote in the same strain. Usually the Duke was proof against all minor assaults; but when the Moselle campaign was ruined by the desertion of the German princes and his fine conceptions in Brabant were one after another frustrated by the obstinacy and jealousy of the Dutch commanders, many shafts got home, and he palpably winced under the pangs.

The Parliamentary manœuvre of the Tories in trying to ‘tack’ the Occasional Conformity Bill to the main supply of the year was undoubtedly a breach of the solemn unwritten convention by which Whigs and Tories were alike bound—that, however party strife might rage, the national war effort must not be weakened. Reluctantly but remorselessly during 1705 Marlborough took the resolve to break with the Tories. His resentment burned through his letters to Godolphin from the front:

Even before the scandal of the ‘tack,’ not only Marlborough and Godolphin but Harley too seem to have made up their minds to lean upon the Whigs, as Sarah ceaselessly urged. The first sign of this was Marlborough’s willingness in the spring of 1705 to demand the Privy Seal from the Duke of Buckingham, whose intrigues with the Tory leaders had become obvious. This might have seemed a delicate matter; for Buckingham had romantic, if faded, claims upon the Queen’s favour. He had been her first and sole flirtation. He was her personal appointment. Anne, however, seems to have made little difficulty about this. He was succeeded by the Duke of Newcastle, possibly the richest man in England and, though not a Junto stalwart, the fountain of Whig hospitality. On the night of March 28, 1705, when Buckingham retired, Portland (King William’s favourite and friend Bentinck, now become one of the most important sources of information on London affairs to the Dutch Government) wrote exultingly to Heinsius, “The liaison is thoroughly effective between the Whigs and 22 and 23 [Marlborough and Godolphin].”^[3] A more significant step was the supersession of Admiral Rooke in the command of the Fleet. This ran directly counter to the resolution which the Tories had carried in the Commons, coupling his victory of Malaga with that of Blenheim, and may well have been the royal and ministerial rejoinder to it. Indeed, Harley’s agent Defoe described Rooke in one of his pamphlets in these blistering terms:

At the beginning of April the Lord-Lieutenancies, so important in elections, were shuffled in favour of the Whigs. On April 7, two days after the dissolution, political society was astonished to see the Queen sit down to luncheon with Orford (Admiral Russell) and other Lords of the Junto.^[5] These steps showed, and were meant to show, the electorate which way the royal favour inclined.

Yet it is remarkable with what restraint Marlborough and Godolphin tried to measure the blow which must now be struck. There was no sense in weakening the Tories only to fall into the hands of the Whigs. Enough force must be used to beat them, but not so much as to produce a Whig triumph; for then the balance would be deranged, and the two super-Ministers and the Queen would but have exchanged the wrong-headed grumblings and intrigues of the Tories for the exacting appetites and formulas of the Whigs. Marlborough wrote to Sarah from The Hague (April 19/30):

Such sentiments were, of course, agreeable to the Queen. Thus the Cockpit circle, still intact, embarked upon the election with a desire to chastise the Tories, but not too much, and to procure a Parliament in which, the Whigs and Tories being equally matched, the “Queen’s servants,” as the placemen were called, and the moderates would hold the balance.

Such nicely calculated plans rarely stand the rough tests of action. The rank and file cannot fight hard to win only half a victory; and once the party forces were launched to the attack they strove with might and main. Everywhere the Tories proclaimed the Church in danger. Sir John Pakington rode to the hustings of Worcester under a banner which portrayed a toppling steeple. The highflying Tories were furious at what they called the Queen’s desertion of the Church, which they epitomized thus:

A pamphlet called The Memorial of the Church of England, by Dr Drake, attributed this desertion of the Church to Marlborough and Godolphin. Everywhere the Tories railed against the expense of the Continental war and denounced the meanness of Britain’s allies and the mistakes of her leaders on the Continent and at the Admiralty. The oppressive land-tax upon the country gentlemen and the growing National Debt were contrasted with the fat profits of the upstart financiers and money interest of the City of London. Lust for war by those whom the war paid, and greed for self-advancement by those whose hypocritical conformity exposed the Church to mortal peril, were the Tory accusations.

To modern eyes this would seem a good platform. It marshalled all the prejudices of the Old England against the fighting effort of the New. But the vision of the English people was not clouded. Out of the brawl and clatter of the polls one dominating fact emerged—the battle of Blenheim. From the depth of the national heart surged up a glow of pride and of desire for British greatness. Mighty France, four times as populous, the Grand Monarch, tyrant of Europe in all his splendour, cut to the ground by island blades and English genius; his proudest regiments led off captive in thousands by the redcoats, his generals and nobles brought home in droves and tethered about the countryside; conquest, glory, the world to win and the man to win it—these scenes and thoughts stirred the English imagination.

Thus, although the Tories, both Tackers and Sneakers, as they called one another, fought with deep-rooted local strength, it was apparent by the beginning of July that the voting would carry their defeat beyond the calculations of the Ministry. Godolphin succeeded in breaking Sir Edward Seymour’s ascendancy in Cornwall. Cadogan was easily elected through Marlborough’s influence for Woodstock. The Tackers, indeed, though they suffered heavily, and all their names were on a special black list, returned seventy-five or eighty strong out of a hundred and thirty-four. But a good many moderate Tories fell, and the Whig Party gained at the expense of both. They had been but one-fifth of the old House of Commons. They were now nearly equal to the Tories. Hitherto, with their ascendancy in the House of Lords, they had been able to maintain themselves vigorously in the State. Now, with the Commons so much more evenly divided, their predominance became apparent. If they joined with the extreme Tories in a general opposition the new House of Commons would be unmanageable. If they supported the Government what price would they ask in return? This now became the crux.

The Queen scented the danger at once. To Godolphin, on the other hand, it seemed obvious that the Ministry would have to depend on Whig support. Marlborough, impressed by the toughness of the Tackers, was of the same opinion.

He wrote in this sense more at length to the Queen ten days later, adding at the end:

The Lords of the Junto surveyed the scene on the morrow of the elections with cool and determined eyes. They might well have been tempted to claim their rights with the same pedantic rigour with which they held their doctrines. Their turn, they felt, was coming. Why should not the war party wage the war? They had the strength, they had the talents, they had the experience, they had the Cause—why should they be proscribed? Why, indeed, should they not have the Government? Their wishes were no more than the workings of the Constitution would nowadays automatically concede. But at the beginning of the eighteenth century the Crown was still the prime factor in actual politics. The Queen might not be able to choose the policy of the State, but she could still choose the agents to conduct it. To entrust her beloved Church to the freethinking Whigs and their Dissenter supporters, to surround her person with men who in their hearts, as she believed, were the inveterate enemies of monarchy, to part with faithful Tory Ministers and household friends under Parliamentary pressure, was all against the grain to her.

The conflicts and disputations between Lords and Commons which had lasted since 1698 were now ended by Whig control and influence in both Houses. But in its place there opened a wearing struggle in which the Whigs, using all the resources and pressures of Parliamentary government, sought to force themselves upon the Queen. The Tory Party was splintered into four sections: the Jacobites, who claimed to be the only true exponents of the Tory creed; the anti-Jacobite Tories, generically dubbed the Sneakers, or more courteously “the Whimsicals”; the Tackers, whose embittered opposition was led by Rochester and Nottingham and found a new and eloquent mouthpiece in the converted Whig, Haversham; and the placemen, the “Queen’s Servants” and independent moderate forces who followed Harley and St John, deferred to the Court, and sustained the Government. Although the whole party had an underlying sense of unity, and felt alike on many questions of peace and war, they were for the time paralysed by their feuds. Indeed, in the Commons they could not find a single man of sufficient distinction and aptitude to be their leader. Their opposition was effectively vocal only in the Lords. Yet, resting as they claimed upon the Land and the Church, commanding as they did the support of the squires and parsons, they constituted the strongest political force in the realm. If at any moment Tory divisions were healed, their inherent power would assert itself.

The five Whig nobles, on the other hand, had the advantages of unity and leadership. They controlled a disciplined party, inspired by broad and logical principles, which in its most active branches, interests, and classes accepted their guidance with almost military obedience. Long and frequent were the conclaves of the Junto in their great country houses. They knew well the prejudices of the Queen against them. They acted at first with the utmost moderation and with admirable adroitness. They decided to put forward Sunderland, their youngest member—the only one who had not held high office under King William—as their candidate for official favour. Sarah, as usual, was ardent in their cause. Her influence both with the Queen and with her husband was regarded as irresistible. How could that influence be more easily and more naturally exerted than in pressing the claims of her own son-in-law? Sunderland would be the thin end of their wedge. Behind it were the sledgehammers of action in both Houses of Parliament.

The impact of all this fell, as the months passed, upon Godolphin. He had to procure a Parliamentary majority to carry on the war. From this there was no escape. It must be there, on the benches and in the lobbies of both Houses, from day to day. Without it there would be no Supply, the armies would wither, the Grand Alliance would crumble, and the war would be lost. Since he had broken with the Tory Party and the Queen was increasingly reluctant to admit the Whigs in numbers, his task soon became arduous and ungrateful to the last degree. His days were spent in begging the Whig Junto to forbear and the Queen to concede. Marlborough understood perfectly that his colleague’s vexations and anxieties at Whitehall were scarcely less wearing than his own distresses and dangers in the field. His letters breathed a lively sympathy, and again and again he assured the Lord Treasurer that he would stand or fall with him.

The idea of sending Sunderland to Vienna upon the mission of mediation between the Emperor and the Hungarian insurgents seemed to Godolphin the least difficult expedient. It was the wedge at taper-point. The Queen, relieved at not having this obnoxious politician obtruded upon her Council, accepted his employment abroad as a compromise. After all, Sunderland was Mr and Mrs Freeman’s son-in-law, and surely for the sake of old friendship they would keep him in his place and out of her sight. Thus in June 1705 one of the Lords of the Junto, formally representing the power and interest of the Whigs, became an envoy of Queen Anne. This was a considerable event. A minor appointment of a young Whig Member named Walpole to the Admiralty Board attracted little notice. But further encroachments upon the Queen’s peace of mind were in store. Sir Nathan Wright, the Lord Keeper, a Tory, was well known to be incompetent. His knowledge of Chancery business was woefully defective, and his praiseworthy efforts to acquaint himself late in life with the great profession of which he was the head, by studying a manual of practice compiled for his own use, evoked no confidence among his friends, and mockery from his foes. On the other side stood Cowper, the Whig, with far higher abilities and credentials. As the time for the meeting of Parliament approached the Whigs demanded with bluntness that Cowper should be appointed Lord Keeper. Under this pressure and that of the Parliamentary situation Godolphin recommended the change to the Queen. Anne was greatly distressed. The office of Lord Keeper was intimately concerned with Church patronage. To admit Whig influence in this sacred preserve was more than she could bear. Her letter of July 11 to Godolphin is well known.

Against this resistance Sarah strained her influence in vain. Stiff letters passed. The Queen refused. In a personal letter (now lost) she appealed to Marlborough. Marlborough’s reply of September 29, from which we may infer its character, deeply disappointed her.

On this the Queen yielded, and the Great Seal was transferred to Cowper on October 11.

It was inevitable that this long, unceasing, day-to-day friction should destroy the relations between Anne and Sarah. The Queen’s friend became no more than the advance agent of the Whig Party, so ardent for tangible proofs of royal favour. She not only overrated her influence on public matters with the Queen, but she mistook its character. She sought to win by argument, voluble and vociferous, written and interminable, what had hitherto been the freehold property of love. She undertook to plead every Whig demand with her mistress. For Sunderland, her son-in-law—that might be understood. There the Queen could suppose a personal desire which in old friendship she still wished to meet. But the acceptance of a Whig Lord Keeper, guardian of the Queen’s conscience, adviser upon the Church patronage, seemed to Queen Anne not a matter for the judgment of her favourite and confidante. As for all the propaganda of Whiggery of which Sarah made herself the advocate, this only encountered an obstinacy, and in the end wore out a patience, which in conjunction were unique.

The result of the elections and its effect upon the Government manifested themselves as soon as Parliament met on October 25, and the House of Commons proceeded to choose a Speaker. The Tories put forward the pious ‘tacker’ Bromley, Member for Oxford University, long identified with the Occasional Conformity Bill. The Whigs found a respectable figure in a certain John Smith. The attendance was enormous for those days of difficult travel. Out of 513 Members 454 were in their places. It soon became evident that the Ministry would support Smith. Sir Edward Seymour, now desperately ill, could think of no better argument against him than that, being a Privy Councillor, he was ineligible for the Speakership. On this Harley was able to make a rejoinder which must have been effective. Seymour himself, he recalled, had been Speaker and Privy Councillor at the same time in the reign of Charles II. Smith was elected by 249 votes to 205 for Bromley. The majority of 44 did not represent the full combined strength of the Whigs and the Government. A number of Tory placemen were either genuinely unable to believe that the Court wished a Whig Speaker to be chosen, or else resented their instructions. They voted in the wrong lobby. They made haste, with many apologies for tardiness, to set their sails to the new breeze.

The Queen’s Speech dwelt upon the now familiar theme of Marlborough and Godolphin—“war abroad and peace at home.”

Such declarations went far beyond the original objects of the Grand Alliance, and proclaimed England’s direct interest in the most extreme form of victory. They confirmed the arguments and assurances which Marlborough had used to the Dutch a few weeks earlier in urging them to reject the peace overtures of France. War on the greatest scale with implacable spirit for the highest demands was the message. The second main appeal was for the union with Scotland. For these high purposes the Queen called for another union—a union of men’s spirits in England and the laying aside of party strife.

In every point except the last both Houses of Parliament cordially sustained the Sovereign. The addresses of the Lords and the Commons repeated the sentiments of the Queen’s Speech about the war in even stronger language. They overflowed with praise for the Queen’s person, her zeal for the Church, and her devotion to the harmony of her subjects. “We want words,” said the Commons, “to express the deep sense we have of the many blessings we enjoy under Your Majesty’s happy government.”^[13] Although both addresses were tinctured with Whig censures against those whose wicked rumours that the Church was in danger had disturbed men’s minds, and thus acquired a partisan character, they were carried by large majorities. The Commons then proceeded to vote unprecedented supplies of money for the war, and to make large additions to the armed forces by land and sea.

The reactions of Whig pressure upon Godolphin affected Harley, and not only reveal the key to his future conduct, but form the true defence of his career. Harley knew the Tory Party alike in its temporary weakness and in its latent strength. He saw that it was his foundation in public life. He knew that his relations with the Queen were at this stage on an entirely different plane from those of the Cockpit circle. Godolphin and the Captain-General could perhaps, but only perhaps, afford to be careless of party attachments. That was their own affair. But Harley would never in any circumstances cut himself finally adrift from his Tory moorings. He might co-operate as an honoured colleague and as a real contributory force with a national Government such as the Queen and her two chief Ministers desired. He might even quarrel fiercely for the time being with the unreasonable elements of Toryism; but ever before his eyes there glinted the prospect of a Tory reunion at the head of which he would be no longer an agent, however indispensable, but the real, natural leader.

Therefore we find Harley from the very outset deprecating the Whig infusion. Large concessions must no doubt be made. As a House of Commons man and a master of that assembly, he recognized their practical necessity. He was prepared to give way step by step and month by month; but he meant it to be known both by the Queen and by the Tory opposition that he was a resisting force to Whig ambition. To the Queen the language he used was highly agreeable; indeed, it was her own. “Persons and parties must go to the Queen, not the Queen to them.” The Queen had chosen the Tory Party as her basis. There must be no party domination, certainly no Whig domination: “If the gentlemen of England [i.e., the Tory country gentlemen] are made sensible that the Queen is at the head and not a party [i.e., the Whig Party] everything will be easy, and the Queen will be courted, and not a party.”^[14] In other words, Harley was prepared to serve in a national coalition provided it remained national; but he would not serve in a Whig Government veneered with Tory elements. Gradually, but at the same time decisively, Harley made this fact apparent to Godolphin and Marlborough. The differences which opened between the Lord Treasurer and the Secretary of State, though at present vague and veiled, were deep. Godolphin could never go back to the Tories: Harley had never left them. Godolphin was prepared to lean upon the Whigs and rule with their aid; Harley would never accept such a system. Godolphin sought always an effective, clear-cut majority upon which Marlborough could wage war triumphantly. Harley felt much more coolly about it all. The war would not go on for ever; it might even end disastrously. What would happen then? It was not his war. But it would be his Tory Party.

Nevertheless, at this stage the Whig assertion had not been pushed to such a pitch that he was seriously disturbed. On the contrary, he showed himself well disposed towards an accommodation with them. He soothed and reassured the Queen, who already found him expressing her instinctive thoughts, about the appointment of a Whig Lord Keeper. He was entirely favourable to the Sunderland mission. He it was who had tripped up Seymour in the Commons at the election of the Whig Speaker. In all this he served the Government, and at the same time made the Queen feel a certain measure of comradeship in the sacrifices which both must make for longer ends.

Their resentments now betrayed the Tory leaders into further acts of extreme unwisdom. Once again they tried by an insincere manœuvre to entangle the Whigs, and once again they were themselves upset. Their spokesman, Haversham, put forward in the Lords a proposal that, in order to ensure the Protestant succession, the Electress Sophia should be invited to take up her residence in England.^[15] No one knew better than Rochester and Nottingham that this suggestion was insupportable to the Queen. Yet it seemed a plan for which no Whig could refuse to vote without repudiating the whole doctrines of his party. If the Whigs endorsed it, they made a new breach with the Queen. If they refused it, they falsified their principles, and staggered their party. Such was the plan upon which the Tories were led into the enemy’s lines masquerading in their uniforms.

This insidious form of attack naturally drew Godolphin, Harley, and the Whig lords into common consultation, and all were found equally desirous of pleasing the Queen. The political sagacity of the Junto and the discipline of their party enabled them easily to defeat the fantastic assault, and to turn it to their own advantage. They supported the Government in meeting Haversham’s motion with a plain negative. The Queen herself was encouraged to be present ‘incognito,’ as it was called, in the House of Lords during the debate. She heard the Tory orator putting forward the project most deeply repugnant to her. Buckingham, furious at his recent dismissal, wasted little sentiment. The Queen heard him at a few yards’ distance discuss the possibility of her soon being physically incapable of reigning. She heard the Whig debaters, whom she had so long regarded as her enemies, displaying all their brilliant gifts of argument and rhetoric upon her side. Never had the Whigs more nearly won the heart of Queen Anne than on this occasion. The motion was rejected by an overwhelming majority. The Queen returned to St James’s with the feeling that her lifelong friends had outraged her, and her lifelong foes had come to her rescue. How profoundly shaken she was alike in her faiths and her prejudices can be judged by the letter which she wrote to Sarah.

This royal mood might render possible the formation of a real national Government in which Harley and St John and many respectable Tories could work heartily with the Lords of the Junto, the whole under the auspices of Marlborough and Godolphin. Such a system would command ample Parliamentary strength for the vehement prosecution of the war. It was plain, however, that the Whig leaders could not rest upon the mere rejection of the disingenuous Tory proposal to bring the Electress Sophia into England. Had they done so they would have been disavowed by their party. They therefore in close accord with the Government brought forward their counter-plan for assuring the Hanoverian succession should the Queen die without a natural heir. This was the Regency Bill, by which upon the demise of the Crown a Council of Regency would automatically come into existence for the express purpose of placing the Hanoverian heir upon the throne. The Queen, in her relief from what she regarded as an odious proposal of the Tories, relegated into the background of unrealizable sentiment any compunction which she nursed about the “pretended Prince of Wales.” (“Maybe ’tis our brother.”^[17]) She cordially welcomed the Regency Bill. It was carried without serious difficulty. The Whig leaders reassured their party, and the Tories lay like beetles on their backs.

At this time we must imagine the Tories, morose and chagrined by what they considered the unworthy defection not only of their own men, but of their own Queen, making every conceivable blunder, while the Whigs caracoled before the throne displaying their matchless skill in political equitation, and eager to persuade its occupant to make them her champions. One final exhibition remained. The Tories came forward with their cry, “The Church in danger.” Rochester, Nottingham, and the newly dismissed Buckingham set forth their threefold case. The Act of Security—which in that dark hour before the victory of Blenheim brought new life Godolphin had advised the Queen to sign—authorized the Presbyterian Government in Scotland to arm a fierce, fanatical anti-episcopalian peasantry. The Occasional Conformity Bill had been for three sessions handspiked. The invitation to the Electress Sophia had been rejected. Thus (moaned the Tories) Presbyterians and Dissenters had gained the upper hand both in England and in Scotland.

Anne again attended as an auditor, and sat impassive through eight hours of speeches, often directed at her. But neither the issue nor the ill-impression produced by the Tories upon the Queen was for a moment in doubt. Somers derided the Tory ex-Ministers. “Those lords who see the Church in danger take this view because they are excluded from office. They cannot, it seems, take their eyes off the danger, nor can the danger itself be removed until they are embraced in the Government, and an Act is passed to make their tenure of office eternal. But they are mortal: religion is immortal. The only final solution is to discover some means to make them immortal.”^[18]

Upon this question of the danger to the Church and to the episcopacy the Bishops had a rightful say. King William’s bishops, still a majority, plumped for the Whigs and the Administration. By sixty-one votes to thirty the Lords declared that

The Commons at the request of the Lords made a similar declaration; and, the Queen assenting in cordial terms, it became a penal offence to speak of danger to the Church of England. Notwithstanding this threat, the country clergy and the fox-hunters continued to ingeminate their griefs with general impunity; and the pamphleteers were artful, virulent, hard to catch, and harder to convict.

The fruitless outcome of the campaign of 1705 in the Low Countries, the bitter controversies which it had aroused in all the camps, Courts, and Diets of Europe, and the revival of the French power on almost every front, might well have smitten Marlborough’s reputation on the Continent and in consequence impaired his strength. On the contrary, he emerged more obviously than ever before as the brain and impulse of the Grand Alliance. The victories which had been denied him in the field were to be gained during the winter by his personal influence in diplomacy. If the confederacy was to bear the strain of another year’s war its members must be regathered by a master-hand. There was but one, as all men could see. The island Power, which, though seemingly more detached from the struggle than its Continental allies, was making remarkable exertions, possessed in Marlborough an agent upon whom all eyes were turned, and to whose tent appeals from every quarter were addressed.

Once again the fortunes of the Alliance had ebbed.^[20] Though the fame of Blenheim still resounded, its advantages had largely disappeared. The plight of the Empire, if not immediately desperate, seemed forlorn in the last degree. The Hungarian revolt had become monstrous. It dominated the life and swallowed the public revenues of four out of five of the hereditary provinces of the Austrian crown. It was the first call upon the Emperor’s men and money. The rebel leader, Rakoczy, bulked larger in the Emperor’s mind than Louis XIV. The Imperial armies on the Upper Rhine and in Italy were starved for the sake of the deadly intestine conflict. The failure of Marlborough’s design upon the Moselle and the lack of any victories in Brabant had wasted the superiority of the main allied army during the whole year. This had enabled the French to maintain an unrelenting pressure with numerous forces upon Savoy. Nearly a hundred and fifty thousand troops were acting continuously in the Italian theatre. Victor Amadeus, the reigning Duke of Savoy, was hopelessly outnumbered. His fortresses, stubbornly defended, had fallen one by one. The genius of Prince Eugene and the terror of his name could not make good the wants of his army in numbers, munitions, equipment, and money. His hazardous battle against Vendôme at Cassano ^[21] had yielded nothing more than a momentary diversion. His ragged, unpaid, disintegrated force, of which the eight thousand Prussians whom Marlborough had procured from the Court of Berlin in the previous year, now greatly reduced, were the core, could do no more than cling to the foothills of the Alps by Lake Garda. Victor Amadeus himself was at variance with Starhemberg, the Imperial general at his side. The French under Vendôme and La Feuillade were steadily overcoming every form of resistance. The total collapse of the Allies in the Italian theatre seemed to await only the return of spring. The French conquest of all Italy was imminent, after which the whole army of the two Marshals would be speedily transported to the northern fronts.

Godolphin was anxious that Marlborough should return to England, if possible in time for the meeting of the new Parliament, and assuredly the Duke himself was longing to be home. The state into which the Grand Alliance had fallen quenched these desires. All through September a series of letters from the Emperor, from Wratislaw, and from Eugene unfolded their new distresses and implored him to come himself to Vienna, and settle there, in the distracted capital of the Hapsburgs, whatever measures were possible to meet the dreaded opening of another campaign. Sunderland, now at Vienna, wrote urgently endorsing these requests. “If he does come,” he wrote to Godolphin, “there is nothing in the power of this Court that he will not persuade them to.”^[22] Marlborough seems from the first to have been sure he ought to go. He laid his plans with his customary care. In forwarding the Emperor’s appeal to Godolphin and the Cabinet he represented himself as disinclined to undertake so arduous a journey. Certainly it would not be worth while making it if he were not armed with authority first from England and then from Holland to bring effective financial and military aid to the Emperor. Unless this were forthcoming, and both the Sea Powers felt such a mission to be his unavoidable duty, he would not go. If he went so far as Vienna, he would return by the Courts of Berlin and Hanover to The Hague and reach London early in the New Year, having done what he could, and at any rate with full knowledge upon which to advise the Cabinet. Thus he made himself begged from all quarters before he committed himself to the course he desired.

At this time his thoughts were centred upon the Italian theatre. “It seems to me,” he wrote to Wratislaw (October 5), “that it is high time to think seriously about this war in Italy, which employs so great a number of enemy troops, who would fall upon our backs everywhere if we were driven out of it.”^[23] His prime object was to secure money from England and Holland, and men from Prussia and the German princes, to sustain the army of Prince Eugene. It may well be that he had already in his mind a design for a decisive campaign in Italy, in which after a march longer and more adventurous than the march to the Danube he would himself join his glorious and now beloved comrade upon the plains of Lombardy for a battle that should outshine Blenheim. At any rate, he began by every means and from every quarter setting the flow of troops and supplies towards the south.

He planned his tour of Germany so as to meet every one who mattered on the way. He must visit the Elector Palatine and the authorities of the Electorate of Trèves. At Frankfort he must find d’Almelo and Davenant, the Dutch and English financial agents, and Geldermalsen, the Dutch Deputy, whose removal at least from the front he had been promised before the new campaign, but who still held his office unwitting; and here too he hoped to conciliate the Margrave, if Prince Louis’s toe and temper would permit the rendezvous. To all these he wrote cordial letters specifying the business that must be transacted. Rantzau, the Prussian general, asked that his son might accompany the Duke upon his journey, and Marlborough invited the young man to join him at Ratisbon, “whence we will drop down the Danube together, and I will make it my task that his voyage shall be as agreeable to him as possible.” To Stepney, the English Ambassador, he wrote:

Meanwhile he remained at his headquarters with the army until the last possible moment, “spinning out the time” by the siege of Sandvliet “so that Prince Louis may not be interrupted in his operations on the Rhine,” and paying only flying visits to The Hague.

Bavaria had revolted against its conquerors of the year before. The Bavarian army had continued a local resistance after the battle of Blenheim. It had surprised and routed with heavy loss the small Imperialist force left to besiege, or rather to blockade, Ingolstadt. The treaty signed with the Electress was repugnant to the Bavarian generals, who, now that the main allied armies had left Bavaria, desired to continue fighting. It was, however, enforced throughout the country by the Munich Government, and the bulk of the Bavarian army was disarmed and disbanded, and all the fortresses, with one single exception, were garrisoned by Imperial troops. The reader will remember M. de la Colonie, the “Old Campaigner,” whose account of the Schellenberg is so valuable. It was due to La Colonie that Ingolstadt alone continued its resistance. This brave officer and his regiment of French grenadiers in the Bavarian service found themselves forgotten in the treaty, which covered only Bavarian subjects. They were without a military status of any kind, and opinion was divided upon whether they would be shot as deserters from the Empire, or hanged for the marauding for which they were notorious, or allowed to make their way back to France as unarmed individuals, with the certainty of being massacred by the infuriated Swabian peasantry. It would have gone hard with these men if they had not held together under their resolute leader.

In their desperation they animated the resistance to the terms of the treaty of all the Bavarian troops in Ingolstadt. Thus strengthened, they held the fortress, and declared themselves resolved to perish in their bastions unless they were granted honourable safe-conduct to France. The Allies in due course protested against the breach of the treaty. The Electress from Munich declared the recalcitrant garrison mutineers; but the deadlock continued. Superior forces at length arrived before Ingolstadt, and it seemed that a bloody event was inevitable. However, Prince Eugene, returning from the siege of Landau, took the matter into his own hands. He patiently inquired into the dispute. He treated La Colonie with soldierly respect, and entertained him at his table. He decided that the soldiers were entitled to their arrears of pay, and that the French grenadiers, together with the remaining French residents, should be escorted back to Strasburg as an armed force evacuating a foreign territory with the honours of war. Accordingly, La Colonie, after several private adventures, duels, legal processes, and a marriage, found himself by the end of 1705 commanding the remnants of his regiment under the Elector in the Low Countries.

The rancours in Bavaria had not ended with the dispersal of its military forces. The Bavarian nobility and people had not shared in their Elector’s guilt, but they had paid the penalty. The devastation of the countryside before Blenheim had roused a fierce, abiding hatred of the Allies. The efforts of Vienna to recruit Bavarians for the Imperial service met with sullen and often savage resistance from all classes. Disorder and bloodshed spread throughout the ravaged principality. The dragon’s teeth had been sown, and murder and revolt sprouted everywhere.

No enemy prince had suffered more at Marlborough’s hands than Max Emmanuel, Elector of Bavaria. His country had been laid waste; his armies had been destroyed in the Blenheim campaign; his remaining cavalry and personal adherents had been routed at Elixem. He was a fugitive ruler serving far from home and family in the Low Countries as a French Marshal. A crowning disaster impended upon him. But at least he must have his sport. The wild boar which infested the Forest of Soignies afforded him the prospect of a hunting season, and he wrote to Marlborough early in September asking various passport courtesies and, above all, facilities to pursue the chase undisturbed in regions which the Allies now controlled. The Duke answered on September 25 in his most ceremonious style:

The Elector persisted, and on October 4 Marlborough expressed his “despair” not to be able to give orders forbidding his patrols to enter the Forest of Soignies.

Making all allowance for the manners of the period between opposing commanders, there was more in these exchanges than their trivial topic would warrant. We have seen the distrust with which Max Emmanuel in his capacity as Vicar-General of the Netherlands was viewed at Versailles. The possibility of his making a separate peace for Belgium at the expense of France was never excluded from the French precautions. Sometimes it is convenient for public men to keep up a correspondence on slight matters with their opponents in order to preserve a certain personal intimacy and an easy approach should it become desirable. The extravagant flattery and humility with which Marlborough caressed the Elector were not only characteristic of the age and of Marlborough, but a measure of the situation, with, as we shall see, a bearing on the future.

Ailesbury has given us a picture of Marlborough at this very time more intimate than any other which his campaign records provide. The old Jacobite Earl had made repeated requests to be allowed to go back to his native land. He felt he had claims of friendship upon Marlborough dating from the Fenwick trial.^[27] The Duke pitied his plight, liked his company, used him with tender courtesy, but was inflexible upon reasons of State. At the end of 1703 they had dined together on two nights at the Albemarles’. “The last night,” says Ailesbury,

Ailesbury, still eating his heart out in exile, had refused to call upon the Duke either on his return from Blenheim (“Hockster” he calls it) or in the spring of 1705. But now in October Count Oxenstiern urged him to come to Headquarters, “for that I had sufficiently mortified my Lord Marlborough for going from his promise (the year before) given to my wife.” The Duke was quartered in a convent outside the gates of Tirlemont.

Sandvliet surrendered on October 29, and the armies dispersed into winter quarters thereafter. Marlborough had started on his journey on October 26. He passed through Dusseldorf on the 28th, and the next day he met the Elector Palatine. In order not to draw him from his road this prince entertained him in rustic state by the wayside. After a banquet in a tent they came to business. The States-General had tardily reached the conclusion that Count d’Aubach should be tried by a court martial for his shameful abandonment of Trèves in the spring. Marlborough had to procure the assent of the Elector, whose general Count d’Aubach was, to this process.

More serious was the question of troops. The Duke asked that three thousand Palatines should go to Italy. The Elector would only agree that the number of his subjects in the pay of the Sea Powers should be raised from seven to ten thousand; and there for the moment the matter rested. On the 31st Marlborough, having been escorted by the notables of Trèves through the electorate, entered Frankfort under triple salutes of cannon. Here the Margrave awaited him. They had not met since the Margrave had wrecked Marlborough’s campaign on the Moselle, and Marlborough had rated him before Europe. Many shrewd, anxious eyes watched the demeanour of these two captains between whom there were so many griefs, just and unjust. But all was honey-sweet. The outside world received the impression of a complete reconciliation, and Marlborough, after long closetings with D’Almelo, Davenant, and the Frankfort bankers, resumed his journey to Vienna, where he hoped to secure the Margrave’s removal from the Rhine command.

At Ratisbon, which he reached on November 6, the Imperial yachts were moored. One might have thought that floating down the Danube in these sumptuous barges would have been a welcome interlude after the fatigues of the campaign, of the journey, and of such tangled affairs. But, on the contrary, Marlborough in two of his letters describes the voyage as “tedious.” He landed at Vienna on the 12th. Sunderland was on the quay with Stepney and an array of Austrian magnates. A palace had been prepared for his reception, but he stuck to his plan of “setting up his field bed” at the British Embassy. He intended to transfer Stepney to another post, and it was therefore necessary to uphold this able agent in the most public manner, and make both him and the Austrians feel that his services were not undervalued by his countrymen. The young Emperor, who was still under Marlborough’s spell, received him with all the honours which the tottering yet august Court could bestow. But the next day our hero was laid up with an attack of the gout, and most of the conferences took place in his bedroom.

Everything was settled as well as the bleak facts admitted. The first need was money; the credit of the Empire was sunk so low that immediate local bankruptcy threatened the Austrian Government. Marlborough had to engage his private fortune with the bankers of Vienna to procure a hundred thousand crowns to pay the wages. He promised in the name of the Sea Powers a loan of £250,000 for Prince Eugene’s army; but care was taken that none of this money passed through the hands of the Imperial Court. It was eventually sent through Frankfort to a financial house in Venice and thence paid direct to the order of Prince Eugene. The Emperor explained the impossibility of removing the Margrave on account of his influence in Swabia and Franconia. Marlborough exposed to the Emperor and his Ministers the grievances of the Prussian King and the imperative need of satisfying them. The harassed Court placed their affairs in this quarter in his hands. The most delicate topic was Hungary. There had been for some weeks an armistice which Rakoczy had accepted but encroached upon, and which the Imperial generals observed only for the purpose of revictualling their isolated fortresses in rebel territory. The counsels which Marlborough had given his son-in-law at the camp on the Dyle had borne fruit: Sunderland had acquitted himself with tact and good sense. He had formed an independent opinion that the rebels were asking for more than any sovereign could give. The Whig doctrinaire and republican, whose advent had been dreaded by the Austrian Court, was now cherished. All their reproaches were directed upon Stepney; but even these were abated. The English envoys undertook to tell the Sea Powers that the faults at this time lay with Rakoczy and that mediation was impossible.

Here we must digress upon the princely rank and principality which the late Emperor Leopold had offered Marlborough during the march to Blenheim. The Duke certainly desired this honour, extraordinary for a private person. He had procured the Queen’s permission and overridden Sarah’s objections with his usual skilful management. After the victory on the Danube he had made Wratislaw press the old Emperor to fulfil his promise, and in lengthy correspondence had made it clear that he would not take the dignity without the actual grant of lands and a seat and vote in the Diet of the Empire. When difficulties of public business arose between him and Wratislaw at the end of 1704 and thereafter, the artful Austrian more than once brought into his letters references to the principality and the trouble he was taking to meet Marlborough’s wishes, as if he thought he had him on a hook. Marlborough was determined not to accept anything that was not a reality. He would not take the empty title. The promise must be redeemed in fact as well as in form. If not he would have none of it, and as soon as he perceived Wratislaw’s thought he immediately brushed the whole project aside and quite curtly told the great diplomatist not to cumber their correspondence with such minor matters. Thereafter there had been a long silence upon the topic. In none of Wratislaw’s lengthy letters appealing to Marlborough to come to Vienna is there the slightest suggestion that the visit would afford an occasion for imparting substance to the princely title by which Marlborough was already recognized in Europe. No one can read the correspondence without seeing how entirely Marlborough excluded his personal vanities from the great affairs he handled.

Now at Vienna the new Emperor Joseph was able to redeem his father’s promise. Mindelheim, a small but bona fide principality, was produced. This estate had been bought by an Elector of Bavaria in the sixteenth century, and had been held more or less continuously by his successors since then. It was confiscated in 1704 from Max Emmanuel after his treachery, and effectively occupied after Blenheim. But, like other war-conquests, its fate depended on the ultimate peace treaty. The grant was made with all possible ceremony, and the princes of the Empire were summoned by Imperial rescript to meet together and accept the Englishman as a brother-prince. Even now the difficulties were not at an end. Mindelheim produced an annual income of fifteen hundred pounds; but by ancient law its yield was charged in wartime with an Imperial tax about four times as great. Moreover, the expense of being made a prince of the Empire amounted to from twelve to fifteen thousand pounds, payable by the recipient of the honour. On this basis it was a negative gift. Marlborough, though attracted by the dignity, had equally clear views, as we have seen, upon the value of money. Archdeacon Coxe devotes an entire chapter to the laborious negotiations which followed and the stately ceremonial in which they culminated. In the upshot Marlborough was prepared to pay £4500 for his installation, but no more, and the Imperial Ministers had to arrange that the war surcharges did not apply to him, so that the net income of about fifteen hundred pounds a year was free. This might in itself be taken as a profitable though precarious return upon the Duke’s capital investment.

These details being eventually settled after many months’ decorous haggling, the Diet of the Holy Roman Empire assembled at Innsbrück in April 1706, and a high festival was held after the custom of ancient times with as much magnificence as Marlborough’s £4500 would warrant. The King of Prussia by all his representatives, through the mouth of the valiant Prince of Anhalt-Dessau of Blenheim fame, moved that the title should descend successively to all the heirs of Marlborough’s body. The princes of the Empire would not swallow this. The fact that he was without a male heir had been essential to their agreement. Marlborough the Victor they would have, if necessary, in their sacred circle; but they were disinclined to see his remote descendants taking their seats and casting their votes in the Imperial Diet.

Marlborough does not seem to have cared about this. He thought the rank was worth paying £4500 for, and probably that was about its real value to him in his relations with princely commanders. Apart from this there was the income, if realizable. It did not prove so for long. The Treaty of Utrecht restored Mindelheim to the Elector of Bavaria, provided no compensation to the Captain-General, now fallen from favour and command, and had no thought of repaying the £4500 which he had invested in his installation. Charles after he became Emperor seems to have had some pricks of conscience, and went out of his way in 1712 to write apologetic letters about it, which Marlborough in due course accepted with proper gratitude. The title of Prince of the Holy Roman Empire has, however, descended to this day.

On November 23 Marlborough and Sunderland set out for Berlin, and such were the pains taken to smooth and speed their journey that they covered the five hundred and thirty miles in eight days in their coaches, in spite of the bad roads and winter weather. The Prussian capital was at this moment the danger-point of the Alliance. The irritation of the King expressed a grave political crisis. There never was a milestone at which Prussia had more obviously a choice. The northern war lapped her frontiers, and created problems and also opportunities which the rest of the Allies did not share. The Swedish dare-devil, Charles XII, was victorious on every side. The home lands of Brandenburg might suffer his invasion. On the other hand flickered a sinister temptation. What could resist the union of Prussian and Swedish ambitions, and of Prussian and Swedish troops? Such a revolution on the part of Prussia would overturn the historic system of Europe. It would force immediately all the Germanic princes to withdraw for their own protection not only the troops they owed to the service of the Empire, but their mercenaries serving under the Sea Powers. The grievous losses suffered by the eight thousand Prussians with Prince Eugene at the battle of Cassano had roused a natural emotion in Berlin. Their withdrawal alone meant the downfall of the Italian front against France. That these ideas were not outlawed from Prussian thoughts is evident. Against them stood the solemn veto of past ages. Deep in the heart of the Prussian state and race lay the antagonism to France. Such a desertion of the Teutonic principle spelt the triumph of the Gaul.

Surely, however, short of an act of irrevocable betrayal, there were infinite means of extorting favours from the wealth of England and the ancient majesty of the Empire. The raw Prussian monarchy with many troops and little money had men to sell. There was no lack in Prussia then, as in every century, of brave, docile, faithful soldiers. These, then, must be marketed on terms which would most conduce to the strength of the Prussian state. The mere withdrawal of the Prussian troops from Italy and from the Rhine would almost certainly be fatal to the Allies. But this was not so easy as it looked. It was shrewdly realized throughout the Alliance that the Prussians could not be withdrawn by a simple decision from Berlin. Without the money of the Sea Powers they could not even be fed except by rapine in the countries through which they must make their homeward march. And who would keep all these soldiers when they came home? What would they do if they were not kept? All the materials, therefore, existed for an interminable series of hagglings, bargainings, and blackmailings. In the shadows of the background lay a greater danger still.

Louis XIV, alive to all these aspects, offered recognition of the Prussian kingship and important territories, including Guelderland, merely for non-reinforcement of the Prussian troops in the allied ranks. The Czar and Augustus II of Saxony and Poland were suitors of Frederick I in other interests.

The recital of these facts shows the delicate, unpromising, and critical quest on which Marlborough must now engage himself. Nevertheless, such was the wonder and curiosity with which he was regarded by this ambitious King and his military Court that his arrival steadied the balance, and the weight of England in his hands turned the scale. The King was frankly delighted to see him again. His diplomatic ill-humour disappeared. In a week of conferences and festivities Marlborough convinced the Berlin Government that the main foe of Prussia was France, and her sure stand-by England. To achieve this he took great responsibility. He promised that if Prussian territory should be in danger anywhere England would protect it. At the general peace Queen Anne would treat the interests of Prussia as her own. He bore authority from Vienna to guarantee the assent of the Emperor to the conditions of the renewed treaty which he proposed. In December Prussia agreed that her contingents, raised to their full strength, should serve with the Allies in Italy and upon the Rhine during the whole of 1706. When he left for Hanover bearing with him a jewelled sword, the gift of the King, he had once again staved off for the time being the collapse of the Alliance and the loss of the war.

The Court at Hanover had been thrown into the liveliest perturbation by the news which reached them from London. The debate in the Lords on Haversham’s motion produced the worst impression. That the Whigs, the sworn friends of the house of Hanover, should have joined with the Ministers of Queen Anne in rejecting so fair-seeming a Tory proposal was to these eager foreign students of our affairs incomprehensible. As is usual in small countries deeply concerned in the internal politics of a powerful ally or neighbour, the royal family and the leading politicians cultivated different sympathies, so that some of them would be good friends with whatever faction in the larger state was uppermost at any given moment. The aged Electress thus held that the Tories would prove the truest friends of the house of Hanover. Her son, the Elector, put his trust in the Whigs. The Electress now vaunted her superior judgment: the Elector deplored the inconstancy of his Whigs, and both were disgusted to the point of threatening to recall their troops by the behaviour of Queen Anne’s Ministers. Both fell upon Marlborough with demands for explanations and assurances. Happily, that diligent servant had not been left unprovided with instructions from home. A letter from the Queen left no doubt upon the main point.

With these commands arrived also the Ministerial and Whig justifications of the course they had been forced to adopt. More important still, Marlborough was furnished with the drafts of the Bills providing for a regency upon the demise of the Crown and for the British naturalization of the Electress and of all her Protestant descendants. Armed with these, Marlborough soon convinced the Elector of the fidelity of the Whigs, and the Electress Sophia of the good intentions of the Government. Some little umbrage was at first taken that a reigning German sovereign and heir-designate to the English throne should require to be naturalized like an ordinary person. But it was easy for Marlborough to show how necessary this was to meet the peculiar laws of the islanders and to place the British friends of the house of Hanover in a strong position to deal with common enemies. His personal glamour and the impression of weight, magnitude, and command which he always inspired abroad did the rest. Hanover became happy. All difficulties about the troops disappeared. Compliments and flatteries were the order of the day. Marlborough was presented with a coach and six horses, although he deemed his Blenheim coach still good enough, and Sunderland with “a set of horses.” Sarah, no doubt apprised in good time, had sent the Electress a portrait of the Queen, which the old lady acknowledged in terms which left no doubt of her satisfaction:

A certain amount of irritation remained, however, beneath the surface. We find on January 1 Sir Rowland Gwynne, the English Resident in Hanover, writing an indiscreet letter to an English peer, full of bitter complaints against the Whigs, which, when it became public, both Houses declared to be a libel, ordering the printer to be mulcted. For the next six months Halifax, Somers, and other leading Whigs were occupied in making their peace with the Hanoverian Court, and trying to explain to them the intricacies of party manœuvres at Westminster. Marlborough during his three-day stay at Hanover was forced to deal with an extremely tangled dispute about the winter quarterings of the allied troops in the various electorates along the Rhine, and he settled the matter satisfactorily by eleven letters to the Electors, Bishops, Princes, Landgraves, Deputies, and other notables concerned.^[33] Then he set out for Holland.

He reached The Hague on December 15 after a journey by coach and barge in mid-winter of nearly two thousand miles. Delayed by contrary winds and the consequent lack of battleship convoy, he did not arrive in London till December 31/January 11. He was weary and worn, but he had restored for the moment the cohesion of the Grand Alliance, and made the preliminary dispositions for the coming campaign.

Gibraltar had fallen into English hands in August 1704. It had successfully withstood Louis XIV’s formidable efforts at recapture. The allied invasion from Portugal had languished. The youthful Archduke, brother of the Emperor Joseph, whom the Allies under British instigation had proclaimed King Charles III of Spain, had perforce lingered in Lisbon endeavouring to animate King Pedro II, and comforted by the indefatigable ambassador, Methuen. We have not broken the chain of events in the main theatre to describe the course of the Spanish diversion; but the curtain must now rise upon a scene where striking episodes and personages play their part.^[34]

In Spain from the summer of 1705 to the autumn of 1706 the cause of the Two Crowns fell to so low an ebb that the War of the Spanish Succession seemed to be settling itself in the country primarily concerned. The failure of the large Franco-Spanish army under Marshal Tessé to recover Gibraltar at the end of 1704 had been followed by a complete lull in the Spanish war. It was throughout a war of petty armies, occasionally fighting small, fierce battles and making long marches about an enormous country in the main stony and desolate. The fortresses, ill-protected by defences or garrisons, easily changed hands. The sympathies of the countryside, however, played a serious part in the fortunes of the wandering armies, and a surge of national feeling was almost immediately decisive. So far the Allies, advancing eastward with the Portuguese, had made little or no progress. The Marquis de Ruvigny, who commanded there, was one of King William’s generals, a French Huguenot refugee raised to the English peerage. The Earl of Galway, to use the title by which he was henceforward known, was an heroic figure in the resistance to the tyranny and persecution of Louis XIV. He had been Deputy-General of the Huguenots. Connected by marriage to the Russells, he had acquired English nationality as early as 1688. He had commanded for King William in Ireland. He had fought in his Continental campaigns. Saint-Simon has recorded the moving story of his adventure at the battle of Landen.^[35] His French captors, knowing that his life was forfeit, in the heat of battle refused with soldierly magnanimity to hold him prisoner. They found him a horse and set him free. He was a gallant and faithful man, and a skilful, experienced professional soldier. A contemporary record describes him as “one of the finest gentlemen in the army, with a head fitted for the Cabinet as well as the camp; is very modest, vigilant, and sincere; a man of honour and honesty, without pride or affectation; wears his own hair, is plain in his dress and manners.”^[36] His right hand had recently been shattered by a cannon-ball at the siege of Badajos, and he had henceforth to be lifted on to his horse like a child.

Marlborough had known him long and held him in the highest esteem. He had himself chosen him for the command of the Portugal expedition. Without approving some of his operations, he upheld him through the worst misfortunes. He defended his military character in strong and even passionate terms when Galway was censured by Parliament in 1711.

But now a far more brilliantly coloured personality was to enter upon the Spanish scene. Early in 1705 the English Government decided, under Marlborough’s impulse, to use their sea-power in the Mediterranean. A wide latitude was necessarily accorded to the commanders of the fleet and army. Their prime purpose was to assist the Duke of Savoy upon the Riviera coast. Their second was to act in Spain, as they might decide upon the spot. The preference of the Cabinet was for the succour of the Duke of Savoy. Already Marlborough hankered for an attack upon Toulon. As early as April 1705 he described Toulon to Briançon, the Savoy envoy in London, as a main English objective.^[37] The slow, precarious communications forbade them to prejudge the issue from Whitehall. In order to avoid repeating the naval and military discordances which had wrecked the Cadiz enterprise in 1702, it was resolved that the general should not only command the troops, but should have equal power with the admiral in the strategic movements of the fleet. Sir Cloudesley Shovell was appointed to the naval command, and Charles Mordaunt, Earl of Peterborough, became Commander-in-Chief in Spain with additional commission as Admiral, jointly with Shovell. Peterborough’s appointment was delayed till Parliament had separated, as it was known to be unacceptable to both political parties.

We cannot attempt here to appraise the character and quality of one who is called by his admirers “the great Earl of Peterborough,” but merely to present the reflections cast upon his memorable deeds and misdeeds by Marlborough’s judgment and actions. Hoffmann reported to his Government upon him, “He is of such a temperament that he cannot brook an equal. He is a thoroughly restless and quarrelsome character, incapable of dealing with anybody, . . . and on top of that he has had no war experience on land or sea.”^[38] This seems to have been well informed. John and Sarah had known Peterborough all his life, and had tasted his malice and mischief as far back as the trial of Sir John Fenwick in 1696.^[39] In the closing years of King William, and since the opening of the new reign, friendly and even cordial relations seemed to have subsisted between the Marlborough and Peterborough families. We have seen how Peterborough’s intrepid son, the hero of the forlorn hope at the Schellenberg, had wooed but not won Marlborough’s youngest daughter, Mary.^[40] Peterborough certainly regarded the Marlboroughs, especially Sarah, as friends who rated him at his own valuation. He corresponded with the Duchess in terms of gay affability, and with the Duke with almost obsequious respect. Sarah, whose sure scent for genius had led her in her youth to marry the penniless John Churchill, and was to lead her in old age to bestow ten thousand pounds upon the great Pitt, then equally undistinguished, was evidently conscious of the Peterborough spell. Certainly she sang his praises to Marlborough during 1705, and Marlborough bears responsibility both for the appointment and for its exceptional conditions.

It is strange that he should have chosen a commander for Spain whose character, qualifications, and methods were so utterly different from his own. Peterborough had, as Hoffmann reported, no training as either soldier or sailor. He lacked patience, reserve, and persistency. He was quarrelsome and boastful. His caprice, or inspiration, was incalculable. His recklessness, his violence and profusion, were well known. How far, then, did Marlborough act upon his own judgment and how far did he trust himself to Sarah’s instinct? At any rate, at the end of May 1705 an armada of sixty-six British and Dutch battleships, with many smaller vessels and 6500 soldiers, sailed from Portsmouth to Lisbon under the command of Peterborough and Shovell.

In issuing their orders to an expedition which once launched passed almost completely out of control the English Cabinet, guided by Marlborough, had pondered deeply upon their past experience. Although there was much friction, upon which historians have dilated, the arrangement at first worked well, and the results were splendid. All the leaders of the Allies for the war in Spain met at Lisbon in the last week of June 1705. Charles III, with his handful of personal officers, awaited them. Das Minas, the Portuguese general, and Galway rode in from the front a little beyond the Portuguese boundary. The valiant Prince George of Hesse-Darmstadt, an Imperial Field-Marshal at thirty-six, came in an English frigate fresh from his six months’ defence of Gibraltar. To these were now joined Peterborough, with Stanhope at his side, and Shovell, with Leake his second-in-command. This symposium of forceful, competing personalities was gathered to debate problems offering many alternatives. Their subsequent quarrels have led historians to dwell upon their differences. But the outstanding fact at the beginning is their agreement and its successful execution. Peterborough, fresh from Whitehall, leaned to the succour of Savoy. The Archduke, the Allies’ King of Spain, naturally regarded this as desertion of his cause. He had been sent by the Allies to fight for the Spanish crown in Spain. What was this talk of Italy?

Darmstadt, as we may call him, seems first to have recommended a march on Madrid through Valencia; but he was also agreeable to an attack on Barcelona. He had defended Barcelona against the French in 1697. He had been Viceroy of Catalonia. The Catalans regarded him with gratitude and admiration. He had played a decisive part in the capture of Gibraltar, and was the soul of its defence. Whether under his influence or not, the Lisbon Council chose Barcelona as their goal. Their discussions and the necessary preparations were protracted, but at length the great fleet resumed its progress. Galway authorized the exchange of the seasoned regiments at Gibraltar for the raw English and Irish recruits, and contributed two regiments of Dragoons. All were confirmed in their resolve by a dispatch from London giving the Queen’s permission for a landing in Catalonia.^[41] Marlborough had learned from the English envoy with the Duke of Savoy, Richard Hill, that an attempt upon Toulon was not to be contemplated. He therefore relaxed his dominating control, and was content to see a Spanish venture in 1705.

On the voyage along the eastern coast of Spain the fleet touched at Denia, in Valencia. They were received with enthusiasm by the people. The magistrates of Philip V made immediate submission. All reports declared the acceptance by Valencia of the Hapsburg claim. Peterborough was excited. He saw the merit of Darmstadt’s first suggestion. “Land here,” he urged, “and march directly upon Madrid.” The distance was but a hundred and fifty miles through easy, unravaged country. In a fortnight, he suggested, King Charles III would be enthroned in the Spanish capital. This was widely different from his previous counsel; but no one can say it was wrong. However, Darmstadt had now been rallied by Charles III to the capture of Barcelona. He believed and protested that all Catalonia would rise to welcome him. Ultimately what he said proved true. The youthful sovereign, with the proved officer whose name seemed to be magic upon these doubtful coasts, prevailed. Peterborough, the Commander-in-Chief, submitted, and the fleet sailed northward to Barcelona. By this time there was sharp disagreement in this hydra-headed enterprise. Probably if Marlborough had been in Peterborough’s shoes in the Lisbon discussions he would have refrained from advocacy of any course. He would have been content if all were agreed that the fleet, having on board the strongest possible force, should pass the Pillars of Hercules and enter the Mediterranean. He would have left the partisans of various plans to exhaust each other and so gradually transform a nominal command-in-chief into effective control. But Peterborough struck with all his force in one direction, and now, valid reasons having arisen, with equal vehemence in another. Thus he lost much power.

In the third week of August the armada anchored before Barcelona. This was the most populous and wealthy city of Spain. It was a fortress of no mean repute, tested within a decade by siege. Its fortifications could not compare with the wonderful creations of Vauban in the Low Countries. But they comprised a complete perimeter of bastioned ramparts and ditches, and the most vulnerable quarter was guarded by the strong stone star-fort of the Montjuich upon its dominating height three-quarters of a mile south of the city. The Spanish Governor, Don Velasco, was a resolute, vindictive champion of the Bourbons. He had about three thousand trustworthy soldiers under his command. On August 22 Charles III landed north of Barcelona, and was greeted and acclaimed by the Catalans, who flocked to his banner. The sympathies of Catalonia were manifestly favourable. Crowds of countryfolk and local nobility assembled to welcome him. Of armed forces only fifteen hundred Miquelets, as the Catalan rebels were called, presented themselves.

Velasco saw in the local hostility a military advantage for the defence of Barcelona. The Allies could not afford to destroy their popularity with the Catalans by starving the citizens or bombarding their dwellings, still less by delivering them to storm and sack. With all these facts present in their minds also, the councils of war upon Sir Cloudesley Shovell’s flagship became distracted. Charles, animated by Darmstadt, demanded a siege. Shovell supported him. No one has ever been able to plumb Peterborough’s mind. Whether he was actuated by caprice and day-to-day events, or whether he prepared a profound design with all Marlborough’s dissimulation, may well be indefinitely disputed. Certainly he could exert his influence most strongly by urging his Lisbon proposal to proceed at once to Italy. The armed support which Darmstadt had predicted—nay, promised—in Catalonia was lacking. The Council had rejected his own bold plan of a march from Valencia on Madrid. What hopes were there of capturing a fortified city which could not even be bombarded for fear of alienating local sympathy? Peterborough played this card for all it was worth. Thus, with a shrewdness unusual in him, he forced all his colleagues to try to conciliate him. From weakness or from craft he yielded to their wishes, but he stipulated—and all agreed—that eighteen days was to be the limit of the siege.

Accordingly the guns were landed and siege approaches made from the north side of the town, supported by sixteen thousand soldiers and sailors, mainly British. The ground was marshy and difficult, and Governor Velasco protected his ramparts at the threatened point by a preliminary lunette. No practicable breach appeared, and Peterborough continued to baffle the council of war by the alternatives of a march to Valencia and thence to Madrid, or preferably an immediate departure for Italy. After a fortnight when everything was thus in the most perfect confusion he suddenly emerged with an audacious surprise. He informed Darmstadt that he was about to assault the Montjuich. The Prince, who, according to some, had already pressed this course, was delighted. Neither of them told Charles III or the admirals of their plan till the troops were already marching.

On the evening of September 13, 1705, a thousand men, of whom eight hundred were English, set off under Peterborough and Darmstadt ostensibly for Tarragona, the first stage in a march southward to Valencia. A reserve of twelve hundred men under Stanhope followed later. The fleet cannon had already been re-embarked, and Governor Velasco was preparing his celebrations. Peterborough and Darmstadt marched all night by the circuitous route shown opposite on the map, and at daybreak appeared from the contrary quarter upon the most accessible side of the Montjuich. There followed a comedy of chance which was also an epic. The assailants stormed the outer works. They placed their ladders in the stone ditch, but these proved too short by seven or eight feet, and they found themselves stopped. The scanty garrison sent frantic messages for help to the city. Governor Velasco dispatched at once a hundred dragoons, each with an infantryman riding pillion. The garrison, seeing this help approaching, raised a cheer which Lord Charlemont, who commanded the British brigade, mistook as the signal for surrender. Thereupon the English leaped into the covered way, assuming themselves the victors. In this exposed situation they received a series of deadly volleys from the cannon and musketry of the fort. Many fell and two hundred surrendered. Darmstadt, hastening to intercept Velasco’s reinforcement, was wounded. A bullet severed the major artery in his thigh, and in a brief space he bled to death. Aghast at this catastrophe, Charlemont’s remaining men retreated. They had already abandoned the action when Peterborough, arriving, behaved in a most becoming manner. Seizing a half-pike and declaring he would conquer or die, he rallied his surviving soldiers and led them back to the outworks. This would have availed him nothing but for a curious turn of luck.

The two hundred prisoners were being hustled down the hill towards Barcelona, three-quarters of a mile away, when they met virtually the whole garrison of the city advancing to the rescue of the Montjuich. Interrogated, they admitted that both Peterborough and Darmstadt were assaulting the fort. The officer in command of the relief was staggered by the presence of these great personalities. He concluded that the bulk of the allied army must be with them; he therefore returned to Barcelona, and sealed its fate. By extraordinary exertions ships’ cannon, relanded, were dragged into the captured outworks, and from this deadly position launched a bombardment which after three days compelled the commandant of the fort to surrender. The fall of the Montjuich broke the spirit of Velasco. He agreed to capitulate unless relieved within four days. Hostages were accordingly exchanged, Stanhope representing the Allies. The terms could not however be executed. The excitement of the Barcelona populace rose to an uncontrollable pitch. The Miquelets from the surrounding hills penetrated the city. The massacre of Bourbon adherents without respect to age, sex, or quality was imminent. The Governor invoked the aid of his hostage, Stanhope. Peterborough with strong forces entered the city while it was in wild confusion, and had the crowning and romantic satisfaction of personally saving a beautiful and terrified duchess from the fury of the mob. Even the King, who suffered so much from his arrogance, wrote to Queen Anne that Peterborough had saved the city from “a veritable blood bath.”^[42]

However it happened, Barcelona was captured. Whosoever’s conception it was, whether it arose from accident, caprice, or profound design, the glory belongs to Peterborough, who lost no time in claiming it. Forthwith he sent Stanhope to England with dispatches couched in a grandiloquent vein, with letters to the Ministers, and to all his friends and his family, clamouring for praise, reinforcements, and appointment as commander-in-chief of all the forces in Spain, with sole control of the fleet.

Conflicting accounts reached Marlborough from Barcelona. On September 29 he wrote to Hedges, the Secretary of State for the Southern Department:

The news of the capture of Barcelona had been hailed in London with unbridled enthusiasm. The highest opinion was held of King Charles’s conduct. Godolphin was impressed by his detailed report to the Government. The English bias, especially Tory bias, was so strong for Spanish operations and for using the naval power that the capture of a fortress in Spain was judged at double the far stiffer similar prize in Flanders. Stanhope’s mission met with the warmest response. Parliament presented addresses acclaiming the prowess and conduct of Peterborough. Five thousand British infantry and two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, together with a strong squadron under Byng, were eagerly devoted to the Peninsular campaign of 1706.

Success, however, had not assuaged the quarrels of the allied commanders. Everybody hated Peterborough, and Peterborough struck at all. His differences with “the Germans,” or “the Vienna crew,” as he described Charles III and his Imperialist advisers, soon made even formal relations difficult. “If another general,” wrote Prince Lichtenstein, one of Charles’s Austrian counsellors and his old tutor, (November 5, 1705), “had been in command, it would have been easy to take Majorca or Minorca, and to conquer the whole of Aragon and Valencia.” He added, “All the officers under Lord Peterborough seek to leave for home. But I see no hope they will send us out a better general from England.”^[45] On the other hand, Peterborough himself was vociferous. “God protect this land,” he wrote to Stanhope (November 18), “from even the best of the German Ministers.”^[46] Peterborough’s vanity, his violence, his giddy shifts of view and of mood, made him quarrel with the young King, with the allied generals and the English admirals. Shovell had sailed for home with most of the heavy ships. But Leake, who remained upon the coast, regarded this human firework with equal dislike and distrust. In December Charles appealed to London to send Galway from Portugal to take the command.

The effects of the fall of Barcelona and the ardour of the whole province enabled the small allied forces to become speedily masters of every stronghold in Catalonia and on the Aragon frontier. At the same time the Spanish officers whom Darmstadt with sure knowledge had selected to uphold King Charles’s causes in Valencia met with unbroken success. Peterborough after several minor successes entered Valencia at the end of January 1706, and Charles was then in effective possession of all Eastern Spain with the overwhelming support of its inhabitants. These conquests—easy come and easy go though they were to prove—threw a glowing light upon the Spanish scene at the end of the year, when all else was black or grey.

Yet beneath the surface of success were causes of deep anxiety. Charles III, writing to Marlborough from Barcelona (October 22, 1705), described his condition in gloomy terms:

And Peterborough, amid his gay diversions in Valencia, was himself under no illusions.

The active prosecution of the war in the Peninsula had really sprung from English Parliamentary circles. The Cabinet and Marlborough became conscious of a strong impulse of support for this theatre. They yielded somewhat easily to a genial breeze. Many writers have censured the dispersion of forces as improvident and unorthodox. There is no doubt that Marlborough was influenced by politics rather than by strategy in the tolerance, and more than tolerance, which he showed to the Spanish venture. Still, he could have cited facts and figures in deprecation if not in defence. The English expenditure in the Low Countries in 1706 was £1,366,000 and in Spain no less than £1,093,071.^[49] The number of English troops, apart from those in English pay, sent to Spain was above ten thousand. On the other hand, the French had at least fifteen thousand regular troops in the Peninsula during 1706, and eighteen thousand in 1707. Whether, if there had been no war in Spain, Marlborough could have gained these troops for Flanders is more than doubtful. Probably if they had not fought there they would never have been granted him. Fighting there, they actually contained through the ups and downs of three critical years superior numbers of the enemy. We feel sure that he regarded all troops sent to Spain as a concession to London opinion. He would have rejoiced to have them in his own hand. Nevertheless, they were by no means wasted in the general application of available forces. A substantial military compensation, apart from political convenience, could be adduced in the grim account. When we deplore the absence of ten thousand redcoats from the campaigns of Ramillies and Oudenarde, and all the extra weight that this would have given to Marlborough’s control over the main confederate army, we are by no means entitled to assume that this alternative was ever open to him.

The attitude of the Emperor Joseph was different. He had a natural sympathy for his brother in his trials. But the sending of the young Archduke to the Peninsula was a London and not a Vienna plan. It was not until after the capture of Barcelona that a surge of enthusiasm for the effort in Spain rose in the Emperor’s heart. Certainly thenceforward he was deeply moved. In a dispatch to Gallas ^[50] in London (December 23, 1705) he offered to provide troops for Spain, and urged that transport, and of course money, should be furnished by England. He would even, so Gallas was instructed to state, pawn his own jewellery rather than allow Charles’s life and honour to be cast away.^[51]

But—and on this point all opinions converged—Peterborough must be removed, and if possible Galway appointed in his stead.

Ever since the disaster of Blenheim Louis XIV had been anxiously seeking by this road and that for a peace based on compromise. He no longer sought victory; but until the beginning of 1709 he hoped to escape a treaty of absolute defeat. In its military and financial weakness the Empire claimed the most from the war; in its strength and ardour England sought the least. The Dutch occupied the decisive position; they maintained the largest army in the field; they made a substantial money contribution; they played their part at sea. Nevertheless, their aims were practical and compact. They wanted their barrier of Belgian fortresses, with as many French fortresses to broaden it as possible. They hoped for a barrier on their southern and south-eastern frontiers stronger than that which they had so incontinently lost in 1701. The article of the original treaty of the Grand Alliance, while deliberately vague upon the question of the sovereignty of Belgium, was explicit about its strategic destiny. The Spanish Netherlands must be recovered “to the end that they may serve as a dyke, rampart and barrier to separate and keep France at a distance from the United Netherlands.”^[52] After Blenheim at various times, through successive agents, Louis XIV intimated secretly to the Dutch that he was willing to partition Belgium and divide its fortresses with them.

At the end of 1705 the French negotiations, hitherto intangible, took a more definite form. The Marquis d’Alègre, a French Lieutenant-General, had been captured by the Scots Greys in Marlborough’s cavalry charge after the forcing of the Lines of Brabant in July 1705.^[53] To this high personage the Duke granted a parole of two months to settle his affairs in France, and charged him to convey to Louis XIV a message of ceremony. Arrived at Versailles, d’Alègre was taken into Torcy’s confidence and became a secret emissary of peace. The instructions which were given him deserve particular attention.^[54] On his return to Holland at the expiry of his parole he was to seek out Marlborough, express the pleasure with which the King had received his compliments, and, if permitted, open decisively the question of peace. D’Alègre was to dwell upon the vexations Marlborough was bound to suffer at the hands of the Dutch, upon the hazards of war, and the many shifts and insecurities of private fortune. How success, however brilliant, brought envy in its train; how often ingratitude alone repaid the efforts of great servants; how peace would consolidate the glories which Marlborough had gained; and how earnestly the King desired that just and lasting peace. If these overtures were well received by Marlborough, d’Alègre was to broach a very delicate topic. So ardent was his Majesty for peace that he would bestow a kingly reward on anyone who could bring it about. “It might perhaps have been wished,” d’Alègre was instructed to say,

It was further suggested that the payments should be spread over the first four years after the Peace. If all this went down well with Marlborough, and d’Alègre sustained no rebuff, he was then to outline the actual terms on which the King would treat.

These were curious, and widely different from all later versions. Philip V was to keep Spain and the Indies, also the Milanese. Charles III was to become, as an Archduke, Elector of Bavaria, thus strengthening the house of Hapsburg exactly where it had been most imperilled. Max Emmanuel was to be indemnified for the loss of his native land, Bavaria, and for abandoning his Vicar-Generalship of the Spanish Netherlands, by becoming king of the “Two Sicilies.” France was to hold all the bridgeheads on the Upper Rhine. Holland was to have her Barrier fortresses, to be held by Swiss garrisons, and the full possession of Guelders and Limburg. The Duke of Lorraine, whose balancing attitude during the campaign of 1705 had been noticeable, was to be consoled for French acquisitions on the Rhine by the Vicar-Generalship of such parts of the Spanish Netherlands as remained after the Dutch claims had been met. This French proposal contemplated for the first time since the outbreak of the war the division of the Spanish inheritance. Nevertheless, it was a French peace. The Great King paid his debt to Max Emmanuel, but held him in his power. He maintained his grandson in Spain. He kept his grip on Northern Italy.

All this was set forth in Torcy’s instructions to d’Alègre of October 5, 1705, but we have no record of what passed at d’Alègre’s interview with Marlborough. It is, however, certain from the sequel that the Duke allowed the captive peace agent to unfold the whole story. Imperturbably he listened to the proposal of a vast bribe to himself, and thereafter to the French terms for a general peace. He must have been all smiles to d’Alègre, who departed without an inkling of where Marlborough stood. Clearly Marlborough was not at all attracted by the French peace proposal. He did not think that the French power was as yet sufficiently broken to give England the security which she needed and deserved. He doubted the French sincerity in view of their great remaining military strength and the disappointing close of his late campaign. He suspected a manœuvre to spread disunion between the Allies. He was resolved to continue the war and bring France low. When d’Alègre unfolded four days later his peace terms to Heinsius, Marlborough set himself to discredit and frustrate them. He was neither offended nor seduced by the personal bribe. He put it by in his mind as something which might be of interest some day, but which could not in the slightest degree affect his judgment or his action.

The political scene in London seemed vastly better than any the Captain-General and the Lord Treasurer had known before; and probably the first three months of 1706, which he spent in England, were not merely comfortable, but even gave the illusion of security. He was cordially thanked by both Houses of Parliament. Extraordinary supplies were forthcoming for the prosecution of the war. The loan of £250,000 which he floated in the City for the Empire, or rather for Prince Eugene and his army, to whom it was conveyed direct, was fully subscribed between a Thursday and the following Tuesday. The war effort of the island in men and munitions each month assumed a larger scale. He was thus able to turn his mind very definitely to the new audacious military adventure on which he had set his heart for 1706. Meanwhile he cultivated the Whigs.

Many accounts have come to us of a dinner-party which seemed to seal an all-powerful confederacy in British politics. It is remarkable in this period that, while opposing commanders in the field lavished courtesies upon each other across the lines of actual war, the politicians at home adopted a stiffer attitude in their own circles. Nevertheless, in January 1706 we see united round Harley’s table Marlborough and Godolphin; Harley and St John; Halifax, Sunderland, Boyle, and Cowper. Somers was absent only by inadvertence. An incident of this festivity recorded by Cowper is well known. On the departure of Lord Godolphin,

Historians generally have taken this statement as illustrating the distrust which undoubtedly still prevailed. But that chaff of this kind could be indulged in without offence is surely a measure of prevailing sincerity and goodwill. Undoubtedly the Whigs expected to be partners in the Government. Marlborough and Godolphin earnestly desired their aid. Even Harley was caught by the enthusiasm of the hour. Only one obstacle remained—Queen Anne.

The end of this session saw the furthest unbending of Queen Anne to the Whigs. The Tory Party had driven her far from her innate convictions. Godolphin, whose whole aim was the prosecution of the war and the sustaining of Marlborough and his armies, might be truly thankful. Harley, while thoroughly helpful, had made a special virtue of going so far. The curious, intricate machine of English politics worked more smoothly for practical ends than it had ever done. Out of the innumerable stresses and intrigues there arose a spell of commanding harmony. Never had domestic affairs conformed more perfectly to Marlborough’s ideals than at this beginning of 1706. It was too good to be true, and it was too good to last. Well might Seymour warn a group of Whigs who were exulting in his presence upon the triumph of their party, “Don’t be too sure. Whatever the Queen may look like to you, she never hated you more.”^[57] But while it lasted the sun shone brightly upon the English scene, and the island Power could plunge again with united authority into the murk and storm of Europe.

On the Continent in the ranks of the Grand Alliance all was again turning to chaos. The agreements Marlborough had made with the allied princes and sovereigns threatened to crumble as soon as his personal influence was withdrawn from the various Courts. All the Electors saw the chance of making money and local advantage out of the weakness of the great confederacy and out of the astonishing readiness of England to make exertions far beyond her apparent stake. No doubt each had ground for complaint. Every signatory had entered the war upon the promise that the Empire would maintain a hundred and twenty thousand men against France. Actually about forty thousand men, ill-clothed, worse equipped, unpaid, the bulk under the now rapidly failing Margrave of Baden, were all that was forthcoming. The Empire, deemed so mighty, had in fact fallen down. The thoughts of Vienna were riveted upon the civil war in Hungary and Transylvania. Compared to these terrible and near obsessions, dominion over Italy, Spain, and the New World became now a faint and far-off thing.

The Prussian extortions and threats had not hitherto implied any serious resolve to change sides. But in the early months of 1706 the behaviour of Frederick I began to excite Marlborough’s anxiety. There are indications in his letters that he feared his positive desertion of the common cause. He suspected him of being actually in negotiation with Louis XIV. Marlborough’s letters cite no proofs. We have adduced many evidences of the excellence of his secret service, but it may well be that in this he was guided mainly by his instinct. Certainly the English Cabinet do not seem to have been themselves at all alarmed. Modern research has, however, shown how truly Marlborough divined or measured facts, for, as we now know, the Prussian King was advancing far on the path of treachery. Indeed, it is doubtful whether anything but an overwhelming military event could at this juncture have kept him from a separate peace with France.

Next in importance were the Danes. Thirty thousand Danish troops served as mercenaries in the allied armies. They earned an invaluable revenue for the Danish State. These good soldiers who never failed on any battlefield had also to be marketed by their rulers. Denmark had been led to seize the town of Eutin, and this raised dangerous questions not only with the Swedes, but with the Empire. Meanwhile, the payments of the Sea Powers for the Danish troops being in arrears, those warriors became tardy in moving up to their necessary strategic positions.

These political situations were aggravated by the actual state of the fronts. Spain was an adventure, costly, precarious, and on the whole ill-judged. But Italy was capital. There French armies, almost equal to those in Flanders and upon the Rhine, advanced against the exhausted Imperialists and the desperate remnants of Savoy. The year opened with the capture of Nice on January 4 after a siege of some weeks by a detachment of seven thousand men under the Duke of Berwick. By the express orders of Louis XIV the fortifications were destroyed. So thoroughly was this executed, says Berwick, “that no trace remained where the fortress of Nice had once stood.”^[58] Thus Victor Amadeus found himself cut from any effective contact with the Allies by sea. While their armies used ruthless force, the French lavished their seductions upon the harassed Duke of Savoy. His wife and his daughters were princesses of France.^[59] The Grand Monarch could forgive his own family without loss of dignity. Let the Duke once more turn his coat, however tattered, and the parable of the Prodigal Son would be re-enacted. Victor Amadeus was made of stubborn if untrustworthy stuff. It was plain, however, in February and March of 1706 that the complete extinction of all resistance to France in Italy was imminent.

Against all these dangers and incoherences there remained to the Allies the greatness of their cause, which still held good in spite of every disappointment and disloyalty throughout the whole vague, vast block of the Germanic peoples. There were the sturdy, stubborn Dutch, and the rich, busy, and strangely resolute English; there was Prince Eugene, the hero of a Europe which had been for nearly twenty years at war; and lastly there was John, Duke of Marlborough, deemed by all in those days to be the Champion. By a ceaseless correspondence, obstructed sometimes for several weeks by adverse winds in the Narrow Seas, Marlborough worked untiringly to prevent the transient harmony which his personal journey had achieved from falling into ruin. The seventy pages of his letters to high personages which Murray’s Dispatches contains for these ten or twelve weeks must be read by those who wish to understand his difficulties and exertions. Now the new, fierce campaign was about to begin. The eight French armies were already almost gathered upon their respective fronts. Every promise of the German states had been at the best half kept; all the contingents were weaker and later than arranged. Every single ally had his special complaint. The Empire, the most helpless, the most failing, was the most arrogant and querulous of all. The Margrave maundered over a mouldering army on the Rhine. The King of Prussia held all his troops back from the fighting fronts to which it had been agreed they should march. The Danes, even after their Eutin incursion had been adjusted, were set upon their arrears of pay. England was the milch-cow of all, and Parliament was already voluble upon that pregnant point. But England, detached yet dominant in the distracted Continent, was still resolved upon war and victory. She was to have both.

D’Alègre had lingered in Holland, hopeful of his peace mission and reluctant to face the rigours of captivity and the English climate. When all was ready for the new campaign his presence at The Hague was no longer desirable. “Since we have no more business to do together,” wrote Heinsius (February 19), “it would be better that he should leave.”^[60] On his arrival in England at the end of March he found himself reduced effectively to the position of a prisoner of war by the following characteristic letter from Marlborough, which marked the extinction of his mission:

The whisperings of peace which d’Alègre had begun continued while the armies were being painfully gathered from intriguing Courts and war-worn peoples. Two separate lines of discussion persisted. Apart from the more general objects of the war, England had a special reason for courting the Dutch. Queen Anne’s Ministers and Parliaments of every hue, especially before the Union with Scotland was achieved, centred their desires upon securing a Dutch guarantee of the Protestant Succession. This could not in English opinion be secured, nor their effort repaid, until France was thoroughly beaten. They were therefore wont to encourage the Dutch to gain their Barrier by a vigorous combined prosecution of the war; while Louis XIV tempted them at least with a large portion of it as the reward of a speedy, and if necessary a separate, peace. These two opposite winds blew for several years alternately upon Holland according to the varying fortunes of the armies. Marlborough knew well that the Dutch claims would be exorbitant; that, whatever the London Cabinet might feel, they would deeply offend the Empire; and that the heavy hand of “Their High Mightinesses” would infuriate all parts of the Netherlands that might fall under their rule. He foresaw also the complications which must arise with Prussia and other signatory states of the Grand Alliance concerned with the Lower Rhine. We find him, therefore, dilatory and obstructive in all that concerned the Barrier Treaty, and in fact he staved it off till after Malplaquet.

The idea of the reciprocal guarantee of the war-aims of the two Sea Powers, as a preliminary to a draft of general peace terms, grew steadily in England. The Whigs, naturally attaching the highest importance to anything assuring the Protestant Succession, were prepared to go almost all lengths to meet the Dutch over their Barrier. As it was already necessary to carry them along, Halifax was at Marlborough’s wish associated with him in all the preliminary negotiations. When at length, at the beginning of April, it became imperative that Marlborough should return to The Hague and to the army, Halifax went with him. We do not need at this stage to enter upon the details of the Anglo-Dutch discussions, which did not reach a settlement till the end of 1709. It is sufficient here to indicate the very different angles from which Marlborough and Halifax approached their common task. Halifax in one of his regular letters to his party leader, Somers, neither being at the time a Minister, wrote, “I think it is our interest that their Barrier should be as good as we can obtain for them, and if they insist on too much, it will be a greater tie on them not to make peace until it is procured for them.”^[62] He thought from his talks with Marlborough that the Duke agreed with this. It is probable, however, that, whatever civilities Marlborough may have practised towards the eminent Whig, his opinion was not different from what he expressed three years later in his well-known letter to Godolphin: “Be assured that whenever England shall comply with the States as to the Barrier . . . they will think it more their interest to be well with France than with England.”^[63] Two more contrary opinions could hardly be expressed, and it must be noted that Marlborough’s view of the Dutch reaction was not borne out in different circumstances by the ultimate result.

Their differences did not emerge in public. The two envoys were not long together at The Hague. Marlborough had very soon to take the field. Except for a month’s stay in Hanover in the Whig interest and for occasional visits to Marlborough’s headquarters, Halifax remained throughout the year at The Hague in parley with the Dutch. His negotiations were soon to be affected by events.

The Bourbon power in Spain had sunk to its lowest ebb at the end of 1705, but a stern rally marked the opening months of 1706. Louis XIV refused to accept the sudden change of fortune in the Peninsula. He was deeply conscious of the danger to his interests in the Western Mediterranean which arose from the capture by the Sea Powers of the fortified naval base of Barcelona. Just as at the end of 1704 he had sent a great army to recover Gibraltar, so now he exerted himself to recover the Catalonian capital. Tessé, with all the French troops confronting Galway, about twelve thousand men, was moved into Aragon. Arrived there, he was ordered, in spite of his misgivings, to drop his communications and march on Barcelona. Here he met the new reinforcements from France, and found himself at the head of twenty-one thousand men, two-thirds of whom were French regulars. This concentrated army outnumbered all the allied formations dispersed throughout the conquered provinces. It lay however in the midst of a bitterly hostile population. It could be fed and supplied only from the sea. A comprehensive plan was framed. The Toulon fleet carrying the munitions and cannon for the siege reached the coast in the first days of April, and, in perfect timing with the junction of all the forces, Philip V arrived in the camp from Madrid.

This sudden apparition completely turned the tables upon the Allies. Peterborough’s troops were widely scattered, the bulk being in the province of Valencia, in whose pleasant cities their commander had disported himself with the gallantry and profusion of a knight-errant. Charles, menaced and invested both by land and sea, threw himself into Barcelona with four thousand men, of whom one-third were English. The second siege of Barcelona began. Marshal Tessé not unnaturally regarded Montjuich as the key of the city. He hoped in his turn to carry it by assault. The defence of the famous fort was confided to seven hundred English redcoats under Lord Donegal. It was necessary to use against them the heavy batteries and the greater part of the French army. At nightfall on the 21st the breach was stormed by overwhelming numbers, and Donegal, refusing all quarter, and striking down his foes on every side, perished gloriously, sword in hand, with the greater part of his men. The attack on the city now began in earnest. Aided by the fidelity of five thousand citizen levies, the young King Charles—he was but twenty-one—conducted the defence with conspicuous personal valour. Donegal’s stubborn resistance in the Montjuich had given time for the population to strengthen the ramparts. A bitter conflict ensued. This was the great episode in the career of the future Emperor. Although he could easily have quitted the city by sea in the early days, he proclaimed his resolve to conquer or die among his ardent Catalans. His death in action, and still more his capture alive, would have violently transformed the whole policy of the Grand Alliance.

Almost everything about Peterborough is disputed. A sombre writer of Victorian times, Colonel Parnell,^[64] has, with remarkable erudition, laboured to strip him of all his laurels and to represent him only as a nuisance and impostor. These aspersions are still deemed extravagant and unjust. But certainly Peterborough’s conduct at this crisis shows him at his worst. On March 30, when the French design upon Barcelona was fully apparent, he wrote a letter to Duke Victor Amadeus of Savoy which reveals the black treachery of his mood.

Alike in thought and action he proved himself utterly indifferent to the fate of the sovereign in whose interest he had been sent to Spain. He seemed prepared to face the loss of Barcelona. Admiral Leake, reinforced by Byng’s squadron and transports carrying five thousand men, was now sailing up the coast from Gibraltar to the relief of the city. Peterborough, asserting his commission as a joint-admiral of superior rank, sent him reiterated orders to land his troops in Valencia before engaging the Toulon fleet. “Any forces sent to Barcelona are sent so far out of the way.” He wished himself to march from Valencia to Madrid and seize the capital, as an offset to the fall of Barcelona.

Leake treated Peterborough’s thrice-reiterated orders with perfect disdain. He pressed his voyage to Barcelona with the utmost speed. King Charles from the beleaguered city sent him imperative appeals to hasten “without stopping or disembarking the forces elsewhere, as some other Persons may pretend to direct you; for there can be no one so necessary in this town, which is on the very point of being lost for want of relief.”^[66] Peterborough, finding his orders disobeyed, and beginning to be at length conscious of the storm that would break upon him if Barcelona fell, gathered a small force, hastened along the coast, and joined Cifuentes, the Miquelet leader, in the blockade of Tessé’s army. When the fleet, delayed by adverse winds, drew near, he boarded the flagship, hoisted his admiral’s flag at the mainmast, and sought to present himself as the saviour of the city and the organizer of its relief. No one could have behaved worse. The whole credit belongs to Admiral Leake.

The Toulon fleet did not accept Leake’s proffered battle. On the approach of his superior forces their admiral, the Count of Toulouse, sailed without loitering for Toulon. Tessé, whose land communications were cut and himself blockaded by the Catalan bands, had no choice but immediate retreat. Leaving his whole siege-train, all his cannon, stores, supplies, and the bulk of his wounded, he withdrew, harassed by the guerrillas, northward into France. Such was the first refreshing news which greeted the allied captains at the opening of the main campaign of 1706.

Marlborough had reached The Hague full of a great military design. Our chief source for this is in the letters which he wrote after it had been decisively prevented. But there is ample evidence how far he had carried his plan for marching all round France into Italy. For months past he had been setting everything in motion to that end. There were the eight thousand Prussians who were anyhow to stay in Italy. There were the seven thousand Palatines and three thousand Saxe-Gothas. There was the English Government subsidy of three hundred thousand crowns, there was the £250,000 loan, both of which were payable only to Prince Eugene’s account in Venice. Well-equipped in the Italian theatre would stand Eugene, and thither Marlborough would march with the renowned redcoats and such other contingents as he could scrape. We can see to what point his actual staff work had proceeded by the issue of the six hand-mills to every British battalion for grinding corn, utensils which had never been needed in the Low Countries.^[67] He had procured the assent of the Cabinet, and was now strong enough to have his plan embodied in a solemn commission from the Queen authorizing him to act, if he thought fit, independently of the Dutch.^[68]

Armed with this vigorous document, he now opened the matter boldly at The Hague. The States-General showed much more imagination and confidence than they had done in 1704. Their terms were simple. If he went he must take no Dutch troops: that would cost them their lives at the hands of the Dutch populace. But for the rest they would run all risks to help him. He had already directed eighteen thousand men upon the Italian theatre. If with twenty thousand English, who were to make another long pilgrimage, and certain auxiliaries of quality he could reach Lombardy, he and Eugene might do a deed the fruits whereof would be inestimable and the fame immortal.

To take the pressure off the Dutch, while he was fighting in Italy, Marlborough had resolved upon an important diversion. A French refugee, the Comte de Guiscard, a man whose dark and explosive nature was armed with much address, had for many months past pressed upon the London Cabinet a plan for the landing of a strong force upon the coasts of France far behind the fortress barrier of the Low Countries. St John was much impressed with Guiscard. He wrote of him to Marlborough in the highest terms: “His conduct has been full of zeal, very discreet and very moderate.” Guiscard proposed that a number of battalions should be raised from the Huguenot refugees, and that these, reinforced by several brigades of British infantry and regiments of dragoons, should be landed by surprise somewhere between Blaye and the mouth of the Charente. Xantes was to be occupied and fortified, and the French Huguenot officers were from thence to rouse the Cevennes and reanimate the Camisards, carrying rebellion supported by invasion into these smouldering regions. Marlborough thought well of the venture and of the part it would play in his general strategy. Five Huguenot regiments were raised at the end of 1705, and nearly a dozen British battalions were gathered at Portsmouth and in the Isle of Wight. “I hope to be able,” he wrote to Heinsius from London (February 12/23, 1706),

Heinsius, who had already had relations with Guiscard, favoured this use of amphibious power. It was of course entirely in harmony with Tory Party war-conceptions, and was bound to command a strong backing in Parliament once it became known. Marlborough always referred to it as the ‘descent’ (alas! he wrote it ‘decent’), and we shall see it play an appreciable part in the operations of the next three years. Guiscard too was to make his own contribution to history when in 1710 he attempted to assassinate Harley, the Prime Minister, in the Council Chamber. The troops, together with their shipping and stores, were prepared and provided during the winter of 1705-6, and their use lay in Marlborough’s hand when he reached The Hague.

The Italian scheme was destroyed by the earliest events of the campaign of 1706. The French forestalled the Allies in the field both on the Rhine and in Italy. In March Vendôme, unseasonably mobilized, inflicted at Calcinato a savage minor defeat upon Reventlau, who commanded the Imperial forces in Eugene’s absence at Vienna. Eugene arrived, not indeed to stem the rout, but to reorganize and reanimate the beaten army when they reached the Trentino. Here was a loss in capture, and still more in desertion, of ten thousand men. In Germany Villars fell upon the Margrave, who with feeble forces was blockading Fort Louis, and on May 3 chased him over the Rhine. The blockade of Fort Louis was abandoned, and the blockaders were thankful, or even proud, to have made their escape. Hagenau and Duremberg were captured with their garrisons, and almost all those conquests which the triumphant Allies had made on the left bank after Blenheim were lost. Not only the line of the Moder, but also that of the Lauter, was devoured, and Landau, into which a garrison of four thousand men was thrown by the Margrave, alone remained. The siege and recapture of this key fortress seemed set for the next scene.

Marlborough’s correspondence at this time with the King of Prussia and with Wartenberg, the Prussian Prime Minister, deserves study. The English Ambassador at Berlin, Lord Raby, was a gentleman of spirit, ardent for military repute, and inclined to carry diplomacy into dangerous channels. Marlborough’s comment upon him as “impertinent and insignificant” is severe. However this may be, his intrigues, amorous and political, caused ill-feeling at the Prussian Court. He was accused roundly of being the lover of Countess Wartenberg, the Prime Minister’s wife. This was a complication the advantages and disadvantages of which might well become the subject of dispute. In April the King demanded Raby’s recall. However, in those days letters passed slowly.

A personal relationship had been established between Marlborough and Frederick I. The King, markedly emphasizing Marlborough’s new dignity as a prince of the Empire, addressed him as “my cousin,” and his letters breathed a spirit of comradeship and admiration. But he still delayed the moving of his troops. Those which should have been at Mainz were only at Wesel. Those which should have hastened to help the Margrave on the Upper Rhine were proceeding sluggishly towards Maestricht. The King complained that he had not been told of Marlborough’s plans. Nor had he, for the project of the Duke’s marching into Italy could not risk disclosure beyond the most limited circle. In fact, though Marlborough did not yet know it, a courier with an exposing dispatch from Victor Amadeus had already been captured by the enemy. The Prussian King wrote to Marlborough on April 20 a most severe and challenging letter couched in terms, probably sincere, of high personal regard. Considering the great number of troops Prussia was furnishing to the Allies, her King felt he should be party to all secrets. To this Marlborough replied personally with all ceremony. To Wartenberg, the Prime Minister, he was more blunt: if the King went on writing to him in this style, he would not find it necessary to give him any more information about military movements. But the moment that the Margrave was defeated upon the Upper Rhine and the Italian scheme was no longer possible Marlborough became expansive about his ruined plans. In a dozen letters he informed the Emperor, the King of Prussia, and all the German Electors what he had purposed and what he could no longer do. This was a cheap currency, but it was as much as he had to give. They were all now fully informed of the discarded plan.^[70]

All this time the French armies were steadily concentrating, and further rude shocks impended on all European fronts. In these circumstances the States-General made Marlborough another simple offer. They would approve the sending of an extra ten thousand men to the aid of Prince Eugene, provided that he would himself command the Dutch armies on the Flanders front. Moreover, he should not be hampered in any way by Deputies or generals. If he, their Deputy Captain-General, would stay to guard the Dutch homeland, he should be master in the field, and he might send this further substantial aid to his comrade Eugene. Marlborough closed with this. Assuredly the Dutch kept their word. Slangenberg smouldered in sullen obscurity. Three new field Deputies, Sicco van Goslinga, Ferdinand van Collen, and Baron de Renswoude, were appointed with instructions to obey the Duke and with no prohibitions against fighting a battle, which however seemed most unlikely. Collen seems to have been a nonentity, and Renswoude was a friend of Marlborough’s.^[71] We shall have much to say about Goslinga as the story unfolds. He was no doubt picked for his office because of his personal courage and fiery, aggressive nature. Here was a man eager for battle. He would be no clog. But another series of difficulties arose. New trials, different in character, were henceforth to fall upon Marlborough’s patience. Goslinga was a military-minded civilian, fascinated (without any professional knowledge) by the art of war, who would have liked to command the army himself. He combined the valour of ignorance with a mind fertile in plans of action. His military judgment was almost childishly defective; his energy was overflowing. Day after day, as his memoirs recount, he waited upon the Duke in his tent, offering freely his best advice. When this was not taken his mood became not only critical but aspersive; and from an early stage in their relations his writings accuse Marlborough of “prolonging the war for his own advantage,” instead of ending it speedily and easily by adopting one or other of the numerous Goslinga plans. On the battlefields the pugnacious Deputy bustled into the hottest fighting, galloping to every quarter, helping to rally and lead disordered battalions, making happy suggestions to the generals in the heat of action, and sometimes even giving orders upon his vaguely defined but impressive authority. All this, however, will become apparent.

It was with melancholy thoughts that Marlborough began his most brilliant campaign. “I cross the sea,” he wrote to Wratislaw, “with sufficiently sad reflections.”^[72] “The little concern of the King of Denmark and almost all the other princes give me so dismal thoughts that I almost despair of success.”^[73] These expressions can be multiplied. But this was his dangerous mood. Just as he had written before starting upon the Blenheim march that he saw no prospect of doing any good that year, so now he was in the deepest gloom. It was not the abysmal despair into which he was plunged in the two or three days before Oudenarde, but it was black as night. Yet he had his consolations, and his poise remained perfect. There is a letter of his which we like as much as any he wrote to his wife.

This is the most splendid period in Marlborough’s career. Every personal need urged that he should win a battle for himself. At home the wolves, though temporarily baffled, were always growling. Already Sarah was losing her influence with the Queen: already her contacts were becoming a hindrance, not a help. His dream of another epic march across Europe and an Italian “Hochstädt” won side by side with the man he loved had faded. But there still remained the duty of a soldier and the dominating responsibility of the working Head of the Alliance. Not without pangs, but certainly without the slightest hesitation, Marlborough divested himself of troops which would have secured him a large superiority in the Low Countries and the chance of some deed “that shall make a noise.” What an example to admirals and generals of the Great War through which we have passed, to fight for the common cause and not to be ‘local commanders,’ grasping at all the ships or troops they could reach or extort, so as to make themselves secure in their own sphere, even if all else went to rack and disaster! We know of no similar instance in military history where a general-in-chief, thus pressed, has deliberately confined himself to a secondary rôle while furnishing colleagues, who were also rivals, with the means of action. There is nothing in the career of Napoleon which stands upon the level of the comradeship of Marlborough and Eugene. Napoleon’s relations to Davout during and after Jena are the exact contrary. Only with Lee and Jackson have we a similar self-effacement among warriors of genius; and even then more with Lee than Jackson. So Marlborough wrote, and so he decided. He strove to reconcile himself to “a whole campaign” with indecisive forces in the fortress zone of Brabant at a time when personal success seemed most necessary to his public existence.

A small incident at this moment throws a pleasant light upon John and Sarah. An unfortunate divine, one Stephens, who had already published in the interests of his party a memorial on The Church in Danger, illustrated his theme by disparaging comments upon Marlborough’s military performances, and found himself in consequence of the Lords’ Resolution condemned not only to a fine but to the pillory. Horror-struck at his approaching ordeal, he implored Sarah’s mercy and protection. These were not denied. Availing herself of her partially restored friendship with the Queen, she begged that he should be let off the physical punishment, which he piteously protested would break the hearts of his wife and children. The reluctance with which Anne agreed to suspend this is a measure of her mood at this time. She wrote:

The Captain-General quitted the endless discussions at The Hague and set out in his coach for Headquarters on May 9. Here he found little to comfort him.

Louis XIV had brooded deeply upon the danger and ignominy which his finest army had sustained under Villeroy in the late campaign. To stand upon the defensive in the Low Countries seemed to promise only the renewal of those affronts. The genius of the French soldier could not, the King felt, flourish without not merely offering, but seeking battle. Long fortified lines were plainly no barrier to the kind of manœuvres of which Marlborough was capable. Moreover, the old lines were gone. Forty miles of them had been diligently levelled by him before the armies went into winter quarters. What, then, was to prevent the “mortified adventurer,” backed by his bloodthirsty English Parliament, from again packing ten days’ food upon his wagons, marching into the midst of the fortress zone, and confronting the French commanders with the kind of hideous situation from which, as they now knew, only the Dutch Deputies had saved them last August? To avoid this, Villeroy must be free to show the same eagerness for a decisive trial of strength as his opponent. The initiative must be seized and held from the beginning of the campaign. The will-power of the aggressive antagonist must be bent by a sincere readiness to fight, and if possible broken by a great battle. Chamillart encouraged these (in themselves) sound military conceptions of the Great King by counsels which had less sound foundations. Marlborough was an adventurer; his knowledge of war was mediocre; Blenheim was a fluke. The surrender of twenty-seven battalions of the French flower in Hochstädt was not a fact from which to draw general conclusions. It was easily explained by the blunders of Tallard and the misconduct of Clérambault. But for these this monstrous imposition of a unique defeat and of irresistible hostile fighting power would never have depressed the morale of the royal armies. France must now re-establish true values, and for this there was no way except battle. And why shrink from it? The successes of Calcinato in Italy and of Hagenau on the Rhine justified a confident temper. Their news about Marlborough was, moreover, encouraging. “On trouve en Hollande,” wrote Torcy to Tallard on May 11, “M. de Marlborough moins vif sur la guerre qu’il était les années précédentes.”^[78] Thus King Louis and his overburdened Minister of War and Finance stirred one another.

They then proceeded to stir Villeroy. They wrote him successive letters in the spirit that he should not hesitate to fight, that he should not shirk a pitched battle. Let all be arranged to give a good superiority, and then make some offensive movement to which Marlborough must submit or take the consequences. “The brusque and proud spirit of Villeroy,” says Saint-Simon,

The mental processes of a general should lead him first to put himself faithfully in the position of his enemy, and to credit that enemy with the readiness to do what he himself would most dread. In the next stage idiosyncrasies of the hostile commander, the temper and quality of his troops, and the political background come into play. But these are secondary. The safe course is to assume that the enemy will do his worst—i.e., what is most unwelcome. With that provided against, lesser evils can be resisted. Marlborough, surveying the campaign of 1706 as if he were King Louis’s adviser, was convinced that the true French effort should be made in Italy and in Spain. If more force was available it should be used against the Margrave on the Upper Rhine. A period of sieges in the fortress zone of the Low Countries might lead to a few French strongholds being lost, but would gain much precious time for action elsewhere. Accordingly, in various letters Marlborough had formally advised the Dutch Government that no French offensive in the Low Countries need be expected.^[80] Also to Heinsius:

He was wrong only because the French were wrong. He judged their hand as he would have played it himself. Hence the despondency with which he resigned himself to a difficult, wearisome, and limited manœuvring among the fortresses. His costly Intelligence service could give him no clue to the personal reactions which his operations of 1705 had produced upon Louis XIV, nor to the pressures which the King was putting upon his Marshal. Up till May 18 we see Marlborough sombrely resigned to the path of duty, having cleansed his heart of personal ambition, and acting solely in the common cause.

King Louis’s dispositions for the northern front comprised an army of forty thousand under Villars to operate against the Margrave on the Upper Rhine, and an army under Villeroy of sixty thousand to confront Marlborough in Brabant. Marshal Marsin, with 25 battalions and 30 squadrons, lay so as to operate in either theatre, and likewise the famous Maison du Roi (the “Housold”) was so posted as to be capable of intervening either way, but with a strong bias towards Brabant. The King’s plan was that both these important forces should join Villeroy, and thereafter seek Marlborough, and put him to the test.

The reader will remember the minor fortress of Léau, which surrendered to the Allies after the Lines of Brabant were forced in July 1705.^[83] Louis XIV held, and was advised, that the siege of this place would either inflict painful humiliation upon Marlborough or force him to a battle at odds and disadvantage.^[84] Villeroy’s instructions were therefore definite. Moreover, that Marshal had newly lighted upon one of Marlborough’s many intrigues. A prominent citizen of Namur was believed to be in treacherous correspondence with the Captain-General for the purpose of delivering that important fortified city into the hands of the Allies. This was no more than the truth. Villeroy’s counterstroke to such designs was well expressed in an aggressive siege of Léau, and he became most anxious to forestall his opponent. He knew that none of the Prussians had passed the Rhine. He learned that the Danes would be absent from any immediate concentration Marlborough might make. It therefore seemed necessary to reckon only with the Dutch and the English, and over these the Marshal conceived he had an ample superiority.

On May 18 the Intelligence service reported heavy French assemblings on the left bank of the Dyle between Wavre and Louvain. On the 19th decisive news arrived. The French army had crossed the Dyle and advanced to within four miles of Tirlemont. This could only mean that they courted battle. The situation was instantaneously transformed. Doubt and despondency vanished; all became simple and dire. All the allied contingents were ordered forthwith to concentrate. Marlborough’s first thought was for the Danes. He sent an urgent message to their general, the Duke of Würtemberg:

The whole region was familiar to both sides. It had long been regarded as a possible ground of great battles. It was one of the most thoroughly comprehended terrains in Europe. We remember how Marlborough had wished to force the Lines hard by this point in the autumn of 1703, and how the Dutch generals had warned him against the dangers of the Ramillies position, which lay three miles behind them and in which there was “a narrow aperture of but 1200 paces.”^[86] We must remember also that the French engineers who traced the Lines of Brabant had discarded the Ramillies position for the reason that it was concave and thus had lengthy sideways communications. For this reason they had decided to construct the Lines somewhat in advance of it. Marlborough, of course, knew the ground perfectly. His autumn headquarters, while he was levelling the Lines, had been for more than a month at Meldert, five miles from Tirlemont. He was accustomed to keep himself fit and hard by riding every day. We have seen how a week before Blenheim he and Eugene reconnoitred all the neighbourhood south of the Danube where a battle might be fought.^[87] We cannot doubt that he had examined this part of Flanders and measured its possibilities in his mind as in a newly read and deeply pondered book.

Indeed, his topographical memories went back to the wars of King William. The whole area had been thoroughly mapped by English and French engineers. Maps of those days reached a high level of information and accuracy, and we must imagine besides that Marlborough could visualize the whole of these areas and their military potentialities in exceptional clarity and detail. Moreover, though in no way he expected the French advance, he would mark the Ramillies position as one which the French might be inclined to occupy if he could not get there first, and where a battle might very well be fought. This knowledge, his eye and memory for country, together with his belief in his own troops and in his own capacity, explain the amazing wave of confidence which swept over him as soon as he divined the purpose of the French advance, and the spontaneity of his subsequent action on the battlefield. During the 19th, 20th, and 21st of May he wrote seven letters to the various high personages upon whom his system depended, proclaiming his belief that a battle was imminent, and that a great victory would be won.

He repeated these words to Wratislaw, adding, “Cela nous mettrait en état de rétablir nos affaires partout.”

And, finally, to Lord Raby, at Berlin, a sentence obviously meant to be repeated: “If it should please God to give us a victory over the enemy, the Allies will be little obliged to the King for the success; and if, on the other hand, we should have any disadvantage, I know not how he will be able to excuse himself.”^[90]

These were awkward hostages to give to the future, but we now see him, with all doubts and fears swept away, in the full, joyful plenitude of his powers. At the same time, while rapidly concentrating his army, devouring all the scraps which his far-reaching Secret Service could procure, and proclaiming before the battle his impending triumph, he seemed wrapped in a perfect serenity. All the ordinary business of Cardonnel’s office proceeded, and on the 20th Marlborough wrote the agreeable letter to Sarah about not punishing the delinquent Stephens for his libel.^[91] He wrote latest of all to Wartenberg begging that the King of Prussia would make some provision for the widow of a gallant Prussian officer who had died after long service and many wounds. Purged from all dross and self-seeking, his genius flying free, he was in these days and those that followed sublime. In all his circle of high personages there was but one from whom the coming shock was hidden. Sarah had no inkling.

And now Fortune, whom Marlborough had so ruefully but sternly dismissed, returned importunate, bearing her most dazzling gift.

The Confederate army was concentrated around Corswaren by the evening of the 22nd. The English had joined the Dutch the day before, and the Danes were only a league behind. Marlborough mustered 74 battalions and 123 squadrons, with exceptionally strong artillery and pontoon trains (100 guns, 20 “hawbitzers,” 42 pontoons). The suddenness with which the campaign had opened found the Dutch with four hundred officers absent; but otherwise the army was in excellent condition, and comprised about sixty-two thousand men. Marlborough’s intention was to march through the gap of firm ground between the head-streams of the Geet and those of the Mehaigne in order to occupy the plateau of Mont Saint-André, which formed a part of the Ramillies position. He purposed thereafter to seek Villeroy in the neighbourhood of Judoigne and bring him to battle or drive him across the Dyle.

An hour after midnight he sent Cadogan and the quartermasters, with an escort of six hundred horse, to scout ahead of the army and if unopposed to mark out the new camp. The prescribed march was about twelve miles. The whole army, in four columns, started at three A.M. in dense fog and darkness. The organization by which these large masses found their way across country deserves respect; but of course their progress was very slow. Three hours after daylight, at about eight o’clock, Cadogan, far ahead of them, reached the high ground beyond the hamlet of Merdorp, and here in thick mist his escort struck into advance parties of French hussars. There were shots and scamperings. Cadogan halted. The mist lifting a little, he was able to see moving objects on the farther side of the valley; this was the Mont Saint-André plateau, upon which it seemed the enemy also had designs. He sent word at once to Marlborough. The Duke had already started, and, passing through his marching troops, joined his trusted and treasured lieutenant at ten o’clock. Almost at the same moment the mist curtains rose, and the whole western horizon was seen to be alive with men whose armour and weapons flashed back the bright sunshine from ten thousand sparkling points.

Marlborough could not know at this moment whether the enemy would fight or retreat. He resolved forthwith to attack them in either event. If he was in presence only of a rearguard, he would fall upon them with all his cavalry; if, on the other hand, they were prepared to defend the Ramillies position, a general battle would at once be fought. Orders were sent back to all the columns, and especially to the cavalry, to press their march; for the enemy awaited them. At about eleven the allied army were traversing the Lines which Marlborough had demolished in the autumn, and here they subdivided into eight columns preparatory to forming the line of battle. The Danish horse was already close to the Dutch cavalry on the left wing.^[92]

We must now recur to M. de la Colonie, the “Old Campaigner,” who at the head of his Franco-Bavarian brigade had marched with the French army from Judoigne in the morning:

About eleven o’clock the Duke began his personal reconnaissance. There rode with him only Overkirk, Dopff, Cadogan, a couple of ex-Spanish officers (Belgians) who knew every inch of the ground well, and the new Deputy, Sicco van Goslinga, whom it was so important to captivate. We are indebted to Sicco for a naïve account. As they stood on the slopes opposite Ramillies the ex-Spanish officers said boldly and positively to the Duke “that the enemy’s left could not be attacked with any prospect of success: for the hedges, ditches and marshes were a complete barrier to both sides: that therefore the whole of our cavalry should be massed on our left, even if they had to be three or four lines deep: and that all thereabouts was fair open plain.” The Duke listened impassively; but, adds Goslinga, “he left the order of battle as it was with an equality of cavalry on each wing.”^[94]

The new field Deputy saw the mistake at once, and, writing years afterwards, pointed it out to his children. In spite of the advice which he had received that the cavalry could only act upon his left, Marlborough supinely let them remain equally divided according to the conventional order of battle. Luckily, notes Goslinga, “the enemy made the same mistake as the Duke did, and did not remedy it as he did during the combat.” These inane comments should strip Goslinga of any military credential except that of being a stout-hearted Dutchman. We can see Marlborough, bland, inscrutable, on his horse at the head of this small group, making the great mistake of dividing his cavalry more or less equally upon each wing, so that Villeroy fell into the same error and kept no fewer than fifty squadrons massed upon this impracticable flank. No doubt Marlborough did not at this moment forget that the French occupied the well-known crescent position of which he commanded the chord. However, he said nothing. He deceived Goslinga. The poor man missed the whole point. He deceived Villeroy, which was, of course, more important.

Meanwhile the eight columns had arrived on the rolling upland of Jandrinol and were deploying into line of battle, eating their dinners as they arrived at their preparatory stations. A little after one all along the line the French artillery began to fire. The Allies replied a few minutes later with far heavier metal. Whereas at Blenheim the French had used a 50 per cent. superior artillery, the case was almost reversed at Ramillies, for Marlborough had not only more guns, but nearly thirty 24-pounders. Although artillery in those days was not a decisive weapon, the fact should be noted. The roar of the cannonade resounded, and the smoke clouds drifted across the broad undulations of a battlefield unchanged and unobstructed to this day.

Contact between armies began about half-past two. The Allies advanced in magnificent array on a four-mile front; but at both ends of the main line, and nearly half an hour ahead of it, two separate attacks of pregnant consequence projected like horns. Towards the extreme French right, now lodged in the villages of Franquenay and Taviers, a column of Dutch infantry rapidly advanced. Next to them, but nearly a mile behind, all the cavalry of the left wing, Dutch and Danish, approached the gap between Taviers and Ramillies, where eighty-two French squadrons, including the long-renowned Maison du Roi, stood to receive them. The main allied infantry attack, comprising forty thousand men ranged in two heavy lines, advanced slowly towards the enemy’s centre between Ramillies and Autréglise. The massive onset of the whole army, drawing momentarily nearer with intent to kill and destroy, made its impression upon Marshal Villeroy and his troops, as it had upon Tallard and Marsin at Blenheim. The French command observed the scene from the high ground to the north of Offus, and one fact riveted their thought. This was the northern horn of Marlborough’s line of battle led by Orkney. Against their left, towards the village of Autréglise, considerably ahead of the Allies’ general line, there steadily developed a Red Thing. The two scarlet columns on this flank had now formed into lines, and were rapidly descending the slopes about Foulz. Already their skirmishers were paddling and plodding in the marshy bottom, using bridging equipment, finding tracks, and wending their way across. Intermingled with this infantry were considerable bodies of red-coated cavalry, also plashing forward mounted or leading their horses towards Autréglise.

When in contact with immeasurable events it is always dangerous to have fixed opinions. Villeroy’s opinions had been fixed for him by the Great King. “It would be very important,” Louis XIV had written a fortnight earlier, “to have particular attention to that part of the line which will endure the first shock of the English troops.”^[95] With this the Marshal was in full agreement. He had therefore no doubt what to do. He saw with satisfaction that this dreaded attack, which also threatened his line of retreat upon Louvain, was about to fall upon that part of the French army which was most strongly protected by the accidents of the ground. A fine opportunity offered itself. Forthwith the sector between Autréglise and Ramillies was heavily reinforced by troops brought up from the rear or transferred from the French right and right centre. The choice battalions of the French Guards and the Swiss were urgently brought into the line to meet, under the most favourable conditions the impending collision with the redoubtable islanders. The whole of the cavalry of the French left wing, about fifty squadrons, was held in close readiness for the decisive moment. That moment would come when this red attack was half across the sloppy meadows of the valley, and enough British had breasted the upward slope to make the prize worth taking. That moment could not be long delayed. Evidently the marsh was not so grievous an obstacle as the French engineers had deemed it. Not only had considerable bodies of British infantry made their way across it and formed on the farther side, but several squadrons of the same kind of horsemen could be observed in order at the foot of the slope. A definite line of battle, much inferior to the troops who awaited them, was already moving upward towards Offus and Autréglise. The Marshal judged his presence necessary at this dominating point. By his side rode the Elector, Max Emmanuel, who, summoned at the last moment from his pious exercises of Pentecost, had just arrived at a gallop from Brussels. For all that they counted in the main decision, we may here leave the French High Command. This we must regard as Act I of the battle of Ramillies.

But three or four miles away, at the other end of the line, there had been an overture. It was essential to the French occupation of the Ramillies position that the village of Taviers, to which Franquenay formed an outwork, on the extreme right, should be strongly held. A mile and a half of perfect cavalry country separated Taviers from Ramillies. Here must be the scene of the great cavalry encounter. The cannon of those days could not effectively sweep so wide a space with cross-fire, but the position of both these strong villages would make the intervening ground most adverse to his assailants. Thus Villeroy had occupied Franquenay and Taviers with five battalions, but not apparently with artillery. Against Taviers a little after 2.30 p.m. there marched four battalions of the Dutch guard, under General Wertmuller. Behind them to their right, opposite the cavalry gap, the solid masses of Dutch and Danish cavalry could be plainly seen.

Almost everything about the battle of Ramillies is clear, but none of the accounts explain how these four battalions managed so swiftly to storm the villages of Franquenay and Taviers, and expel the larger number of French troops from their houses and enclosures. An ancient map ^[96] throws light on this. This map was drawn for General Overkirk, probably under his personal directions, a year after the victory. It throws a sharp gleam of light upon this operation. The two cannon ^[97] were apparently brought forward in the very van of the Dutch attack. So unusual was the employment of artillery in those days in the front line, and so remarkable was the effect of these pieces, that a special reference in the explanatory table is devoted to them—a departure from the whole proportion of the map. Evidently these two cannon were attached to the Dutch Guards by orders of the supreme command, probably by Overkirk himself. Brought into action at close range, they smashed the houses and garden walls, and opened the way for the violent assault of these fine Dutch troops. By a quarter-past three, just about the time when the English attack on the other end of the line was preoccupying the French headquarters, the Allies gained both these extremely important villages, which should have guarded the French right flank, and, together with the Ramillies batteries, have swept and protected to a very large extent the gap of open plain in which the mass of the French cavalry were ranged.

The serious nature of this loss was instantly realized by the French command in this quarter. Two battalions of Swiss and fourteen squadrons of dragoons were ordered to retake Taviers. La Colonie’s Bavarian brigade, which had reached the battlefield south of Ramillies at about half-past two, was ordered to support them. The dragoons withdrew from the array of French cavalry in the plain, dismounted, and parked their horses about midway between Taviers and a wooded eminence called the Tomb of Ottomond. From this point they advanced on foot upon Taviers. The counter-attack upon Taviers, because of the urgent need to recover the place, was delivered before La Colonie’s brigade could reach the scene. It was repulsed by the Dutch, now firmly ensconced. But worse was to follow; for while the Swiss and the dismounted dragoons were falling back, a whirlwind of hostile cavalry broke upon them, and destroyed or routed them utterly. These were the Danes, who, supporting the success of the Dutch battalions, slipped in between Taviers and the French right, and, already reaching forward round the French right, exacted this cruel forfeit. The dismounted dragoons never saw their led-horses again. Thus, before the main cavalry shock occurred the French cavalry in the plain had been reduced from eighty-two to sixty-eight squadrons, while losing all security for their right.

At this point we must return to the Old Campaigner. The orders he had received “to reinforce the village of Taviers” drew his Bavarian brigade across the front of the Maison du Roi under long-range cannon fire to which he replied, ordering

La Colonie records two impressions—first, “that the enemy were moving troops from their right to their left: but it was impossible to define their intentions.” His second impression is not less significant:

Arrived near this point, the Old Campaigner became sharply conscious that a mishap had occurred. Not only had the troops originally sent to occupy Taviers been driven out of the village, but the Swiss and dragoons who had been thrown in to recapture it

With this small force behind the marshes the colonel maintained himself throughout the afternoon, and from this point had a fine view of the tremendous cavalry battle which was now about to begin.

The second act of the drama opened. Overkirk, with the Dutch cavalry and twenty-one Danish squadrons well forward on his left, advanced against the Maison du Roi and the mass of the French forces between Taviers and Ramillies. At the same time the infantry of Marlborough’s centre began to come into close contact with the Ramillies defences. The main fronts of both armies were now in action. Marlborough with his staff and retinue must at this time have been on the high ground before Offus and Ramillies. Indeed, he was practically opposite to Villeroy and the Elector, though somewhat farther south. But whereas Villeroy’s gaze, fascinated by the advance of the English, was turned to the northern flank, Marlborough was watching the cavalry struggle beginning in the contrary quarter. It is probable that he had no certain knowledge of what had happened in Taviers; but he could see plainly the surge and shock of Overkirk’s resolute advance, and that this was not impeded by any cross-fire. He saw the forty-eight Dutch squadrons crash into the Maison du Roi. Measuring and timing the forces now launched, he was entitled to the same assurance of success as he had felt before the final attack at Blenheim.

Forthwith he began the simple yet superb manœuvre to which the preliminaries had led—namely, the transference of all his cavalry to the left wing. He sent peremptory orders to Orkney to break off the attack on Offus and Autréglise and retire, and to withdraw the British to the high ground behind Foulz. Casting aside his veil of secrecy and deception, he exclaimed, “I have five horses to two.” Actually he now had the power to bring first four to three, and finally five to three;^[99] but it was enough. Leaving Cadogan to enforce Orkney’s withdrawal and to rearrange the right, he ordered eighteen squadrons from the cavalry of that wing to trot across the rear of his infantry attack on Ramillies to the support of Overkirk’s cavalry attack. He galloped on ahead of them with his personal staff. He arrived at a crisis. The Dutch, knee to knee in a solid mass, had charged the Maison du Roi. These splendid warriors, the pride of the French nobility, advanced in countercharge to meet their foes. Where their squadrons engaged front to front they conquered, but the Dutch, penetrating the intervals between the French squadrons, assailed them in flank and even in rear. In this mêlée the French cannon could not meddle; and the horsemen were free to fight it out alone. Nevertheless, such was the vigour of the French cavalry that they drove in the Dutch right, and were about to fall upon the left flank of the allied infantry now engaging upon the outskirts of Ramillies.

It was at this moment that Marlborough arrived with his handful of English officers and orderlies. The long column of eighteen squadrons was still traversing the front, and had not yet assembled. The Duke sent instant orders to bring from his right the whole remaining cavalry except the English, twenty-one squadrons more, and, riding himself with his personal attendants into the whirlpool, he rallied the nearest Dutch squadrons. Transported by the energy of his war vision and passion, he led them himself again to the charge. This lapse from the duty of a commander-in-chief nearly cost him his life, and might well have cost the Allies the war.

The mile and a half space between Ramillies and Taviers had now become the scene of the largest cavalry battle of which there is any trustworthy account. In all nearly twenty-five thousand horsemen were brought into collision hand to hand, charging and countercharging with varying fortune for two hours. If we can imagine seven or eight modern cavalry divisions fighting in close order on such narrow ground, we shall realize that it was densely thronged with solid masses of flesh and blood in every stage of symmetry or dissolution. Wave after wave of charging horsemen, each trooper seeking with his sharp sword to slay his foe, were hurled in mob violence one upon another. Here numbers told. Where nearly all did their duty bravely the last reserves prevailed. The finest troops of France and the pride of French society, all the military splendour of the Court and age of Louis XIV, met the onslaught of the stern, tough Dutch in a white heat of disciplined passion. But then came Marlborough, with his inspiration and new lines of formed squadrons crashing in; and on the Taviers flank the twenty-one Danish squadrons, lapping round till Taviers village was at their backs, outflanked and rode down all in their path. The fourteen squadrons of French dragoons who had been dismounted to help retake Taviers and had been repulsed therefrom sought in vain to regain their led horses near the Tomb of Ottomond. These had stampeded in the tumult and galloped riderless about the countryside, some even finding their old winter quarters twenty miles away. Their masters, running away on foot, fell victims to the swords of the Danes.

Still more waves of allied cavalry rolled upon the Maison du Roi as Marlborough’s orders to bring all the cavalry, except the English, from the right wing were obeyed. Twenty-one fresh squadrons fell upon the harassed, over-pressed chivalry of France. The odds against them were now five to three. In vain were their glorious golden banners, the royal emblems, the lilies of France, borne forward in sublime devotion. Nothing could withstand the hammer-blows of repeated and seemingly inexhaustible reinforcements. The whole of the French cavalry of the right wing was shattered by superior numbers of very good troops who attacked them in front, in flank, and at the end almost in rear, and thus set about them from all sides.

It is difficult in this grand confusion to settle what actually happened to Marlborough himself. That he regarded the struggle at this point as decisive for the whole battle, that he led two charges by the Dutch in succession, that he remained trying to dominate events within a few hundred yards of the left of his infantry attack upon Ramillies, and was in the cavalry mêlée for about twenty minutes, is indisputable. Upon details, as would be natural, all accounts conflict. But certain definite impressions emerge. Marlborough charged for the second time against the victorious left flank of the Maison du Roi at between a quarter and half-past three. The Dutch squadrons which he led or which he succoured were broken. There was a pell-mell to the rear. Amid these blue- and grey-coated troops ^[100] the scarlet uniforms of the Commander-in-Chief and his personal retinue were conspicuous. The French troopers recognized him; they fired their long pistols at him, and individuals breaking from the ranks rode at him and overthrew him. Or, again (a better account), he turned his horse with the crowd of fugitives and tried to jump a sunken pathway or ditch. His horse pecked, and he fell to the ground. He was ridden over by the throng. Napoleon’s historian, perhaps under direction, makes this point:

More grim versions are found in the letters of British officers, actors in and eye-witnesses of the drama. Colonel Cranstoun, usually an acid critic, wrote a week after the battle:

It is clear that Marlborough had to run in the scrimmage some considerable distance on his feet towards the friendly Swiss battalions. His devoted aides-de-camp were about him, thinking only of saving him. Captain Molesworth got off and gave him his horse—“we got the Duke mounted again.” He reached Major-General Murray’s battalions a few minutes later. Behind their bayonets he was able to resume the control of the battle—at least in the centre. He must have remained at this point for more than an hour. It was under the close and continuous fire of the French batteries in Ramillies; but it was well placed for watching both the end of the cavalry conflict and the infantry onslaught now about to break on that village. Marlborough’s staff, scattered in the fray, gradually rejoined him here. Presently his equerry, Colonel Bingfield,^[103] arrived with his second charger.^[104] The Duke changed horses. Bingfield was holding the off-side stirrup, and as Marlborough threw his leg over the saddle a cannon-ball cut off the faithful colonel’s head. Orkney, who was on the other flank and no eyewitness, but had the view of the senior officers, writing the next day, said:

This incident became popular not only in England but in Europe: we reproduce on the opposite page a playing-card of the time.^[106]

We must now return to the British on the right. Orkney’s attack upon Autréglise had made unexpected progress at the moment when Marlborough had ordered its recall. Ten or twelve British battalions, including the 1st Guards, had crossed the morass, and their first line had already broken into the houses and enclosures of the village. Lumley, with several English squadrons, made a show of covering their right. The French advanced large bodies of troops from their main line to resist the assault, but always retired as it advanced, with the purpose of drawing it into the open country where their overwhelming numbers of cavalry would be decisive. Fighting became severe. “Indeed,” wrote Orkney the next day, “I think I never had more shot about my ears—both musketry and cannon.”^[107]

It was at this moment, when the British were advancing in the highest confidence, that an aide-de-camp from the Duke brought an order to retire. Marlborough, in order to impart the more reality to this attack, had not informed his valiant lieutenant that it was a feint. Orkney thought that the order had been sent him in the belief that it was impossible to traverse the marsh, whereas he had in fact traversed it and was in full action. He therefore persisted. Messenger after messenger reached him in quick succession, but his blood was up and his vigorous infantry seemed to be driving all before them. Autréglise was in his grip. “But as I was going to take possession, I had ten aides-de-camp to me to come off.” Last of all came Cadogan himself. The two generals argued in the storm of shot. Orkney urged that the High Command did not know how good were the prospects. Cadogan explained that the Duke had gone to the left with all the cavalry of the right wing, and that there was no horse to sustain the British foot. It was, he said, impossible to attack everywhere at once. It took all this to recall the vehement assault once it had been launched. When Orkney at length obeyed, he had to make a similar exertion to force his troops to retire. Many of them, in spite of the victory, nursed the grievance for years. They would not believe that the orders had come from the Duke; Cadogan, they grumbled, had relied too much on maps and theory, and acted on his own responsibility and thus baulked them of their prey. However, the whole line was made to retire. Slowly and indignantly they withdrew, the Guards covering the harassed retreat. Once again they floundered through the marsh—re-formed and ascended the slopes of Foulz.

Then followed under Cadogan’s eye a manœuvre which we cannot doubt was part of Marlborough’s original design. When the two red lines reached the summit of the hill from which they had started, the original first line faced about and stood displayed upon the crest, while the second, which had not been engaged, descending into the dip in the rear, wheeled into column, and began marching towards the centre of the battle to form an additional reserve for the main attack on the Ramillies-Offus front.

Some writers have assigned to this transference of part of the British infantry from the right wing to the centre an importance which it does not deserve. It was a highly ingenious feature which would have played its part if the resistance of the enemy had been more obdurate. But events outstripped it. The decision of the cavalry struggle had already gained the day. The British infantry commanders, angry, eager to act, and excited, were for the most part only spectators, and not until the French in their front recoiled did their battalions join independently in the fighting.

The battle moved at such a pace that all the troops of both sides on the northern flank were left behind its headlong course. Marshal Villeroy and the Elector were still ardently awaiting the climax of the British assault upon the French left when grave news reached them from their right. The cavalry of the right wing had been broken; the Maison du Roi was defeated. Moreover, the flank was turned. Forthwith they spurred their horses from Offus along the main line of the army to the rear of Ramillies. They encountered a tide of fugitives, and were soon involved in the rout. Half an hour earlier they had been expecting the battle to begin. They now saw that it was lost beyond repair. They set themselves to form a new front bent back from Ramillies at right angles to their original line. At the same time they ordered a general retreat upon Judoigne. Ramillies was the pivot upon which all this turned. Here Count Maffei, a Bavarian general and the writer of valuable memoirs, commanded a strong brigade.^[108]

Marlborough’s central conception of the battle had been the storm of Ramillies by the mass of his infantry; and his feint with Orkney on the right, the capture of Taviers, and his onslaught with the whole of his cavalry on the left were but to be the preliminary and ancillary phases of this crowning result. In fact they had already decided it. The main infantry struggle had been growing in severity during the cavalry battle in the plain. Long lines of foot, backed by the whole reserves of the army, including now the British second line from the right, all aided by the fire of twenty heavy cannon and the bulk of the allied artillery, impended upon the enemy’s centre.

With the destruction of the French right wing and the flower of their cavalry the third phase of Ramillies began. A series of decisions was taken by Marlborough and Overkirk, evidently working in full comprehension and harmony. About five o’clock the immediate pursuit of the French horse was stopped, and the whole of the victorious cavalry was ordered to wheel to the right and form a line facing north, in order to attack and roll up the French army from their exposed flank. Just as at Blenheim, Marlborough delayed his final attack until Eugene could re-form and strike at the same time, so now the infantry advance on Ramillies was suspended or slowed down until the cavalry got into their new position.

We have no record of these orders. We only see them in execution. The allied infantry, who had begun their advance at about three o’clock, had little more than a mile to cover. Their leading brigades were on the outskirts of Ramillies by half-past three. Since then they had been in heavy action, attacking and counter-attacked. On the other hand, the allied cavalry, victorious at about five, did not resume their advance until they were completely formed upon the new front. This marked pause in the battle, in order to deliver a final blow in thorough combination, when Marlborough must already have felt assured of victory, gives us a measure of the way in which his mind worked on the battlefield. Neither the dazzle of success nor the ordeal of personal combat, neither the fall from his horse nor the breathlessness of his run, affected in the slightest degree his sense of proportion, or his perfect comprehension of the whole problem—at least from the moment when he was once again in his saddle. He had wrongly descended from his high station upon an immediate local need. He emerged from this violent personal experience, and instantly, as after the charge at Elixem, resumed his normal poise.

It was now six o’clock. Marlborough and Overkirk had re-formed the whole of the allied cavalry almost at right angles to their original attack. They stretched in overwhelming strength from behind Ramillies to the Tomb of Ottomond. Both generals must have been brilliantly served by their staffs and subordinate commanders; for the feat of wheeling the whole front of more than a hundred squadrons, disordered by fierce action and triumphant pursuit, although it flowed naturally from the course of the battle and the Danish turning movement, is remarkable in cavalry history. This grand array now began a second resolute and orderly advance. Villeroy and the Elector by their personal exertions had managed to form a new cavalry front facing south against them, composed partly of rallied squadrons from the plain, but mainly of the fifty fresh squadrons hitherto idle upon the French left. This new front rested upon the remnants of Maffei’s unlucky brigade, which now clung to the rear of Ramillies, also facing south, and manning a sunken road. Thus the French army was re-formed in a right angle, one side of which comprised the whole of their cavalry remaining on the field; and the other (from Ramillies to Autréglise) of their infantry. Behind this evidently shaken screen the Marshal hoped to withdraw his artillery and transport wagons and make a respectable retreat through Judoigne across the Dyle.

This picture was no sooner created than it was dissolved. The advance of the allied cavalry was not resisted. The fifty squadrons from the French left, appalled by the disaster to their comrades in the plain and to the whole army, would not face the coming charge. They turned their horses’ heads and melted from the field. Count Maffei at the angle or hinge of the position suffered the same shock as the Old Campaigner had sustained at the Schellenberg.

This he was compelled to do at the point of sword and pistol, and thereafter became prisoner of war. The hinge was broken.

And now the whole of the allied infantry, including several English battalions from Orkney’s command, crashed into the French line between Ramillies and Offus, and to the north of Offus. Lumley, with the British cavalry, hitherto inactive on the extreme right, at length got across the Geet, followed by Orkney, and, piercing the crumbling front, cut directly on to the line of the French retreat.

We have the definite record from numerous witnesses of that almost unknown feature in European warfare of that epoch, charges at the gallop. The King’s Dragoon Guards and the Royal Scots Greys compelled whole battalions to lay down their arms. The infantry Régiment du Roi, caught at the moment they were picking up the knapsacks they had discarded for the battle, were cut to pieces or captured almost to a man.

Now the whole French army broke and collapsed together. Their left drew off northward across country in fair order. Orkney relates how Lumley asked him to hurry on with his infantry, as the cavalry could not deal alone with that part of the French infantry which was unbroken. “If,” says Orkney, “I could only have got up in time we should have taken eight or nine battalions.” The main part of the French centre fled along the road to Judoigne, but this road was blocked by the transport of the army. The remaining troops, impeded by the obstacle, dispersed and scattered over the countryside, for the main part throwing away their arms to hasten their flight, which achieved itself by its rapidity. Another long stream fled panic-stricken westward towards Wavre. The Old Campaigner behind Taviers found himself completely cut off by the floods of allied cavalry which covered the plain as far as the Tomb of Ottomond, and were everywhere charging and pursuing the flying French. He was by no means at a loss. As the shadows fell upon the battlefield he marched off with his four battalions and many fugitives who accompanied him, or whom he had rescued from the swamp, in the opposite direction towards Namur, which he reached the next morning.

Thus, in the space of four hours, between three and seven o’clock, the entire magnificent French army was shattered and scattered into utter rout and ruin. All their baggage, their cannon, trophies innumerable, five thousand unwounded prisoners, fell to the victors. The pursuit for a considerable time was merciless, and thousands of flying men were denied all quarter and cut down. So rapid had been the transformation, and the day was already so far advanced, that darkness fell without the full realization of their victory coming home to the allied commanders. Nearly all the accounts of Ramillies written immediately after the battle give the impression that their writers only very imperfectly understood the completeness of their triumph. Under the burden of their long march to the battlefield, worn by the excitement of the day, baffled by the rapidity with which the French recoiled and ran before them, scattered and unlinked by the sudden collapse of the hostile front, they fell forward as through a suddenly opened door in very great disorganization. The orders and the urge of every one were to press forward into the night; and when each brigade or regiment halted they had only vague ideas of their own whereabouts, and still less of that of their friends and foes. “We might have been a defeated army,” says Orkney, “for the confusion we were in.” They had, in fact, fought a great battle and marched twenty-five miles across country in as many hours.

The pursuit roared away to the north. At midnight Marlborough and his headquarters staff, with a heavy column of cavalry, was near Meldert, more than twelve miles beyond the field of battle. He still wished to press on, but his guide was lost, and he was forced to a brief halt. He had been nineteen hours in the saddle. He was bruised and shaken by his fall, and worn by his physical exertions. He knew he had gained one of the greatest battles of history. His cloak was spread upon the ground, and he was about to throw himself upon it for a few hours’ sleep, when one more thought—eminently characteristic at this moment—occurred to him. Goslinga, the field Deputy, who might be either so great a help or hindrance in future operations, was at hand. Marlborough saw the opportunity of paying him the finest compliment that could be conceived. He invited him to share the cloak of the Commander-in-Chief on the night of victory. However, as the reader will learn, this pearl was cast in vain.

Unrelenting pursuit magnified the victory of Ramillies. No battle in the eighteenth century produced comparable direct results. The fortress-barrier was for a while shorn away like grass before the scythe. As Blenheim saved Vienna, so Ramillies conquered the Netherlands. Cities and towns, the masterpieces of Vauban, any one of which would have been the prize of a campaign of King William, capitulated on all sides. The rout and temporary destruction of the French field army led to a collapse so far-reaching and so unexpected that it dwarfed even the shock of battle. To measure rightly this prodigy we must recall the mile-by-mile methods of those days, the limited means of offence and movement, and the habits of thought engrained in military minds by a generation of this kind of war.

Before midnight of May 24 Orkney’s British and the leading brigades of Dutch infantry under General Churchill had orders to force the Dyle. The pontoon train and all available cannon were pressed forward along the crowded roads. The British cavalry were soon upon the head-streams of the river. As he knew he had captured all the French artillery on the field, Marlborough was sure he could not be withstood. In fact there was no resistance. By noon on the 25th his advance-guards appeared before the gates of Louvain. This stronghold, which he had longed to possess in the autumn of 1703 and in the summer of 1705, surrendered to the trumpet. At midnight after the battle Marshal Villeroy and the Elector had held haggard, dishevelled council by torchlight in the marketplace. Fugitives of high distinction, veteran leaders of so many years of strife, gathered as they rode in, stained and seared. Survivors of the Maison du Roi clustered about them. There was no difference of opinion among the generals. All were agreed that neither the Dyle nor even the Senne could be held. The French army could only be rallied behind the Scheldt—if there. In that direction all formed bodies of troops remaining were ordered to retreat with the utmost speed. Of the brilliant army of sixty-three thousand men which had set out so confidently in the morning to seek a decision of arms, barely fifteen thousand were under control. Twelve thousand had fallen killed or wounded in the clash. Nearly six thousand were prisoners of the Allies.^[110] The rest had dispersed to every quarter of the compass, seeking the gates of some friendly town. For more than a month no semblance of a French army could keep the field.

Marlborough could not know all this. Indeed, his standard of values, inculcated by so many years of war in this obstinate theatre, expanded itself only day by day. At first no one realized how overwhelming had been the victory, still less its reverberations. But the Duke thrust forward with every scrap of moral and physical energy he could extort from himself or from his soldiers. In this temper, but always with considerable precaution and always against the stubborn drag of supplies, he traversed Louvain on the 25th, and encamped on the heights of Bethlehem with above fifty thousand men. On the 26th his headquarters stood upon the Senne at the castle of Beaulieu, midway between Malines and Brussels. Both these places were summoned to surrender. On the 28th the army halted for two days, having since the 23rd advanced fifty miles. Detachments were sent forward to secure the crossings of the Dender and the Scheldt.

Intent upon these new gains, and especially of the capital, Marlborough had already forgotten Ramillies. The French cannon lay where they had been abandoned among the dead; and while the allied army rolled forward on its irresistible career the French command in Namur had the enterprise to send out teams of horses and drag them inside their ramparts. The heave of Marlborough’s advance and the exclusive intensity of his forward impulse cannot be better judged than from this curious lapse. This was no time to count or even collect spoils and trophies. The dominating military objectives lay ahead: to drive deep into the fortress zone and to keep the French from the sea flank; to isolate and perhaps soon besiege Antwerp; to strike at Ghent and Oudenarde on the Scheldt, were prizes which threw past triumph into twilight.

And now a political revolution in Belgium supervened. Spectators of the French disaster, confronted by the massive invasion of the allied army, dazzled by the sword of the Captain-General, not only the magistrates of Brussels and the Estates of Brabant, but the whole Spanish authority in the Netherlands deserted the cause of the Two Crowns and declared their allegiance to Charles III. The prolonged French occupation, with its insolences and exactions, not less than the fear of hostile armies, sustained the decision of the rulers with the ardent support of the entire population. In a trice the conquest of Belgium by the Allies became the act of its deliverance from the thraldom of Louis XIV.

Marlborough was not furnished with formal powers to deal with so surprising a transformation. There was no time to communicate with London or even The Hague. He therefore took everything upon himself. Keeping in close accord with Goslinga and the other Deputies, he received on the 27th at Beaulieu a joint delegation from the Brussels magistracy and the Estates. He accepted their change of allegiance. He guaranteed all religious and civil rights. He renewed the famous charter of “La Joyeuse Entrée”; and in an order to the allied army he threatened “death without mercy” to any officer or soldier found guilty of plundering or molesting the inhabitants. These measures were far-reaching, and not only the citizens but the whole countryside came over to the Allies. The Spanish garrisons in several fortresses turned the French out of the citadels, and held them for Charles III. Food and forage poured in from the farms in response to British and Dutch cash. French stragglers were caught and brought in by the peasantry. French detachments hurried to disentangle themselves from the hostile population, and overtake the general retreat. Meanwhile the Allies were able to draw troops from their garrisons. The Prussians, Lunebergers, and Hanoverians began to move forward from the Rhine, and Villeroy was justified in reporting that Marlborough was soon to be at the head of ninety thousand men. Early on the 28th Charles Churchill took possession of Brussels, and that evening Marlborough made his public entry into the city. The magistrates received him with the pomp of ancient ceremonial, and the populace welcomed him with hectic enthusiasm and every sign of gratitude. Flanked by his own garrisons in Brussels and Malines, he could now march forward to the Scheldt.

Villeroy and the Elector had hoped to halt near Ghent, behind the Lys and the Scheldt, whence they could cover Bruges and Ostend and thereby flank any allied movement on Antwerp. Up to this point, and especially while the French were under immediate shock of the battle, the pursuit had been direct. Now Marlborough moved across Villeroy’s communications with France.^[111] His impending passage of the Scheldt at Gavre threatened these to such an extent that Villeroy withdrew to Courtrai.

Marlborough’s letter to Sarah after the battle is a moving document. In its tenderness, its modesty, its reverence and composure, and in its thought for others, it reveals his natural glory. Amid the press of events and in extreme fatigue his chief thought was for Bingfield’s widow and mother.

There was a courier twice a week, and Marlborough’s letters tell the tale incomparably. On the 27th he wrote to Godolphin:

And to Heinsius, June 1: “Dendermonde is under water, but I am endeavouring to make the Governor propositions that may tempt him to declare for King Charles; for if we had that place, Ostend, and Audener [Oudenarde], all this country would be covered by those three places.”^[120]

The Duke could now write letters to the chiefs and princes of the Alliance, which followed hard upon the announcements he had made to them of the impending battle. His first, on the 24th, to the King of Prussia, contained both sting and appeal. “I profoundly regret that Your Majesty’s troops have not had a share in this glorious action; however, I will not despair yet of seeing them join the army. I am sure that not one of Your Majesty’s generals would take more care of them.”^[121] The Prussian Colonel Grumbkow was the bearer of this. Marlborough waited till next day, when he had passed the Dyle, to address the States-General: “It is with double joy,” he wrote, “that I give myself the honour of writing to their high and mighty Lordships this letter from Louvain.” . . . And then, looking back on his frustrated efforts in 1703 and 1705, he added, “où il y a longtemps que je souhaitais être pour le bien de la cause commune.”^[122]

Twelve of these letters reporting the victory are printed in the Dispatches. They were as important a part of his warfare as the military movements. They are in the main variants of one another. Cardonnel was a master of correspondence; but to the Emperor and ruling sovereigns the Duke wrote in his own hand, and the labour of scribing must alone have been severe. These personal letters from this extraordinary English general announcing his victories fortified the whole Alliance. To Eugene he sent a detailed account of the battle and its preliminary movements. He had marched on the Saturday “to seize the gap between the Mehaigne and the Great Geet.” His information was that the enemy did not mean to fight before Monday, “ne croyant pas que nous oserions aller à eux.” The armies were in presence before noon: both sides waited to range their lines of battle and to plant the batteries, which began to fire a little after midday, and at two o’clock

The account which he gave to the Margrave mentioned that “the Maison du Roi has been almost all cut to pieces,” and he added, “I am sure Your Highness will soon feel the advantages of our success by the detachments which will have to be drawn from the Rhine, and that will give you a chance of acting on your side.”

The return messengers from England brought a flood of congratulations. “I want words,” said the Queen,

She wrote again (May 21/June 2) a letter which gains from being printed in its original form:

St John and Harley vied with each other in their enthusiasm. Godolphin showed signs of the pressures to which he was constantly subjected. He wrote on May 17/28:

It was not until he woke on the morning of May 26 that Louis XIV learned that his finest army had suffered disaster in Flanders. No formal dispatch conveyed the details, but the courier from Louvain brought a short letter from Marshal Villeroy to Dangeau, the Court Chamberlain, telling him how bravely his son had fought, and that he would surely recover from the scalp wound he had received from a sabre. Thereafter there was a silence of six days. “I was at Versailles,” says Saint-Simon. “Never has one seen such anxiety and consternation. . . . In ignorance of what had happened and of the consequences of such an unfortunate battle, and amid every one’s fears for their kith and kin, the days seemed years.”^[129] The King was reduced to asking his courtiers what they had heard. At length, finding suspense intolerable, he astonished Versailles by sending Chamillart in person to Villeroy’s headquarters, thus leaving the Ministries of War and Finance headless. Chamillart reached Lille on the 31st, and found Villeroy, reinforced by Marsin, around Courtrai. He had retired successively from the Dyle, the Senne, the Dender, and the Scheldt; he had abandoned the whole of Spanish Flanders. He was content if he could hold the French fortress line along the Lys. Chamillart spent three days in long separate discussions with the Marshal and the Elector, and heard versions of the battle and the retreat from all quarters. He found Villeroy dominated by the sense of Marlborough’s power; but equally convinced of his own blamelessness, and, indeed, that he had saved the remnants of the army by his prolonged, rapid retreat.

French writers have blamed the Marshal for giving up so much territory, so many fine positions and important places. They overlook the alternative. This was to fight another battle. All Marlborough’s marches had shown that this was what he sought. Fortresses were not his primary aim. His quarry was the French army; and the French army could not face him. Its condition was such that if caught in grapple it would be utterly destroyed. Therefore Marshal Villeroy comforted himself in defeat with the fact that in giving ground he had taken no half-measures.

To the King he wrote with dignified assurance. Three main criticisms were focused upon him by his generals: first, that he had accepted battle without knowing the strength of the enemy, and without waiting for the troops of Marshal Marsin; secondly, that he had not reinforced his right and held the village of Taviers in superior strength; and, thirdly, that he had so marshalled his army that the battle had been lost without its main strength being engaged. To all these points the Marshal addressed himself pertinaciously, observing, however, that as a man of the world he knew well “that good reasons are no explanation for catastrophe.” He finished his lengthy justification, “I have said more than enough. I end by taking the liberty of telling Your Majesty that the only happy day which I foresee in my life will be that of my death.”^[130]

To this Chamillart, having returned to Versailles, replied in due course (June 16) with severely reasoned rebuttal. It was resolved to remove the Marshal from his command. The feelings of his army and even such public opinion as the French Court could nourish made this step imperative. But Villeroy was a personage of high consequence. He was a veteran general; he was a great gentleman. He was also the personal friend both of the King and of Mme de Maintenon. Napoleon’s maxim “Dur aux grands” had not been born. The King’s egotism, which now wore the guise of magnanimity, led him to treat Villeroy, who enjoyed the privilege of being in his inmost circle, with an extreme consideration. Elaborate procedures were accordingly used towards the defeated Marshal. He was offered alternative appointments, and for several weeks discreetly urged to resign. But when he continued as obstinate in holding his command as he had been in retreating from the enemy, patience was at length discarded. He was dismissed. Yet, even when forced to abrupt action, Louis practised the utmost politeness. “At our age,” he said to Villeroy when he received him, “we must no longer expect good fortune.”

The next measure was to re-create the field army. The resources of France seemed inexhaustible. Marlborough has given his own account of this process.

Thus, after making provision for garrisons, there was speedily built up the largest French army with which Marlborough had been confronted. In that hour only one man was deemed capable of leading it. The Duke of Vendôme was recalled from Italy.

The strategic pursuit had lasted nearly a fortnight, had cleared all Brabant and much of Flanders, and had rendered the French army for the time being wholly ineffective. The easy gains of panic now ceased. The French were withdrawing into the main fortress zone and towards France. Further advance by Marlborough, especially if any siege was involved, depended upon the waterways. The rivers were still blocked by the French possession of Antwerp and Dendermond. Their fortresses at Ostend and Nieuport controlled the entrance to the canals leading to the Lys and the Scheldt. Marlborough was compelled to suspend his advance in order to clear the communications. He could take whichever fortress he wished and no one could gainsay him, but every siege took time and strength, and it was soon plain that half a dozen captures would be the limit of the campaign in Flanders and Northern France. On June 5 the allied army crossed the Scheldt and the Lys and camped at Arsele, where it could cover any siege necessary to open the communications.

The joyous news here reached Marlborough that Antwerp had capitulated. Summoned by Cadogan, the Spanish grandee in command declared for Charles III. The burghers endorsed his action; the Spanish and Walloon regiments came over to the Allies, and the French troops marched out upon terms. The gaining of this great prize, with all its strategic and commercial attributes, without the firing of a shot was deemed a wonder. “The hand of God,” wrote Marlborough to the States-General, “appears visibly in all this, spreading such fear among the enemy as to compel them to surrender so many strong places and whole districts without the least resistance.”^[132] Leaving the army to wait for its artillery around Arsele, the Duke paid a flying visit to The Hague in order, as he wrote to Heinsius, “to settle with you what is proper for the descent, as also to let you know my thoughts for the plan of this campaign, which, with the blessing of God, I think may be such a one as may make France glad of a reasonable peace this winter.”^[133] He also wished to make arrangements for the administration of the conquered cities and territories, and above all to press that the Dutch garrisons should join the army forthwith and to the last man possible. This would enable him to pursue his advantage in Flanders, and at the same time to provide the necessary troops for the descent upon the French coast so dear to the hearts of the English Cabinet, and now regarded by Marlborough as a timely operation. All was agreed with the utmost cordiality.

On the way back to the army Marlborough passed through Antwerp. On the night of the 11th the keys of the city were presented to him by the authorities with the remark that “they had never been delivered up to any person since the great Duke of Parma, and that after a siege of twelve months.” He was greeted with enthusiasm by great crowds and escorted through the streets by all the notables in torchlight procession to the bishop’s palace, where he was “splendidly entertained.” On the 13th he rejoined the army, whose siege artillery was now drawing near.

Overkirk, deflected from Nieuport by the opening of the sluices at the mouth of the Yser, conducted the siege of Ostend. Admiral Fairborne blockaded the harbour with a squadron of battleships from the main fleet and small craft from the coast flotillas, including the bomb-ketches Blast and Salamander. The citizens of Ostend adhered to the French garrison, and for three days both the fortifications and town were subjected to a severe bombardment from land and sea until, according to contemporary accounts, “the place was near reduced to a heap of rubbish”—not for the last time in its history. On the second day, July 4, a Dutch battalion, preceded by a storming party of fifty British grenadiers, formed a lodgment upon the counterscarp, and after a vigorous sally by the besieged Ostend surrendered. The French garrison, undertaking not to serve for six months, marched out “without marks of honour,” and the Spaniards mostly joined the Allies. Two Bourbon men-of-war of seventy and fifty guns and a quantity of smaller shipping, together with many colours, ninety cannon, and much ammunition, were captured with the fortress, the casualties of the Allies being five hundred men. Ostend deprived the enemy of a hitherto useful port for their galleys and privateers; it gave Marlborough a base nearer to the army than the Dutch rivers, and it placed in his hands the chief port of entry for English cloth into the reopened markets of Belgium.

Blackadder, of the Cameronians—now a major—had fought with the British right against Autréglise. After Blenheim he had drawn the moral that the victory was due to the goodness of the cause, and the slaughter among the English to their blasphemous language. Now at Ramillies, while the victory which God had granted had been no less remarkable, the English troops had got off very lightly. Another explanation was readily supplied by the valiant major’s piety.

Meanwhile French soldierly admiration of Marlborough rivalled their fears. Upon a nation so responsive to chivalry, valour, and prestige the genius of the English leader exercised an abnormal fascination. His courtesy to the captured nobles, his humanity to the wounded, the care he took about the well-being of the humbler prisoners, find testimony in all contemporary records. It was noted that he allowed no distinction between the treatment of the French and allied wounded. The Duke always showed the utmost attention to his prisoners. “Marlborough treated his prisoners of mark,” writes Saint-Simon, “with an infinite politeness and set many of them at once at liberty for three months upon their parole.”^[138] He was most careful to shield the aristocracy of France from any reflection upon their courage. French historians of successive generations cherish and repeat his words of praise. They are probably not authentic, but this was the strain in which he spoke: of Villeroy’s army, “With thirty thousand men as brave as that I could go to the end of the world”; of the Maison du Roi, “These were more than men, and I knew them so well that I was forced to set six men against each one of them.”^[139] Thus we see to what perfection he carried the art of conquest, and while inflicting the most terrible injuries made the vanquished grateful for his praise. Thus he anticipated the modern Japanese field orders which enjoin that the valour of the defeated enemy must always be praised. Thus he created the hold upon the French mind which lasted for generations after English contemporary politicians and writers had done their worst.

Marlborough cannot be robbed of the laurels of Ramillies. The Schellenberg, his detractors said, had been won by the Margrave. Blenheim was the conception and achievement of Prince Eugene. But neither of these explanations covered the amazing event of May 23. Here the world saw Marlborough alone, without a council of war, achieving a military masterpiece seldom equalled and never surpassed. This was his victory and his alone. Ramillies belongs to that rare class of battles fought between equal forces of the highest quality wherein decisive success at comparatively small loss is gained through the manœuvres of a commander-in-chief. It will rank for ever with Rossbach and Austerlitz as an example of what a general can do with men.

The consequences of Ramillies rolled forward in every quarter. Louis XIV, responding to the event, stripped all other fronts to make head against Marlborough. The distresses and perils of Flanders dominated the enemy mind. The King of France was not incapable of taking the sweeping decisions required at intervals from the head of a mighty state assailed upon every side by a coalition. All his orders were obeyed. Indeed, if the French military power had not been so highly organized in the person of its ruler, France might have escaped the disaster which was to befall her in Italy. Marlborough, after all, was still only half-way through the fortress zone. More than twenty fortresses of the first order barred all the roads, rivers, and canals by which he could enter France. Every one of these would, if resolutely defended, count in the recognized schedule of weeks and days, of life, money, and gunpowder, before capture. The temporary dispersion of the French field army enabled them to receive ample garrisons. There is such a thing in war—it must be stated with all reserve—as over-precision of thought and action. Probably the King’s best plan was to take his punishment among the fortresses with phlegm, and to finish the war in Italy by defeating the Imperial army under Prince Eugene and destroying the Duke of Savoy. A less highly sensitive organism or an even more comprehensive mind might have taken this chance.

But Louis XIV felt in his own bosom the shock of Ramillies, the overthrow of his household troops, the slaughter or capture of his intimate courtiers, the stigma of rout upon the armies of France. Thus he devoted every effort to rebuilding his Flanders army. He drained the Rhine and the Moselle of French troops. He resigned his successes at Hagenau and on the Lauter, and all prospects of recapturing Landau. Here the Margrave, defeated, broken, and now dying in his half-finished palace and gardens at Rastadt, might remain unmolested at the head of the hungry, ragged, dispirited remnants of the Germanic armies. All the weight was taken off them. But in Italy, where final French victory was already in sight and where the allied cause seemed hopeless, an even greater submission to the battle was enforced. The whole flow of French reinforcements was stopped. Considerable forces were actually withdrawn, and Vendôme, who thought he had all the fruits of success in his hands, was ordered to the north. Thus did the victory of Ramillies prepare the rescue of Turin.

The effects upon the Allies were not less pronounced. Prussian loyalties returned to the allied cause, and the Prussian troops hitherto dawdling at Wesel had already marched to join Marlborough’s army. All the German princes were heartened to make at least a renewed gesture of putting their shoulders to the wheel. But there were other less favourable reactions. The Court at Vienna was confirmed in their mood that all the Empire had to do was to lean heavily upon these marvellous Sea Powers, to be prompt in asserting its judicial rights to any conquests they might make, and as a prime endeavour stamp out the Hungarian revolt. In Holland the evil went much farther. The victory, the revolution in the Spanish Netherlands and their reversion to the Allies, created a new European situation which hinged directly upon Marlborough. The reconquered lands and cities were by every principle of the Grand Alliance a province of the monarchy of Charles III. That prince, now planning a march upon Madrid, had left behind him in Vienna, on the chance, however remote, that the French would be driven out of the Low Countries, a series of blank commissions for their government. These were in the hands of his brother, the Emperor, who since correspondence with Spain was slow and irregular had plenary powers to act in the general Hapsburg interest. Besides this, Count Goes, the Imperial Ambassador at The Hague, had lawful authority to take possession in the name of Charles III of any territory or fortresses that might be recovered. The major part had now suddenly fallen into the hands of Marlborough’s army; and the Emperor and all his agents made haste to claim them.

On the other hand, the Dutch regarded Belgium as their longed-for Barrier, their indispensable dyke against France and Louis XIV. Here was their means of self-preservation, their prime objective of the war, as they saw it, in their grip. Moreover, Ramillies was to them above all a Dutch victory. Their native troops had borne the brunt. They had lost more blood than all the allied contingents together. It was the Dutch guards who had stormed Taviers against surprising odds. Dutch troopers had ridden down the Maison du Roi. The English had been but lightly engaged. The Prussians had stood aloof. The gallant Danes were the mercenaries jointly of the two Sea Powers. The Dutch acknowledged cordially that the battle had been won by the genius of an English Commander-in-Chief. But was he not also Deputy Captain-General of the Republic? Was he not their salaried officer? Had they not had the foresight to choose him and sustain him when the Queen of England would have set some ninny in his place? As the broadening tale of glory and of conquest flowed in to The Hague and Amsterdam, accompanied by lengthening lists of the Dutch killed and wounded, the States-General and every warlike element in Holland felt that the prize was theirs. There was, in fact, a renewal of the Limburg quarrel of 1703 ^[140] between the Dutch and the Empire on a scale magnified many-fold alike by the wonderful gains of the battle and the bitter weariness of the unending war.

From the first moment when the Dutch realized what had happened they were very rough with Count Goes. He produced his patent of administration, dated the previous October in case the Netherlands should be regained. He formally notified the States-General and demanded a conference. His demand was refused. Three interests, he was told, must be satisfied: first, the practical interest of making the Estates of Brabant support the maximum number of troops; secondly, the Dutch financial interest of collecting the Belgian revenue and distributing it later by agreement; and, only thirdly, the Spanish interest, as the interest of King Charles III was described. This, it was intimated, would consist of formal homage to his sovereignty pending a general treaty of peace. Thus the Dutch claimed the substance, and in so far as they conceded the form conceded it only for their own convenience. Indeed, they needed to invoke the symbols of the Hapsburg claimant to the Spanish throne; for it was to this alone that the Estates of Brabant had so suddenly sworn allegiance, and they knew well that no rule would be more disliked in Belgium than the rule of Holland. By the third week in June Hop, the Dutch Treasurer, was already there arranging the taxation. When Count Goes spoke of going to Brussels to protect the rights of Charles III he was warned in terms almost of menace not to inflame the Government of the Republic against his person.

In his distress Goes turned to Marlborough during the Duke’s brief visit to The Hague. He reported the conversation to Vienna in his dispatch dated June 8.^[141] The Duke said that he had found the secret Deputies of Holland so prejudiced against the Hapsburg claims that he had not felt able to assert them. Pending a general peace settlement, an interim military contribution must be agreed between the Estates of Brabant and Flanders and the Dutch authorities without reference to King Charles III. The Imperial Ambassador declared he would use his powers to the utmost against this. Marlborough, calmer than ever on the foam of success, counselled patience. “Wait,” he said; “I will concern myself with the interests of the King.” “But what am I to report?” asked Goes. “Write merely to the Emperor and the King of Spain,” replied Marlborough, “that the Netherlands are for his Catholic Majesty; that the Queen claims nothing in them, nor any part of the Spanish monarchy; that besides there are some claims she will not suffer the Republic to raise. And,” he continued, “this delay I am now demanding of you is only for the satisfaction of these people and for the great good of his Catholic Majesty himself, as I certainly imagine you could not in a dignified manner bring the Estates of Brabant and Flanders to do the things that will be asked of them, although those things are just, reasonable, and fair.”

The Ambassador became more composed. He asked Marlborough whether he still agreed with the view that France must be reduced to the frontiers of the Pyrenees treaty. Marlborough answered, “You must discuss this question with the Pensionary. After the campaign is over I will myself make efforts to secure unity upon it. I have hopes of success, particularly [he threw in this point of reproach] if peace should be made in Hungary. If this occurs I hope to engage the Republic in the reconquest of the whole Spanish Monarchy.”^[142]

This conversation reveals the simple, sober ruthlessness of Marlborough’s political aims. The allied armies had now advanced to the point where many important conquests seemed open. The Dutch always suspected that the British would try to keep Ostend and Nieuport for themselves, with all that followed them in trade and strategy. Marlborough, on the other hand, sought to overthrow the French domination of Europe by the sundering from France of the whole Spanish monarchy, of which the Hapsburgs were to be the custodians. He set an incidental value upon Dunkirk, that nest of privateers whose depredations were a curse to the revenue and a perpetual nuisance to Godolphin in Parliament; and he deemed it a substantial British interest that fortified harbours like Dunkirk, Rochefort, and Toulon should be permanently demilitarized. But, apart from this, England must covet nothing on the continent of Europe. Her reward would be in the success of the causes for which she fought, which would open the future to her in a manner not to be measured by territorial gains. “I see by yours,” he wrote to Godolphin (June 21), “that you do not expect any great advantages for England, when the treaty of peace is once begun. I ask your pardon on being of another opinion, for I think you may expect everything that is for the safety and good of England. I do not mean by that any places in this country, for I am persuaded that it is much more for her Majesty’s service and England not to be master of any towns in this country, since it would create a jealousy both at home and abroad. I know this should not be the language of a general, but I do it as a faithful subject.”^[143] It was also the language of a statesman.

It was natural, and soon became obvious, that the completeness of their local victory would make the Dutch more ready for peace and better able to obtain it. They were the vital factor in the English policy to break irretrievably the power of France, which Marlborough animated and executed, and at the same time they were the power most susceptible to proposals to start separate peace negotiations. While French armies contended on the frontiers, French diplomacy was at work in all the capitals. We have seen how narrowly they had failed at Berlin. But it was at The Hague that Louis XIV and his advisers always felt their best chance lay. The Dutch fought against misfortune with unconquerable stubbornness and vigour. But in success they fought only for their definite, limited purpose. All this extension of the war to Bavaria, Spain, and Italy, and across the oceans, they regarded as markedly subordinate to their clear-cut, practical aim—the Dyke, the Barrier, behind which lay their safety, freedom, Protestantism, and trade.

Far gone were the days of 1702, when their army crouched under the ramparts of Nimwegen, and when this new English commander, whom, to bind the English to their cause and keep out more overweening servants, they had made their Deputy Captain-General, had invited them to take the offensive, sword in hand. The Meuse was clear to the gates of Namur. The whole course of the Rhine, and all its strongholds, were in allied hands. Brussels had fallen. Antwerp, the greatest prize of all, for which the utmost sacrifices might well have been made, had surrendered without a siege. Bruges, Ghent, Oudenarde, Ostend, even Tournai and Mons, were already theirs or were within their grasp, and Nieuport, Ypres, Menin, Ath, might well be gained. Behind these bristled the fortresses of the French frontier—Dunkirk, Aire, Saint-Venant, Lille, Valenciennes, Douai, Bouchain, Maubeuge, and Philippeville. But were these trophies essential to the preservation of the Republic? They wanted to humble the power of France. Surely it was humbled already. Were not the great King’s envoys busy through half a dozen channels with proposals for a separate peace, based primarily and without question upon a good Barrier for Holland? And what of England? Her schemes ranged far. While with one hand she animated and led the armies of Europe to the invasion of France, with the other she calmly took possession of trade, of the oceans, and of the fabulous regions that lay beyond. How far should Dutchmen be drawn by this island incantation? If Marlborough wielded a glorious sword, did he not also wave a magician’s wand? They might be grateful; they must not be bewitched.

The majestic events of history and the homely incidents of daily life alike show how vainly man strives to control his fate. Even his greatest neglects or failures may bring him good. Even his greatest achievements may work him ill. If Marlborough had merely won the battle of Ramillies, taken Louvain, and perhaps entered Brussels, the campaign of 1706 might have carried the allied cause to victory in 1707. But he now began to experience a whole series of new resistances and withholdings from the Dutch, as well as their grabbings and graspings, all of which were destined to bring the fortunes of the Allies once again to the lowest ebb.

These hindrances continued throughout the campaign. “It is publicly said at The Hague,” wrote Marlborough to Godolphin (August 30),

In those days, when to our minds news travelled slowly, grave decisions of State were often taken with promptitude, few having to be consulted. In the middle of June the Emperor filled in and signed one of the blank commissions which his brother sovereign had confided to him. He appointed the Duke of Marlborough Viceroy of the Netherlands. In the instructions to Goes the Court of Vienna gave their reasons. Marlborough would be acceptable to the Belgians. His appointment would bind the English more closely to the interests of the Empire. His prestige both in England and Holland would alone preserve the Netherlands intact for Charles III. He controlled “the heart of the war,” and would, they thought, also control the peace negotiations. On its merits this was a fine stroke of policy. It offered far the most agreeable arrangement to the Belgians, and safeguarded in the highest degree possible Hapsburg interests. Who else but Marlborough had a chance of persuading the Dutch? The courier bearing this important news reached Marlborough’s headquarters on June 28. The proposal confronted him with one of the testing decisions of his life. It was no doubt the best military and political arrangement conceivable. Combining the command of the army with a virtual sovereignty in the theatre of war, his control would for the first time be perfect. It would, if adopted, adjourn the rending question within the Alliance till peace was gained. It invested him with almost royal status, and offered him a revenue of sixty thousand pounds a year.

From every point of view, personal and public, British and European, it met all needs. There is no doubt that Marlborough greatly desired to accept it. Goslinga insinuates that he had himself applied for the post to Charles III. He suggests that Count Lecheraine, who was in almost continuous movement between Düsseldorf, Barcelona, and Vienna, had borne the request from the victorious Duke to the struggling King of Spain. There is not the slightest evidence that Marlborough made any such request to Charles III. There is no question but that the offer originated spontaneously in Vienna, and a mere comparison of dates and distances shows that it was utterly impossible for Charles III at Barcelona to have corresponded with his brother in the time. But even if it were true that Marlborough had asked the King for the appointment it would only make his conduct on receiving the offer from the Emperor more to be respected. Nothing in his whole career shows in more striking fashion how far he could rise on great occasions above all those private advantages which in the ordinary swing of life he counted so carefully. Here was the greatest prize ever within his reach. Moreover, it was the best arrangement. Let us see how it weighed with him in comparison with what was now already a hackneyed phrase, but none the less to him a grand reality—the common cause.

It happened that the Dutch Treasurer was in his camp at Rousselaer almost immediately after the Emperor’s letter had been received. The Duke laid it before him. Hop said at once that it would raise ill-humour in Holland. The States-General would say that the Emperor wished to make use of Marlborough and the Queen of England to keep the wealth of Belgium out of the hands of the Dutch. This only confirmed Marlborough’s own opinion. He saw that his acceptance of this great and lucrative office might deeply injure the Allies. If that were so he would have none of it.

Every one consulted in England was delighted. Not only Godolphin but the Whig leaders, Somers and Sunderland, whom he apprised, accepted the proposal cordially. England would have Belgium in her hands. What could be better, whether for the war or for the peace? The Queen, still under the impression of Ramillies, was entirely content that Mr Freeman should have this great honour which he had won with his sword. She was glad when her Ministers moved her to authorize him to decide the matter as he thought fit.

Meanwhile Count Goes brought the dispatches he had received from the Emperor to the notice of the Dutch authorities. Certainly Goes, smarting under his rough usage from the Dutch, took the worst way. Instead of submitting the documents to the Pensionary in due routine, he handed them, as we may suppose with some air of triumph, to the President of the States-General for the week. The letters of the Emperor were read out to the Assembly. There was general astonishment. The Pensionary, assailed by a storm of questions, was completely unprepared. The Dutch view was overwhelmingly expressed that the Emperor had no right to dispose of the government of Belgium without previous consultation with the Republic, whose Barrier it must be. Pensionary Heinsius quitted the stormy meeting, indignant at having been thus inconsiderately exposed. He fell upon Count Goes, and reproached him vehemently with not having warned him beforehand. “He was more beside himself,” reported Goes, “than I have ever seen him, though I have had frequent opportunities of observing him.”^[153]] The Ambassador then quoted the terms of Marlborough’s letter; but this merely asked him “to inform Messieurs les États,” and certainly had never prescribed the omission of Heinsius, or any departure from the usual custom. Heinsius addressed himself by letter to Marlborough. He complained of the proposal; he complained of the procedure. Marlborough replied in terms of the utmost goodwill. He would on no account allow any question of his personal interest to impair the unity of the Alliance. Never was disinterested renunciation more forthcoming or more complete. But his own letters had better be read.

Marlborough hoped that his renunciation of great advantages would give him all the more influence in inducing the Dutch to abate their own ambitions. In a formal letter to Heinsius, after repeating his refusal of the Emperor’s offer, he opened this argument.

Thus we see this man, described by so many historians as the most self-seeking and avaricious of his generation, rejecting without apparent mental hesitation a personal advantage of the greatest magnitude. It came to him as the fruit of his victory. He longed to have it. The Emperor wished it. The English Government warmly approved. The plan was good in itself. There was no obstacle but the Dutch. But if the Dutch disagreed, if the structure of the Alliance were thereby endangered, Marlborough was ready at once to discard the whole scheme.

He was also ready to make another personal sacrifice. His intense military exertions after Ramillies were accompanied by a remarkable diplomatic intrigue equally designed to exploit the victory. We have seen the elaborate procedure which Marlborough had observed towards Max Emmanuel about his boar-hunting proclivities in the autumn of 1705. While he could not meet his wishes, he sought by every means to establish a personal and friendly contact with the Prince who seemed marked on every occasion to be the nearest victim of his sword. On the morrow of Ramillies came a new occasion. A Dutch courier had been captured by the Elector’s cavalry with letters from the field Deputies to Marlborough. The Elector was at pains to forward the letters unopened to Marlborough with studied compliments. Marlborough replied from Nivelle on June 4, 1706:

Hot-foot amid the marches of the army, and the surprising fall of fortresses, Marlborough appointed an agent, one Sersanders, a distinguished Belgian functionary, to visit the Elector. There was a secret interview at Mons on August 3. Sersanders urged Max Emmanuel to desert the cause of France. He cited the example of the Duke of Savoy. In Marlborough’s name he offered the fugitive Elector the full restoration of his hereditary Bavarian lands. He held out the hopes that these might be stretched across the Brenner Pass to include the Milanese. Lastly, to clinch the matter and to prove Marlborough’s sincerity, Sersanders was authorized to throw in the principality of Mindelheim which Marlborough had gained at Blenheim and by laborious negotiations with the Emperor. It was the trophy which had most tempted his vanity. But now in a larger grouping of ideas it might play a different part. Sersanders in Marlborough’s name offered the Elector “all his Bavarian estates without any exception, not even that of the principality of Mindelheim.”^[161]

It will now be seen how important it had been for Marlborough to learn d’Alègre’s terms of the previous year. Those that he now outlined were their complete reverse. Max Emmanuel, instead of being forced to exchange Bavaria for an Italian kingdom, was to be restored to Munich, Ulm, the Danube, Donauwörth, Ingolstadt, and his own people. More than that, he might aspire to the Milanese, which he had tried vainly to invade before Blenheim. All the original ambitions which had induced this prince so traitorously to abandon the Empire were to be achieved at the price of a counter-desertion. If ever there was a bribe it was here. But one item remained: the four key-fortresses which Marlborough could not see his way to conquer within the limits of the campaign—namely, Namur, Mons, Charleroi, and Luxembourg—at this moment garrisoned by the Elector’s troops, were to be surrendered to the armies of the Sea Powers.

Max Emmanuel, at first staggered, was captivated by this plan. We have seen the long suspicion with which he had been regarded by the French Court. To no one did the Great King in chivalrous honour owe a greater service than to this luckless, hunted exile, who had sullied and ruined himself for his faith in the arms of France. Of no one was the King less sure. He saw the temptation and he knew the man. What followed casts a cold light upon the temper of Versailles. It happened that the French also had a secret agent in the Elector’s camp. Rouillé, a former ambassador of France and President of the Parliament of Paris, was at Mons when Sersanders arrived. The Elector did not conceal from him the proposals he had received. Rouillé reported the whole matter to Versailles. The campaign was in full swing. The tide of Marlborough’s conquests was at its height. Here were the four vital fortresses, by which alone the soil of France could be defended, about to be betrayed. The counsellors who gathered around Louis XIV and Madame de Maintenon, and the princes of the blood so far as they were informed, were neither shocked nor indignant. They faced the reality. They at once sought to broaden the negotiations. Vendôme, as well as Rouillé, was in the camp. Together they framed the counter-proposals of a general peace and sent them through Sersanders to Marlborough.^[162]

These proposals mark a shrinkage of French claims induced by the military situation. Not only the Spanish monarchy, but Spain itself, was to be partitioned between Philip V and Charles III. The choice of which part each should have was offered to the Allies, provided that, whatever happened, Philip V had the province of Guipúzcoa and Charles III the sovereignty of the Spanish Netherlands. As for Max Emmanuel, not only would he be restored to Bavaria with some additions at German expense, but he for his life and his son after him should be entrusted with the government of the Netherlands, as a vassal or servant of Charles III, with whom he was at the moment at war, and of whose house he had long been a deadly foe.

It is not difficult to see how this fantastic plan struck Marlborough. The partition of Spain would have been violently rejected in England. The proposal about the Viceroyalty of Belgium was inherently absurd, and finally closed any prospect which might still remain to Marlborough. Above all, he was not to have the four fortresses. This supreme immediate military objective was at all costs denied him. He therefore ruptured the negotiations. He left the French counter-proposals unanswered. He bent again to his sieges. The French, taking no avoidable risks, replaced all Max Emmanuel’s Spanish garrisons with their own troops, and the campaign was ended only by the winter.

During the autumn both the Anglo-Dutch bargainings about the Barrier and the Succession Treaty and the French overtures for peace continued fitfully. Early in October the Dutch “preliminaries” after long debatings with Halifax were drawn up and dispatched to England. They included the whole of the Spanish Empire for the Hapsburgs except for an extensive Dutch barrier. Godolphin approved the Dutch “preliminaries” as they stood; and Marlborough was able on November 19 to inform the Elector of Bavaria, with whom he still remained in contact, that Queen Anne was willing to enter into peace negotiations with Louis XIV. It would be a mistake to suppose, however, that the Barrier-Succession Treaty was so far settled between the Sea Powers as to make it possible for them to address the French unitedly upon a general peace at this time. The inter-allied negotiations never, in fact, got far enough for any formal discussion with the other side. The draft terms which the Allies were arranging with each other were incomparably more severe than anything France was at that time prepared to concede. Marlborough, no longer attracted by the four fortresses and by the hopes of detaching Max Emmanuel from France, was now implacably adverse. “You must give me leave,” he wrote to Slingelandt, Overkirk’s future successor in command of the Dutch (October 10, 1706), “to tell you that I am one of those who believe that France is not yet reduced to her just bounds, and that nothing can be more hurtful to us on this occasion than seeming overforward to clap up a hasty peace.”^[163] The English refusal of the Dutch demand for Ostend as a “barrier-fortress” caused another deadlock. The Sea Powers found themselves unable to agree with one another upon the foundations, and never even reached a point at which they could try to come to an agreement with the enemy. As soon as the French Government realized that there was no chance of dividing the Maritime Powers they in their turn abandoned all hope of fruitful negotiation in 1706.

Fate with sardonic smile ordained that the most brilliant victory gained by Marlborough for the Dutch Republic should raise new hindrances to his action in their name; and that his most generous of personal sacrifices should leave behind it in Dutch hearts only embarrassing suspicions. From the day on which the Emperor offered him the Viceroyalty of the Netherlands a sense of divergent interest arose inevitably and irresistibly between the Dutch leaders and their Deputy Captain-General. Henceforward, whatever Marlborough might declare, they could not help believing, first, that he owed them a grudge for having been the obstacle, and, secondly, that he still hoped to obtain the prize. Henceforth they must regard him as an interested supporter of Hapsburg and Imperial claims rather than of their own. It is no reproach to Marlborough that persisting elements of truth underlay the Dutch misgivings. His conduct had been spontaneous, high-minded, and scrupulously correct. He bore no grudges; he pursued no conscious designs. But of course he was gratified by the offers of the Emperor and of Charles III, and hoped, indeed, that a day might come when without prejudice to the common cause he might accept and enjoy them. How far in the deep springs of human action this fact influenced his policy and counsel no one can measure; but certainly in every negotiation about the Barrier, in every overture for peace with France—nay, almost in every march of the Confederate army—Dutch opinion sought to trace a prevailing and personal motive; and from this cause his influence throughout Holland suffered a partial but none the less profound and incurable decline.

Ramillies, with its prelude and its sequel, was the most glorious episode in Marlborough’s life. Whether as the victorious commander, the sagacious Minister, or the disinterested servant of the allied cause, his personal conduct was noble. Before the battle he had sacrificed as he believed his prospects of a fine campaign in the Low Countries for the sake of the armies in other theatres, and especially for Prince Eugene. He had gained a great battle by consummate art. He had used the military pursuit and the political consequences to such deadly profit as to drive the French out of the Netherlands. After the victory he had handsomely renounced his own interests in order to preserve the harmony of the Alliance. To procure from Max Emmanuel the four French key-fortresses he had not hesitated to throw his own principality of Mindelheim into the scale. How vain are those writers in so many lands who suppose that the great minds of the world in their supreme activities are twisted or swayed by sordid or even personal aims. These, indeed, may clog their footsteps along the miry road of life; but soaring on the wings of victory all fall away. It is Marlborough’s true glory that the higher his fortune, the higher rose his virtue. We must at a later stage present the reader with some contrasts, and show how Marlborough’s conduct contracted with his power. But in 1706 he shines as genius and hero, wise, valiant, and stainless, striving only for the best for England and the best for all.

The relief of Barcelona, the quitting of Spanish soil by Philip V, the effective possession by the Allies of Aragon, Catalonia, and Valencia, and the fact that there was no longer any force to oppose an invasion from Portugal—all in combination offered to Charles III his fairest opportunity in Spain. The need for an immediate march on Madrid from all sides—Galway from Portugal, Peterborough from Valencia, and above all the King himself from Catalonia—blazed before every eye.^[164] In congratulating Peterborough upon his relief of the city Marlborough pointed out in his most persuasive manner the next step:

These brilliant prospects were swiftly wrecked by personal jealousies. To escape from Peterborough’s malicious control King Charles III, with the troops from Barcelona, first delayed on petty pretexts, and eventually made a long, needless circuit through Aragon. Peterborough, obsessed by his feud with “the Vienna crew,” left all his forces dispersed throughout Valencia, and when eventually imperative orders forced him to march to a junction with King Charles, he set out with only a few hundred dragoons. Galway, with the main army, nearly nineteen thousand strong—chiefly Portuguese—had, as soon as Tessé withdrew, advanced into Spain from the west. The Portuguese commander, Das Minas, preferred sieges and pillage to marches or battle. Precious time was lost in the capture of Alcantara and Ciudad Rodrigo; but Marshal Berwick, sent in haste to the scene from the Cevennes, and outnumbered two to one, could at first do no more than observe, and fall back before, the invaders. The sloth of Das Minas so angered Galway and his English officers that extreme measures were used with King Peter. Methuen, the ambassador, told him plainly that, unless the Portuguese forces marched forthwith upon Madrid, all the British and allied troops would be withdrawn from Portugal, carried round by sea, and thrust in from the opposite side of the Peninsula.

It may be that this was the best plan. The main advance would have been through friendly regions, leaving Castilian pride unaffronted by the sight of hereditary Portuguese foes. However, King Peter, who was failing fast, submitted to the threat. Imperative orders were sent to Das Minas, and Galway plodded steadfastly forward upon his long, remarkable march. Berwick, with less than eight thousand men, retreated before him to Madrid. Here he was joined by Philip V and reinforcements from Valencia which raised his army to fourteen thousand men. By the end of June he was equal in numbers and superior in quality to Galway, whose strength had wasted during his advance. Berwick, with his cool, adept professionalism, rejected the temptation of fighting a battle for the capital. He had also to consider Charles III approaching from Aragon, and Peterborough, who, for all he knew, might bring nearly six thousand English from Valencia. He therefore abandoned Madrid, and, accompanied by Philip, retired to Burgos. On June 27 Galway entered Madrid, and proclaimed Charles III King of all Spain and the Indies. But the capital was deserted, and its Hapsburg monarch still tarried at Barcelona.

At Burgos Berwick was joined by almost all the Castilian nobility. At the same time the population of the two Castiles, of Leon and Estremadura, rose against the insult of a Portuguese invasion. In every town and village of western and central Spain levies and guerrilla bands sprang to arms. All Galway’s communications with Portugal were obliterated by a veritable tide of popular uprising. By the middle of July General Légal from France joined Berwick with eleven thousand men. Although the gathering of the fruits might be delayed, the Marshal was henceforward master of the situation. Once again the fortunes of this sporadic war had been reversed. Galway could do no more than wait for a while in or near Madrid imploring King Charles and Peterborough to join him. The three leaders eventually met on August 6 at Guadalajara, thirty-five miles north-east of Madrid. But where were their armies? The King had barely five thousand men, instead of eight thousand expected. Peterborough arrived with a paltry four hundred horse, and Galway’s own army after garrisoning Madrid was reduced to little more than ten thousand. The rejoicings of a friendly population, the assemblage of so many notable personages, could not veil the fact that the great opportunity was already lost. If further proof were needed it was to be speedily supplied. On the very day of the allied junction at Guadalajara a detachment from Berwick’s army re-entered Madrid.

The allied commanders for a while nursed the belief that united they were stronger than Berwick. Gradually it became apparent that he had twenty-five thousand men, while they had but fifteen thousand. Unless the Allies were anxious for battle at these odds, there was no choice but retreat, and in the only direction open. To Valencia therefore the leaders made their way; and Charles and his Court wintered there. It seems strange that Berwick did not force a battle or at least pursue with vigour. Doubtless he had soldierly reasons. Perhaps the shadow of Ramillies falling upon this minor theatre forbade the hazard of the only success gained by France in 1706.

Peterborough did not share the asperities of the retreat. He saw with selfish intuition that the sunshine days in Spain were gone. Characteristically he had thrown the blame on Charles for the delayed junction of the allied forces. To Sarah he had given the following version:

Upon his arrival at Guadalajara he proposed to the council of war that he should go on a mission to the Duke of Savoy. Some echo of authority for this was derived from his original instructions. Time and events had made these instructions so obsolete that Godolphin describes his use of them as a “pretension.” Indeed, the Treasurer, who was shrewdly informed, had other suspicions. “I don’t find,” he wrote to Marlborough (September 30/October 11),

If the careful Lord Treasurer had also known the moneys which Peterborough was to borrow for the public from the Jews of Genoa and their rate of interest, he would have felt that his own attention should also be engaged.

Peterborough’s proposal to quit the Headquarters was received with such ill-concealed feelings of joy from all his colleagues that the matter was decided in a single day. “The whole council,” wrote Godolphin, “agreed to it, by which we may conclude they were as well content to be rid of him as he was to go.”^[168] We need not follow the romantic and dangerous adventures of Peterborough’s journey. How he was robbed by brigands of his enormous baggage, with its abundance of delicate provisions; how he gave the law to the towns through which he passed; how he beguiled the path of duty with the exploits of gallantry; how he sailed on a frigate commanded by his second son, who fought a stiff action with a French squadron; and how he eventually reached Genoa and the Duke of Savoy, are not necessary to our tale.

We may now observe the repercussion of these events as after long delays they reached Whitehall and the allied Headquarters in Flanders. Marlborough learned through many channels of the evil turn in Spain. All the quarrelling chiefs laid their cases before him. At first he seemed to accept Peterborough’s versions, and certainly Peterborough sought by every means to hold his approval.

Marlborough was already well informed of the state of Peterborough’s relations with the King. Upon a suggestion, which came to nothing, that troops should be sent from Spain to the relief of Turin, he wrote to Godolphin (June 18, 1706):

Godolphin, while increasingly distressed by all he heard from Spain, was for a while uncertain as to where the blame lay. Lord Peterborough’s letter, he wrote (July 18),

And the next day: “. . . Vanity and passion are capable of carrying people who have no principle to do strange things.” The Cabinet were by now unanimous that Galway should assume the supreme command. “I think this is right for the service,” wrote Godolphin, “but how it may make him [Peterborough] fly out, I cannot answer.” Marlborough on August 5 concurred. “The Cabinet Council are certainly in the right in advising the Queen to give the command to Lord Galway.”

Towards the end of August Godolphin’s judgment had turned finally against Peterborough. He wrote to Marlborough (August 13/24):

Peterborough, however, continued to write to Sarah in his sprightly style, to which she was by no means insensible.

Marlborough’s comment upon Sarah’s correspondence with Peterborough was withering.

As the summer advanced the London Cabinet became deeply concerned to reinforce the armies in Spain. Charles III, Galway, and all their agents vied with one another in appeals for troops. Where could they be found? At the beginning of August all the preparations for the “descent” were complete.^[180] Lord Rivers and Guiscard, at the head of 8200 men, convoyed and carried by Sir Cloudesley Shovell with a strong squadron, sailed on August 10 for the Charente. All were forced back by a gale on the 14th into Torbay. There had been lively discussion in secret circles whether the Spanish theatre was not a more promising and, indeed, more necessary alternative. When the whole expedition was thrown back upon the English coast the debate renewed itself with vigour. Guiscard was searchingly re-examined upon the prospects of a local rising. Naturally he could not give precise guarantees of the effect which such a landing would produce. Only the attempt could prove the facts. The Cabinet, therefore, resolved to divert the ships and troops to the Peninsula. On October 1-12 they sailed for Lisbon, upon what ultimately proved a melancholy errand. Marlborough, though he submitted with good grace, was deeply disappointed. Guiscard, his dream of playing a great part in the war destroyed, seems to have been thrown completely off his balance, and drummed his heels in the antechambers of Whitehall, corroded with bitterness. To the public in England and Holland the great event in Spain had been the entry of King Charles into Madrid; and it was not until late in the year that this favourable impression faded. Meanwhile a new triumph in another quarter had cheered the whole Alliance.

The Relief of Turin

Louis XIV and his circle at Versailles had harboured solid hopes of the Italian campaign. The Duke of Vendôme there commanded 150 battalions and 180 squadrons. If Saint-Simon’s account of the filthy habits and arrogant manners of Vendôme is well founded, the Marshal must have also possessed extraordinary personal force and military qualities to have been so long employed as the first soldier of France. The blood of Henry IV, which flowed through a bastard channel in his veins, gave him a sure position at the Court; but no one reading the successes and shortcomings of his many campaigns can doubt that he was a man recognizably built upon a larger scale than the common run. His victory at Calcinato had driven the Imperialists round the corner of Lake Garda, across the Mincio, and into the foothills at the mouth of the Brenner Pass. The King had prescribed an early offensive, well knowing how tardy were the Imperialist preparations, and the approach of the German reinforcements which Marlborough had laboured so long to set in motion. Once this success and the delay resulting from it had been gained, the King’s directions were precise. The French troops in Italy should form two equal armies, one under Marshal La Feuillade to besiege Turin, and the other under Vendôme, who was also commander-in-chief, to cover the siege and the French conquests by holding the Adige both in Lombardy and Piedmont. Here was the most forward line that could be chosen. Behind it the Mincio, the Po, and a succession of streams from the Alps lay between Turin and all relief. The best of all protective positions is one where the covering army is close enough to the besieging troops for easy transference of forces from one front to the other. The distance of over two hundred miles from the Adige to Turin threw the two French armies out of joint. On the other hand, Eugene would have to make his long journey across an almost indefinite series of obstacles.

That prince had reached and rallied the Imperialist army on the morrow of Calcinato: “I succeeded so well,” he wrote, “that the same day the greater part was reassembled in a few hours.”^[181] He had confronted Vendôme at Limone in such a posture that, although the Marshal was twice as strong, he did not attack. Eugene withdrew at his own discretion and sheltered in the mountains until he could restore his army. While he awaited his reinforcements Vendôme and his generals fortified the eighty-mile course of the Adige from Verona to the Adriatic. The defences which the French built were remarkable in strength and extent; but reinforcements of very good troops were approaching Prince Eugene. His field strength on May 12 amounted to twenty-nine thousand men, including five thousand Prussians, and there were marching down to him over twenty-one thousand drafts and accretions, including seven thousand five hundred Palatines and Saxe-Gothas, the whole constituting a compact army of fifty thousand men, of which nine thousand were cavalry.^[182]

In this somewhat tense situation Vendôme received the King’s orders to take the command against Marlborough. He was asked by Chamillart his opinion upon Marshal Marsin as his successor. “Marsin,” he wrote,

He added the next day a strong recommendation that Marsin, if he were sent, should be sustained by a prince of the blood. “In Italy a name is required even more than in any other land, for the Italian princes are far from having the same respect for a marshal of France as for a prince. . . . The loss of Italy would involve the loss of everything, and therefore it is impossible to be too careful.”^[184] This advice, implying as it did that Vendôme himself possessed both the iron will and the princely quality which were indispensable, was well received by Louis XIV. He appointed his nephew Philip, Duke of Orleans, to the Italian command, with Marsin as his coadjutor. Vendôme was in full accord with their general instructions to prevent Prince Eugene from crossing the Adige while the siege of Turin proceeded. Highly pleased, he wrote:

It was agreed that he should not quit the Italian command until the Duke of Orleans and Marshal Marsin arrived, and he could explain the position to them.

The siege of Turin began before May 15 ^[186] as prescribed from Versailles. Duke Victor Amadeus, with the remnants of his faithful Savoyard army, sustained by a loyal population, was aided by a modest Imperial force under General Daun. The French round the greater part of Turin built lines of circum- and contravallation from within which they prosecuted the siege by sap and battery. Victor Amadeus did not remain inside this unfinished circle. With about six thousand cavalry he quitted his capital, moved freely about his domains, and hampered the siege from the open country. Marshal La Feuillade’s reputation, never high in the French service, had suffered during the campaigns of 1704 and 1705. His marriage in 1702 with a “cruelly ugly” daughter of Chamillart, the apparently indispensable Minister, had alone secured him in his command. He was a light and vain man, whose considerable energies were not guided by sagacity or proportion. Saint-Simon’s scathing comments are perhaps excessive. “. . . A heart corrupted through and through, a soul of mud, a jaunty and avowed unbeliever.”^[187] The capture of Turin in the shortest possible time was evidently the supreme French objective. With the fall of the capital, and the addition of La Feuillade’s besiegers to Vendôme’s covering army, the conquest of Savoy and Northern Italy would be complete. Naples and the south of Italy should fall automatically to the victors. But, instead of bringing the siege forward by the daily personal presence of the commander, La Feuillade left this dominant operation to subordinate generals, and set off in pursuit of Victor Amadeus and his vexatious cavalry. He hunted him near and far among the foothills of the Alps, and through a countryside where every peasant was against France.

History must admire the military conduct of the Duke of Savoy. He proved himself an adversary at once fugitive and dangerous. Day after day a swarm of French horsemen followed the Piedmontese flying column; but the Duke was always a day ahead. After three weeks of marches and ambuscades he was still at large as a dangerous fighting factor. He was even suspected of a design upon Nice. From his changing bivouacs La Feuillade presumed to control the siege operations, and studied the reports of his engineers. The defenders and citizens of Turin were stubborn. They knew they guarded the title-deeds of Savoy and its existence as a state. Most severe bombardments not only of the works but of the city were resolutely endured. The siege went forward at a snail’s pace.

As soon as the situation was realized in Paris Chamillart, as Minister and as father-in-law, wrote his warning. How imprudent to neglect the siege! Old Vauban had delivered an adverse opinion. At the Court voices already called La Feuillade a self-seeker, hoping to boast the capture of a reigning prince, while following a will-o’-the-wisp. “Your honour is at stake,” wrote Chamillart.^[188] But La Feuillade, although disconcerted by what he saw on his fleeting visit to the trenches on July 7, obstinately continued his chase, and finally brought his quarry to bay as far afield as the mouth of the Luserna valley. Here the Duke was found so strongly posted that he could not be assailed.

As the weeks had passed the French victory at Calcinato was eclipsed and effaced by the relief of Barcelona and the thunderbolt of Ramillies. The Venetian republic, vexed by the exactions of Vendôme’s troops, leaned in its neutrality towards the Empire and Prince Eugene. Through the bank in Venice Marlborough, side-tracking Vienna, paid upon his own note of hand direct to Eugene 200,000 ducats, part produce of the loan he had raised and subscribed to in London. English cash flowed steadily by this channel. The army of the Empire and Sea Powers was fed, paid, and equipped by the end of June. Strict behaviour and ready money gained the inhabitants of the Venetian mainland territories to the allied cause. Eugene felt himself able to infringe Venetian neutrality with impunity. This fact doubled the front which Vendôme must watch from Lake Garda to the Adriatic. He might be struck at any point. He feared particularly an attack between the lake and Verona. But Eugene had already decided to pierce the line nearly sixty miles to the southward. On June 27 he wrote to Victor Amadeus, “I have brought boats to a number of places to alarm the enemy everywhere, but I think of attempting the real passage below Badia.”^[189]

We now see another of the examples, numberless in the text-books, of the difficulties of defending lengthy river lines at right-angles to the advance of a determined enemy. Eugene in the last days of June, without waiting for his final reinforcements, the Hessians, and leaving garrisons in Verona and opposite the various bridge-heads on the Upper Adige, marched southward through Venetian territory with between twenty-five and thirty thousand men. Vendôme’s forces were probably somewhat superior. But what are thirty thousand men spread along a hundred miles of river and fortifications, when an almost equal force may thrust at one of the many passages, all of which must be guarded? Vendôme had been much pressed by his anxious subordinate, General Saint-Frémont, to abandon that river altogether and take up the less ambitious line of the Mincio, about twenty miles farther west. He inveighed against such suggestions. He had stigmatized the line of the Mincio as the worst that could be adopted.

But while he was watching vigilantly his defences between Verona and the lake, Eugene, on July 4, 5, and 6, passed about twelve thousand men in various detachments across the Adige near Rovigo and moved to attack the French posts, which retired to Badia. Vendôme obstinately believed this was a feint. “You can be sure,” he reported on July 10 to Versailles, “that Prince Eugene will not be able to disturb the siege of Turin. We have too many positions in which to stop him, for his even dreaming of bringing relief.”^[190] That very day Eugene had driven in General Saint-Frémont’s posts over a wide front and was himself approaching the banks of the Po.^[191] He had thus turned the whole line of the French defences. Eugene was astonished at his own easy advance. “I cannot imagine at all,” he wrote to the Emperor, “why the army has abandoned all its works at such speed.”^[192] Vendôme now made haste to accommodate himself to circumstances, and explained airily to Paris that his general retreat had placed him in a much better position. This was the moment of Marshal Marsin’s arrival. Vendôme handed over his command, and, perhaps with less reluctance than he would have felt a fortnight sooner, entered his coach and set off through Milan to face Marlborough in Flanders.

A few days earlier the Duke of Orleans had arrived before Turin. He found the siege-works progressing slowly in the face of stubborn resistance and heavy cannonading. Marshal La Feuillade was still absent pursuing the Duke of Savoy, and the attack had palpably languished. Orleans had left Versailles under the impression of Vauban’s pessimistic predictions. The aged engineer had from the winter onward declared vehemently that the way to attack Turin was by first securing the fortified eminence of the Capuchins’ monastery. This gained, the town would become untenable, and as a second major operation the reduction of the citadel could begin. But he had recognized that for this task eighty-five battalions were required instead of sixty-five, which was all the King could spare La Feuillade. In that case, said Vauban, it would be better to leave Turin for another year. The young French Prince, who had, as his mother wrote to the Electress Sophia, “appeared three fingers taller” on being given his first important command, found that out of La Feuillade’s sixty-five battalions, as many as thirteen battalions and several cannon were diverting themselves before the walls of Cherasco, forty miles to the south of Turin, whither the Marshal had followed the elusive Duke. He wrote long and by no means sanguine letters to the King.^[193]

Marshal Marsin had no sooner assumed command and ranged the French covering army along the Mincio and the Oglio than these lines were in their turn compromised by the steady advance of Prince Eugene. On July 17 he crossed the Po and marched through Ferrara to Finale, which he occupied on the 24th. The Duke of Orleans, having visited the siege, joined Marsin on the 19th. There being no doubt that Eugene was marching to the relief of Turin, the French command resolved to concentrate the covering army and keep pace with him along the northern bank of the Po. Orleans wished to bar his path at the defile of Stradella, but Marsin, who seemed strangely despondent, dissuaded him. At the worst, by the method adopted they would join La Feuillade’s army and meet Eugene with superior forces on the lines of circumvallation at Turin. However, the Prince of Hesse, with the Hessian contingent, tardy but four thousand strong, had now joined the six thousand men Eugene had left at Verona. The arrival of this new corps, which had immediately become active, forced Marsin to leave a large detachment of at least the same number under General Medavi to face them south of Lake Garda. Eugene’s long westward march was therefore virtually unresisted. By August 5, having crossed the Secchia unopposed, he entered Carpi. On the 14th he was at Reggio and on the 19th at Piacenza. To avoid the fierce heats he marched by moonlight, but the difficulties of finding food and water were serious and the sufferings of the Imperialists severe. He found the pass of Stradella undefended, and, turning south to avoid Alessandria, which held a French garrison, he crossed the Tanaro on the 29th and entered Piedmont. On September 1 he joined Victor Amadeus at Villa Stelloni, about twenty miles due south of Turin. The six thousand Savoyard cavalry raised Eugene’s strength to thirty thousand men, besides several thousands of armed peasants and local militia from the countryside. The moment had come for what might well have seemed a desperate feat of arms.

The French combined army amounted to nearly sixty thousand men. Their obvious course, and one which Vendôme might well have taken, was to suspend the siege, form the order of battle, and march with every available man to attack the daring enemy wherever they could be found in the open country. The Duke of Orleans urged this upon Marsin; but the Marshal, plunged in ever-deepening gloom, would not agree. The unfortunate Prince, nominally at the head of the army, had all the right ideas, but, bred in the strict family discipline of Versailles, he had not the personal authority to enforce them upon marshals experienced in so many campaigns. La Feuillade consumed much strength in two furious and unsuccessful assaults upon the fortress, and for the rest the French army awaited passively whatever stroke Eugene and the warlike Duke might launch upon them.

This was not long delayed. Never in his fifty years of war was Prince Eugene more cool and confident. The French were already in his judgment “half beaten” by strategic manœuvres, and the rest would be settled on the field of battle. On the 4th and 5th he crossed the Po and the Dora Riparia, seized Pianezza, and began to form the allied army between that place and the Stura river, on the north-west side of the city. His headquarters that night were three miles from Turin.

The siege-works and their exterior protecting lines had never, as we have seen, been completed, and the allies were now drawing up opposite the gap by which Victor Amadeus had always maintained a precarious communication with the city. Frantic efforts were made by the French during the 6th to fortify the threatened sector. Again Orleans pleaded that the siege should be suspended and all forces concentrated to meet the impending attack. He was overruled at the council of war, and, since he insisted, Marsin reminded him that he had no authority over La Feuillade’s besieging troops. Thus the French actually faced the Allies with about fifty squadrons and only seventeen battalions in such entrenchments as could be raised in twenty-four hours. They had the benefit neither of lines of circumvallation nor of their large superiority.

At daybreak on the 7th Eugene ordered the general attack. As he mounted his horse he was asked to fix his headquarters for the night. “In Turin,” he replied gaily, and rode forward into the battle. Palatines and Prussians led the assault upon the enemy’s right, and the whole front was soon engaged. Eugene, Victor Amadeus, and the Prince of Saxe-Gotha fought throughout in the van. Eugene’s horse was shot under him. Twice the assailants were repulsed; but at the third attack the sturdy Brandenburgers stormed and pierced the French right wing. The centre gave way in consequence; and only the left wing, which had strong assistance from the batteries in La Feuillade’s siege-works, made an orderly retreat into these defences. Marshal Marsin, exposing himself devotedly, fell mortally wounded into the hands of the Allies. The Duke of Orleans, having recorded his protest in writing the night before, set an example to all soldiers. He was twice wounded before he quitted the field. By one o’clock the French were completely broken. Count Daun, the governor of Turin, sallying out upon them with a large part of the garrison, completed their ruin. They lost three thousand killed and wounded, and six thousand were taken prisoners. The Allies lost more than five thousand men. The road into the city was now open.

As soon as the Duke of Orleans learned that Marsin had fallen he ordered the raising of the siege, and took it for granted that the retreat would be eastward through Chieri and Asti towards Alessandria. His coach was proceeding in that direction when he was informed that the enemy already held the heights of Moncalieri. These were no more than the armed peasants and militia who had appeared in this quarter. They were sufficient, however, to drive the French out of Italy; for, instead of marching back into Lombardy, with its many fortresses and numerous detachments of French troops, including the strong force under General Medavi, they now turned west and marched on Pignerol and towards France. La Feuillade’s army came off in good order with some of their field guns, and the bulk of the cavalry joined them by various routes. They abandoned the whole of the siege artillery and munitions in the lines. They abandoned more: they abandoned the war in Italy.

It was not till some time afterwards that the secret of Marshal Marsin’s morbid depression was explained. On the day before the battle he had given his confessor the following painful letter for Chamillart:

As if to mock the ignominious retreat of the French army, Fortune favoured General Medavi by Lake Garda. The Prince of Hesse with his powerful corps had captured Goito, and was moving upon Castiglione when Medavi attacked him with slightly superior numbers. A fierce action was fought near this town on September 9. Hesse was driven from the field, nearly half his force being killed or captured. The successful general was preparing to exploit his victory when the news of the disaster at Turin and the retreat of the army reached him. He at once marched southwards and distributed his twenty battalions among the fortresses of Mantua, Pavia, Alessandria, and Milan, thus imparting to all these strongholds a serious defensive power. If the main French army had retreated eastward, instead of yielding to a homing instinct, they would have remained masters of the Milanese, and the relief of Turin with all its glory might have remained but a local episode. In the event, however, it decided the fate of Italy. The impulsive plans which were formed at Versailles for a renewed invasion, chilled by the approach of winter, never bore fruit. The fortresses of Piedmont were blockaded or reduced one by one, and presently there began that series of negotiations both military and political which before the opening of 1707 had brought the war in Italy to a close.

Strong reinforcements had joined Marlborough at the end of June. The Prussians, the Hanoverians, and the Palatines, in all nearly twenty thousand admirable troops, crossed the Scheldt and were posted from Alost to Brussels. Here they isolated Dendermonde and the towns of Brabant, and were within easy reach of the main army in case of need. After Ostend had capitulated Marlborough advanced to Courtrai, with his headquarters at Helchin, and thence menaced the three fortresses of Ypres, Menin, and Tournai. This movement puzzled Villeroy, who saw the need both of strengthening their garrisons and forming a field army to preoccupy the besiegers. He felt, however, unable to withdraw any of the twenty-five battalions and nine squadrons with which the aged Vauban was covering the coast fortresses, since Marlborough could so easily march west against Nieuport and Dunkirk.^[195] The dispersion of the French armies in Flanders was now grievous. One hundred and ten battalions of field troops were scattered in eleven fortresses from Nieuport to Namur; yet none was safe. The detachments arriving from the Rhine were distributed here and there as rumour mentioned the next point of attack.

This was in fact, as we have seen already, decided. Menin, on the soil of France, “reckoned the key to the French conquests in the Netherlands,”^[196] enlisted the desires and would presumably engage the energies of the Dutch, and was acceptable to Marlborough. It was a first-class fortress, one of Vauban’s later conceptions, built since the Peace of Nimwegen. This model of the defensive art was garrisoned by six thousand men under a group of distinguished generals and engineers, among whom the resolute Caraman will be remembered. The French controlled the sluices, and further protected it by inundations which robbed the Scheldt and the Lys so seriously that the allied siege train had to come by road. From this cause, although Menin was invested on July 23, the trenches could not be opened and the batteries established till August 4. After a fortnight’s sapping and bombarding, the moment for the attack of the counterscarp was reached. Marlborough came himself from the covering army to superintend this serious attempt. The contingents which had suffered least in the battle, or had not been engaged in the campaign, were chosen for the ordeal. The Duke, having spent the previous day in preparation, entered the trenches on the evening of the 18th, and at seven o’clock the explosion of two mines heralded the storm. Eight thousand British and Prussian infantry under Lord Orkney and General Scholtz marched to the assault of the work called the “Half-moon of Ypres.” After two hours’ stubborn fighting they mastered the covered way and established themselves along the ramparts. The assailants lost fourteen hundred men (the French assert four thousand). Among these the British bore the brunt. Ingoldsby’s regiment alone had fifteen officers killed or wounded. The Royal Irish suffered heavily. “Here,” says Captain Parker, “we paid for our looking on at Ramillies, having had two captains and five subalterns killed and eight officers wounded, among whom I was one.”^[197] In the judgment of the armies it was the sharpest siege-fighting since Kaiserswerth in 1702; but it was decisive.

The next day the signals for parley were made, and on the morning of August 22 the end came. “Yesterday morning,” wrote Marlborough, “the enemy at Menin planted a white flag on their breach, and as I was there I immediately ordered an exchange of hostages.”^[198] The highest honours and accommodations of war were conceded to the garrison, who marched off to Douai five or six days before, in Marlborough’s judgment, the place need have fallen. They had lost 1500 men and the Allies 2500, almost as many as at Ramillies. Thus for the first time had British soldiers trod “the bloody road to Menin.”

Vendôme had arrived at Valenciennes from Italy and superseded Villeroy on the day the trenches were opened before Menin. He found himself in command of an army which, though almost as numerous as the enemy and every day increasing, was dispersed among the fortresses and utterly discouraged. “No one,” he wrote to Chamillart (August 5),

Marlborough as soon as he knew Vendôme was coming to Flanders had asked Eugene for his opinion of him. The reply was:

Vendôme set himself at once to restore the morale and to gather a field army from the fortresses and reinforcements. He proposed to mix the Spanish among the French troops and to stand behind the Lower Deule and the Lys. He was in no condition to interfere with the siege of Menin. But in a cavalry skirmish on August 19 he cut up a party of Marlborough’s foragers and captured Quartermaster-General Cadogan, who was riding too far afield. This news reached Marlborough before the attack on the Menin counterscarp. His distress was acute.

Marlborough’s fears were groundless. Vendôme, knowing how high Cadogan stood in Marlborough’s affection, released him at once on parole as an act of personal courtesy to his adversary, and Marlborough made haste to exchange the Baron Pallavicini, a Lieutenant-General taken at Ramillies,^[204] in order to regain Cadogan’s services.

By the 19th Vendôme had mustered 63 battalions and 163 squadrons from Armentières to Lille in the angle of the Lys and the Deule.^[207] The Elector thought this line dangerously extended, and there was considerable argument, in which Versailles supported him. Nevertheless, a formed French army now being in the field, Marlborough was limited to undertaking only one siege at a time. The most promising towns were Ypres, Dendermonde, and Ath. The capture of Ypres would open the coast for clearance, but it was now late in the year to exploit success in that quarter. Moreover, if Marlborough moved towards the sea he would have to leave heavy detachments to protect Brussels and Brabant. The capture of Ath, on the other hand, would cover Brabant; it would keep the allied army closely in touch and broaden the front for further operations. To bring forward the artillery for the siege of Ath it was necessary to free the navigation of the Dender by the capture of Dendermonde. This siege, though impeded by exceptional physical difficulties, was the least exposed to French interference. Accordingly on August 26 Churchill was sent against Dendermonde with strong forces.

And on August 30: “The engineer sends me word that he finds much more water at Dendermonde than he expected. I go there in three or four days, and then I shall be able to send you the certainty of what we may expect.”^[209]

From the battlefield of Turin Prince Eugene wrote to Marlborough. His letter, sent on the night of his victory, took a fortnight to reach Marlborough’s headquarters at Helchin.

Marlborough’s delight at his comrade’s success, and, indeed, at the fruition of his own plans and labours, roused him to unusual expressions. “It is impossible,” he wrote to Sarah on September 26,

To Heinsius (September 27) he magnified his friend’s victory: “I am assured that the French take more to heart their misfortune in Italy than they did that of Ramillies.”^[213]

In these great days the English Press began to present itself for the first time as a definite, permanent factor in affairs. There were already, besides the official London Gazette, of which Steele became editor in 1707, the Daily Courant and the Postman, both dull and semi-official. There were Defoe’s Review and Tutchin’s Observator, both Whig and entertaining. The Flying Post was another Whig paper. The Post Boy was Jacobite, and Mercurius Politicus high Tory. Many of the sharpest and some of the greatest pens in English literature sustained these fierce and sprightly rags of Grub Street. They passed from hand to hand in the coffee-houses, and post-boys carried them to lonely halls and vicarages throughout the country. It is difficult for dwellers in the twentieth to realize the power of print in the eighteenth century. Then every word was devoured and digested, and grave persons of narrow, bitter convictions fortified themselves thereby in their prejudices and their passions. Several scores of editors, news-letter writers, and pamphleteers vied with each other in distinction, virulence, and poverty. Great nobles, astute Ministers, clubs, groups, and factions sustained a literary clatter which excited England and even echoed upon the Continent with Marlborough’s cannonades.

The maxim “There is safety in numbers” was never more true than about a free Press. If enough is printed nothing in particular counts. The larger the organ, the less an executive Government has to fear from its personal director. But in those days glittering or terrible words were written anonymously; facts or scandals, revealed by personages who had access to secret or private knowledge or gossip, were flung out by writers of genius upon a fierce and earnest public. The authors and often the printers lay hidden in obscurity. The powerful politicians of the day exploited them or hunted them down according to circumstances, but usually left them almost starving. Naturally high Tory and Whig scribes were stirred and prone to loose their arrows upon Marlborough and his wife, and also upon Godolphin. These were the largest targets. Marlborough was protected from time to time by his victories, but Godolphin, without victories and without party, was enjoyably vulnerable.

We have seen Marlborough behaving with temper and even with magnanimity about the unlucky divine Stephens, who was caught for the pillory. But during 1705 and 1706 he shows himself acutely sensitive to malicious, or, as he judged it, untruthful, criticism, especially when directed against his military conduct. He was less resentful of taunts upon his rebuffs, or disappointments in the field, than of disparagements of his successes. For these he claimed justice. When he found justice denied he was keenly distressed, and at rare moments his calm was broken by a surge of wrath. In August 1705 when he had read Dr James Drake’s Memorial of the Church of England, wherein he had been accused of betraying the Church, he wrote to Godolphin:

The author of the Memorial was then unknown, but Godolphin set to work to find him. It was also unknown at the time that Dr Drake was the author of Mercurius Politicus, the high Tory anti-Government paper which from 1705 onward maintained a continuous stream of abuse against Marlborough and Godolphin in a vein that would hardly be tolerated in the freest of countries to-day. The Duke was disturbed to find the news-sheets and the coffee-houses buzzing like the Parliamentary lobbies with the rival merits of Whig and Tory generals. He did not relish officers in his Army grouping themselves upon these lines, and writing anonymous letters home according to their personal or political affections. He would have liked to put a stop to the whole process in the Army, and range them with himself upon a purely professional basis. When this proved impossible, he was forced to some extent to favour those who were loyal to him. He was plainly conscious throughout all his later campaigns that savage, implacable forces were ceaselessly striving to tear him down while he lived under the hazards of war, and that success alone could hold the wolves at bay. One single disaster would destroy him, yet all the time he had to cope with the unknowable and often, as he would put it in his habit of under-statement, “to venture.”

In the weeks before Ramillies when he had deliberately condemned himself to a bleak campaign in the fortress zone he showed his anxiety that his operations should be properly represented in the Press. On May 6 he wrote to Harley:

This was not unreasonable. There were to be the dispatches in the official Gazette, but in addition there should be a bulletin or news-letter which would describe events from the standpoint of the Commander-in-Chief and his Headquarters, and in case of disputes would give his own version to his countrymen. Few generals, even in our own generation, have been so modest in their claims. Ramillies for a spell silenced the critics. They were dazzled by the lightning flash and scorched by the conflagration which followed. It was nearly a month before the voice of disparagement could be raised, and even a few weeks more before it could be heard. Then a letter from the Army found its way to London and became the talk of the town. It was from Cranstoun, of the Cameronians. This brave and accomplished officer, after paying the highest tributes to Marlborough’s conduct as “a great Captain” and censuring him gently for “exposing himself like the meanest soldier,” proceeded to explain how much better the battle could have been won. Cranstoun voiced the complaint of the British infantry under Orkney who had been forced by the order to retire from Autréglise and Offus, and thereafter, as they believed, from cutting the retreat of the French army. All these veteran soldiers saw this point so clearly that they saw nothing else in the whole battle. Cranstoun imagined that Cadogan had given the order out of jealousy or ignorance, and had not had Marlborough’s sanction first. At any rate, this was the line he took.

Harley, all his spies and vigilance at Marlborough’s disposal in this hour of triumph, intercepted one of the copies of the letter (which was unsigned) and informed Marlborough. The Duke was somewhat upset, and further vexed by the renewal of the Observator’s attacks.

There may have been other critical letters from the British troops under Orkney’s command who brooded morosely upon having been denied what they deemed their prey, and their chance of distinction, for we have another letter of Marlborough’s on July 8 addressed “for yourself.”

Several references to this matter occur in the official correspondence. On August 5 Marlborough returns to Cranstoun: “If you could let me have a sight of the original letter of Ramillies, I could then be sure of knowing the author, having in my custody an original letter of the major’s.” And on August 26: “You have forgot to send me copies of Cranstoun’s letters.”

All this has a modern flavour. Finally in September Harley obtained Cranstoun’s original letter, and Marlborough was able to identify with certainty the author. He addressed himself immediately to Cranstoun’s criticism. He defended Cadogan and took the responsibility to himself. “The part in which he mentions Cadogan he is very much in the wrong, for if those troops had not been brought back they must certainly have been cut to pieces.” No one aware of the masses of French cavalry drawn to the left of the hostile line by Orkney’s attack, and hungrily awaiting the moment to destroy their unsupported assailants, can doubt the finality of this answer. Viewed in retrospect and with full knowledge, the secret of Ramillies is obvious; but the British infantry continued to feel they had been sacrificed, in the sense of being pulled out of the battle, so that its glory had shone on foreign blades. They had been cheated of the brunt; and this in the name of their own Captain-General. But then, thought they, it was Cadogan with his Staff mind and his maps who had misinterpreted him.

It may be noted that Marlborough, having found out the critic and replied to the criticism, never visited his displeasure upon Major Cranstoun. That officer was unconscious of the State correspondence which had passed concerning him. Indeed, what he wrote was in other respects so complimentary to Marlborough that the Duke could not really have been offended. In the following year he promoted Cranstoun Lieutenant-Colonel, and in that rank at the head of his Cameronians he was to fall heroically at Malplaquet.

There is, however, one rougher tale to tell of these times. In October 1706 Marlborough wrote in wrath to Harley:

This “rogue” was Tutchin, an enthusiastic Whig, described by contemporaries as “the scourge of the Highfliers,” whose work took the form of dialogues between a “countryman” and the “Observator.” For each of these articles of deadly malice and admirable prose Tutchin drew from his paper no more than half a guinea. The Ministry was at first reluctant to arrest Tutchin. They had already tried to punish him for seditious libel in November 1704; but the judges had ordered his acquittal on technical grounds. According to one story,^[220] Tutchin in 1707 was “waylaid and beaten to death.” Marlborough was not guilty of any violent act. But the law pursued the pamphleteers with heavy hand.

In fact Tutchin, after being flogged, died in the Queen’s Bench Prison at the Mint in September 1707. In justice to the Observator it must be mentioned that its files contain many fine tributes to Marlborough. It recognized throughout his reluctance to enter the literary lists or to encourage others to write on his behalf. It emphasized his reliance on deeds instead of words: “I don’t think,” it remarked on one occasion in 1706, “the Duke of Marlborough will thank any one for being his Praise Trumpeter, that’s a post for a pedant and a sycophant.” And again: “My Lord Duke is one of the best authors this country has possessed. He’s the author of conquests and victories.”

“I should be glad to know the authors of letters against me,” Marlborough himself told Harley in 1706, “though as long as God blesses us with success, their writing can have little weight.”

Godolphin seems to have hopefully tried to endorse this opinion: “If Marlborough can conquer animosities as well as armies, his presence will be very useful in this island of Britain.” Judged by the standards of those days, they were both astonishingly patient, tolerant, and merciful men. In our own enlightened and scientific epoch it will probably be felt in many great countries that if they had been more ruthless they would have been more successful.

The wonderful successes in Flanders, Italy, and Spain found no counterpart in the Empire. Under all the varied but persistent pressures of England and Holland the new Emperor had striven to the utmost limit for peace in Hungary. Although the Imperial generals had made good headway against the rebels in 1705, full rein was given to the mediations of the Sea Powers. The line which they had drawn between the contending forces was scrupulously observed by Vienna, while behind it Rakoczy made himself master of all Hungary and Transylvania. The truce for negotiations began on May 12, 1706. At the end of the month the rebel terms were presented. Austria must abandon all sovereign rights beyond the Carpathians. The Army, finance, justice, administration, were to be the sole concern of the Hungarian assembly. Sullen, grudged recognition of the kingship of the Emperor was conceded as a matter of form. When these terms became known in Vienna the population surrounded the palace in fury against the Hungarians. “All the world,” wrote the Dutch Ambassador at the Imperial Court (June 5), “is shouting ‘Crucify them—crucify them!’ ”^[223] All classes were clamouring to break the sworn truce. The Emperor at his parley made very generous offers. These were at once rejected by the insurgents.

The effects of Ramillies extended swiftly to this sphere. There is a quaint letter from Rakoczy to Marlborough which shows the close relationship prevailing between the rebels and the would-be conciliators:

The Sea Powers, impatient at the distraction of this internal struggle, still pressed for conferences. They were able to induce the Emperor to observe the truce till July 24, and urged him to continue it longer. They were still pressing conciliation upon him when Joseph I bluntly declared through all his envoys and agents that the Imperial House would rather give up Spain and Italy than Hungary and Transylvania. This was final. Apart from Eugene’s exploits in Italy, the remaining effort of the Empire was now devoted to the civil war.

It was upon this adverse tide that the Margrave, Prince Louis of Baden, ended his career. The Imperial Government, ignoring his needs, sought to pay their way with the insistent Allies by hounding him to action. They pretended he had forty thousand men. He declared he had not the half, and invited them to come and count them. The offer was accepted, and the Imperial Commissioner, Count Schlick, visited the army. With his position at stake he closed his eyes to the facts, and his report was hostile. He declared the Margrave was strong enough to recover the line of the Moder, and undertake an operation in Alsace.

At this moment the Margrave’s toe, which had now infected his whole leg, burst into deadly inflammation. He asked for sick leave to seek curative waters. The Emperor, in whose eyes he was now a recalcitrant and almost a mutineer, ordered his second-in-command to carry out the offensive. This was, of course, an impossible task. Thungen could only moulder till the winter came. Meanwhile the French raiding parties rode deep into Germany, harrying the circles of Swabia and Franconia.

The Margrave was now a dying man. His last letter to Marlborough contains tragic passages.

On January 4, four months later, he expired in his unfinished palace at Rastadt, from grief and blood-poisoning. Thus ended the career of the famous general of the Turkish wars, a brave warrior who had long held aloft the German standard on the Rhine, but who had neither been endowed with the troops or skill to beat the French himself, nor with the magnanimity to share as a loyal subordinate the fortunes of Marlborough.

When we recount the famous victories of 1706 and set forth the long tale of captured cities and conquered or reconquered lands which built up the allied triumph, it seems amazing that all this good fortune should not have prompted the comparatively small effort of good comradeship needed to bring the war to a successful conclusion. The victories of Ramillies and Turin; the relief of Barcelona; the capture of Antwerp and a dozen famous fortresses in the Low Countries; the French expelled from Italy; Charles III entering Madrid; the complete suppression of France upon the seas and oceans—all these prepared a broad, an easy road along which the signatory states of the Grand Alliance, who had striven so hard against misfortune, could walk to peace and plenty. But by the mysterious law which perhaps in larger interests limits human achievement, and bars or saves the world from clear-cut solutions, this second revival of the allied cause led only to a second decline. Twice now the genius of Marlborough and Eugene had lifted the weary, struggling signatory states to the level where their will could be enforced, and most of their needs secured. But again, in despite of their champions, they were to cast themselves down into peril and distress. The Empire represented nothing but moral and military decay and legal or territorial appetite. The German principalities and the strong kingdom of Prussia cast off their responsibilities and sponged for subsidies upon their Anglo-Dutch deliverers in proportion as they were relieved of their dangers. The Dutch themselves, with their Dyke at their fingertips, were “unaccountable.” In Spain the incursions of the Allies, especially the Portuguese, had roused a national spirit similar to that which a hundred years later wore down Napoleon. The Hapsburg king imposed by foreign troops had become to Spanish eyes usurper and invader; while the Bourbon claimant, though more alien, seemed to embody the continuity and grandeur of the Spanish past.

In England, now the hub of this Juggernaut wheel, not only party strife, but the prejudices and failings of a handful of men and women, including and circling round the Queen, were to crack and splinter the inefficient but still august league of nations which hitherto had successfully defended the liberties of Europe against the intolerance of totalitarian monarchy. Thus success bred failure, and prosperity prepared collapse, by which again new, larger, and more painful efforts were extorted.

While in the field Marlborough and Eugene carried all before them a series of English party and personal rivalries prepared the general reversal of fortune. Sunderland had been chosen by the Whig Junto as the thin end of the wedge by which they would force their way into the controlling circle of the Queen’s Government. According to modern ideas, their majority in both Houses of Parliament gave them the right, and even at this time it gave them the power, to acquire pre-eminence in public affairs. Sunderland, admonished and guided by Marlborough, had acquitted himself with high discretion in his mission to Vienna. He had shared or adopted Marlborough’s view that the Hungarian insurgents, and not the Imperial Court, were to blame for prolonging an intestine war, in view of the offers made to them by the Emperor. Whiggism comprised at this time the quintessence of aristocracy, plutocracy, and oligarchy at home, coupled with the ruthless application of Radical, Nationalist, and Republican principles abroad. Instead of fulminating these doctrines, Sunderland had judged the situation of the Empire in a matter-of-fact mood. He went to Vienna a political theorist and partisan. He had acquitted himself like a statesman facing the actual facts.

His colleagues and the tensely organized party they ruled were not at all displeased with his behaviour, and may even have recommended it. Their foresight and understanding taught them that at this phase in their party advance office was more important than principle. They must get their hands on some at least of the levers of the machine. They must work their way by all measures into the councils, and if possible the confidence, of the Queen. They now decided that their move must be to make Sunderland Secretary of State. To this end they combined his recent serviceable conduct, his relationship to the Marlboroughs, and their own party power in both Houses. They concentrated their assaults upon Godolphin. Politically they had him in their grip. The Lord Treasurer, hunted by the Tories upon the Scottish Act of Security and the Union, had for some time past been dependent upon Whig protection. By this means alone he had acquired the power to use martial law against Scotland at this critical juncture in the life of the two countries. Without this overriding force added to all other argument the Union could never have been achieved. But the union of the two kingdoms was a deadly blow at the hopes of a Jacobite restoration. Godolphin was led by his vision of British unity to renounce alike by his action and by his new connexions those Stuart memories which he had long illegally cherished, and which were a strange but real bond of sympathy between him and the Queen. By these sacrifices, assuredly made for no personal motive, from no weakness of character, and in what all must now regard as the long interest of the British Isles, Godolphin obtained the votes and the force to lay strong hands on Scotland and clinch the Union.

This now approached its closing stage. The Scottish Parliament had made a number of minor amendments to the original English proposals. The Union party in Scotland urged that another session of the Scottish Parliament would add to their difficulties. Therefore they requested that the English Parliament should accept the Act exactly as they had passed it. Marlborough, who was one of the Commissioners, regarded the Union as vital to the strength of the nation. From the camp at Helchin he had written in the summer (August 9):

It was in fact the supreme object in domestic politics to which he and Godolphin bent all their power. When in 1707 the Act was finally passed Guenin, the French agent, wrote from London (January 18):

But the Lord Treasurer, who had long lost all hold upon the Tories and had only a temporary working agreement with the Whigs, now found himself in daily contact with a highly discontented Queen. Anne’s thoughts strayed often to the “young man in France.” “Maybe ’tis our brother.” She knew—every one knew—he was her brother. She would not give up the throne to him, even had she the power to do so. She would fight to the last against it. But was she bound to ensure the succession to the house of Hanover she detested so cordially? And to the very prince who had insulted her maiden charms? This Act of Union which her trusted friends the General and the Treasurer pressed upon her forced her to rob James of almost his only remaining hope—the crown of Scotland. Perhaps it must be so. What could she do, one woman among these domineering statesmen with their passions, their intense personalities, their fierce rivalries, their massive arguments? She thought it was necessary to bring about the Union. It was right and wise; it was her duty; but she was not in the mood at any moment to rejoice in that duty. Her heart did not warm to those, even her most trusted friends and proved, sagacious guides, who held her so firmly to her task. Mr Freeman was at the wars—he was always at the wars. She was deeply conscious of the glory and power with which his sword had invested her reign. But Mr Montgomery—she did not often call him that now—was pressing her too hard. He had not the same claim to her favour. Anyone can be a Minister. All her ablest subjects were seeking, contriving, and conspiring to be Ministers. He asked too much. After all, he hung only by a thread which she could cut; but perhaps she hung by that same thread herself. Thus the Queen.

We can see how extremely hazardous was the Lord Treasurer’s position. A false step in his personal relations with the Queen on his part, an emotional crisis on hers, and he would see himself delivered to the competitive fury of both bitter factions. In the autumn of 1706 Godolphin seemed to foreign eyes to have gained a position of immense security, unrivalled by any statesman in Europe. But in fact, at the very moment when, in spite of endless war, the finances flourished under his skilful, honest administration, when his great colleague had conquered the Netherlands, when Eugene, upon whom he had lavished money and men, was chasing the French from Italy, when the Scottish Parliament bowed to the inevitable union, Godolphin felt himself in awful jeopardy, and almost without a friend. Almost—but there was one friend, an old friend, the greatest man alive, whom he knew he could count upon till death. He was sure that Marlborough would never desert him; and thus he persevered, and with his perseverance grew the unity of Britain and her power among the nations.

It was in the situation which we have thus briefly outlined that Godolphin was now subjected to the extreme pressure of the Whigs. Sunderland must be Secretary of State. They asked nothing more; they would take nothing else; and now was the moment. Let him pay the price, let him extort the price from the Queen, and all would be well. The skilful Whig politicians would shield him from any reproaches about his past. They even sent a Member to the Tower for insinuating that he had corresponded with Saint-Germains. Great Whig orators and famous ex-Ministers would produce substantial majorities for his defence, for his policy, for the support of Marlborough’s armies, and for the insatiable prosecution of the war. On their broad shoulders, in their competent hands, he and all the causes he believed in could rest; and the General overseas would ride on to the decisive defeat of France and the lasting greatness of England. Otherwise they would paralyse the Government and break Godolphin in pieces. This they imparted to him with many bows and scrapes during the summer of 1706.

Accordingly Godolphin, under remorseless pressure, and having, as he said, “no other bottom [than the Whigs] to stand on,” addressed himself to Queen Anne. He directed upon her the forces to which he was himself subjected. He added all that long friendship, faithful service, and his personal ascendancy could command. It is astonishing that most of our native historians have depicted Queen Anne as an obstinate simpleton, a stupid, weak creature, in the hands of her bedchamber women; and that it should have been left to foreign writers to expose her immense powers of will-power, resistance, and manœuvre. She fought a harder fight than Godolphin. On her throne she was as tough as Marlborough in the field. She would not have Sunderland—she could not bear him. He was, she felt, a brazen freethinker, and at heart a Republican. The Queen, the embodiment of Church and Monarchy, recognized in him, as she conceived the case, her true foe. Was he not the vanguard of those “tyrant lords” who, as she saw truly, meant to force themselves and their nominees into her Government in order to rule the land and, if they could, Europe. But the Whigs continued to make it clear to Godolphin that he must either compel the Queen to make Sunderland Secretary of State or face the immediate inveterate hostility of both Houses of Parliament. Accordingly all means were employed to persuade the Queen. Godolphin enlisted the vigorous advocacy of Sarah. He himself tried his utmost, exposing his difficulties and threatening resignation. The Queen used every art; she appealed to his friendship, to his loyalty and chivalry. But what could he do? He could not resign and abandon Marlborough. He could not carry on the government unless he forced Sunderland upon the Queen. That she was wrong on the merits of the situation and making needless trouble may be admitted without detracting from the personal quality which she displayed.

Sarah also was, of course, made use of by the Whigs to press Sunderland upon the Queen. Both as a Whig and as a mother-in-law she was by no means reluctant to do this. She immediately encountered an impenetrable resistance. The Queen affected to regard her advocacy as the natural expression of family interests. Evidently there must have been awkward conversations. Sarah was at pains to assert that her zeal for Sunderland had nothing to do with his being her daughter’s husband. In fact, however, Anne would have been more tolerant of this motive than of Sarah’s Whig partisanship. We notice immediately signs that the Queen took offence at her Mistress of the Robes meddling in high politics. She used much less patient processes with her old intimate confidante than with her Lord Treasurer. She reasoned with Godolphin; she repulsed Sarah. The following notable correspondence ensued:

We have italicized the word “notion,” because the Queen read it as “nation,” and so took it as a general charge of high disrespect. She left the letter unanswered for some time. Sarah had never experienced such treatment before. She made inquiries and learned that her letter had offended the Queen. She was quite at a loss to know why. Indeed, she was indignant.

On this the Queen opened the matter to Godolphin, and pointed to the phrase “errors as to this nation.” Godolphin told Sarah, and Sarah made it clear that she had written “notion.” This disposed of the grievance, but the Queen’s answer contained a phrase of challenge certainly not warranted by anything Sarah had written.

Sarah’s reply (September 5), although well suited to an argument with a Cabinet colleague, reads in the circumstances as the height of tactlessness. Instead of fastening on the gracious ending of the Queen’s letter, and going to see her in a mood of clouds dispersed, she plunged into a conscientious recapitulation of her arguments.

She proceeded with several pages of admonition to the Queen, and disparagement of Sir Charles Hedges, the threatened Secretary of State, and ended, “I beg your Majesty’s pardon for not waiting upon you, and I persuade myself that, long as my letter is, it will be less troublesome to your Majesty.”^[232]

These letters show how far the mischief had gone between Sarah and the Queen. The Duchess made a profound mistake in supposing that she could convince her mistress by argument or compel her by remonstrance, when she could no longer persuade her by love.

Marlborough was from the first averse to the appointment of Sunderland. He did not like him much as a son-in-law. He did not agree with him as a politician. He learned with misgivings of the efforts of the Whigs. He did not share Sarah’s party feeling. He thought her imprudent to put herself forward in the matter. He would certainly have disapproved of her procedure. Still, at the request of Godolphin he joined in the concerted appeal to the Queen. He wrote his mind bluntly to Sarah.

As the dispute deepened he became more concerned. Amid the ceaseless exertions of commanding an army, the marches, the sieges, the trenches, the sluices, gunpowder, Vendôme, and the Dutch, he became acutely conscious of the dangerous disputes now rising to intensity at home. In the fullness of his military success he felt the foundations of his power being sapped and undermined. He resented being forced to turn his eyes from the enemy in a great campaign to the petty, but at the same time poisonous, intrigues at home. At times he gave way to despondency.

At some moment in this quarrel we have a letter from Godolphin to the Queen, which is poignant when the circumstances are remembered. The Treasurer was, with Marlborough, the head of a Government which was dazzling Europe by its triumphs in the field and achieving the Union of Great Britain. The Queen was being carried forward by her Ministers to a world eminence to which none of her predecessors had attained. Yet in this autumn of the year of victory Godolphin was forced to write:

There is no doubt that Godolphin was at the end of his resources. He longed to quit. Marlborough alone sustained him.

Finally: “Allow me to give you this assurance, that as I know you to be a sincere, honest man, may God bless me as I shall be careful that whatever man is your enemy shall never be my friend.”^[239]

With the personal stresses at this height the Queen suffered as much as anyone. Towards the end of September she proposed a compromise to Godolphin. It was a hard thing, she said, to remove Sir Charles Hedges, and

No one would have been more happy than Godolphin had it been in his power to accept this offer which had cost the Queen much to make. But the Whigs were inexorable. They had made what they considered a just and moderate claim. All had subscribed, and none would recede from it. They could hardly sympathize with the Queen’s repugnance to them. The Treasurer’s troubles were his own affair. As for Marlborough, surely his beloved wife spoke for him, and she was as keen as any. Thus they held to their demand.

Godolphin’s misery presents itself vividly after two centuries. He could not bear to coerce the Queen. Wrong though she was, every loyalty in his nature revolted against the task. Well might he long for Newmarket, compared to such an odious duty. But Marlborough, British interests, and the allied cause would not let him go. This chivalrous, disinterested man, inspired by deep reverence for the Crown and by devotion to the Queen, wearied by so many years of service in four reigns, had now to compel the Queen to accept an intruder whom he himself distrusted, at the demand of a party with whom he had no tie save procuring the money votes for the war. Those who envy the glitter of great office are usually unseared by such ordeals. Godolphin remained to force Sunderland upon the Queen at the cost of his life’s friendship with her.

Finding nothing but despairing resistance from her Treasurer, Anne, obstinate to the end, knowing what he thought of the Whigs, regarding him but as their mechanical tool, finally appealed to Marlborough.

No one reading this able, powerful State paper can doubt the reality of the part played by Queen Anne. Marlborough allowed nearly a month to pass before he rejected this appeal of his sovereign and benefactress.

Still the Queen resisted both Marlborough’s advice and Godolphin’s despair. Still the Whigs demanded their rights.

The sting was in the tail: “As one mark of it, I desire you would reflect whether you have never heard that the greatest misfortunes that have ever happened to any of your family had not been occasioned by having ill-advice and an obstinacy in their tempers.”^[247] Anyone can see the harm that this would do. It probably destroyed the whole effect of Marlborough’s moving words. What pleasure could the Queen derive from such a friend? What patience could survive such endless intimate assaults, what love such endless candour?

Thus deprived of her last hope, the Queen gave way. Many strongholds fell as the result of Ramillies; many dangers to the Grand Alliance passed away. The power of England mounted in the world. The union with Scotland was sealed. But more difficult to pluck than any of the other fruits of victory was the appointment of Sunderland. There is no doubt that an immense volume of English opinion supported the Queen in her resolves to have a national rather than a party Administration. The bitterness and ambitions of both factions were dreaded by all outside their ranks. The extreme politics of either would throw the whole country into turmoil. But this was not the case that had yet arisen. It was an extremely modest request for a party which dominated both branches of the Legislature and represented half of the nation that one of their members should have high executive office. The issue was in fact painfully simple: Anne was a Stuart, and England was ungovernable except by Parliament.

For four months the Queen had withstood all her advisers as well as the broad facts of politics. It was now the end of October. The meeting of Parliament approached, when even Stuarts must face realities. Yet it was not till December 3 that Sunderland received Hedges’ seals as Secretary of State. He shared that office with Harley, who had hitherto been a deeply attentive spectator. The Whigs had gained their point; they were jubilant, discreet, and helpful. They had, to use terms which in those days were familiar to the educated world, captured the counterscarp and entered the covered way. They paused, as the Queen had so clearly foreseen, only to regather their forces for a more decisive assault. The casualties were grievous. The loyalties of the Cockpit circle were destroyed. The friendship between Anne and Sarah was finally ruptured. Godolphin’s favour had withered. Only Marlborough, resplendent in the field, vital to every party and to every combination, still preserved a solid claim in the Queen’s regard; and even here there was a change. The Whig Junto observed these losses, and bore them stoically. They fell upon others. But this was not the end.

Where should the Queen turn? She was amazed that her old friends should use her thus. Surely they might be contented with their great commands and offices, and with the favour and affection she had shown them. Why must they force this obnoxious Whig into her circle? Was there no one who would stand by her? Such a one undoubtedly there was. We have seen how Harley had felt uncomfortable since the results of the 1705 election had produced a Whig Parliament. It must be emphasized that his attitude in these early stages of the quarrel was reasonable, consistent, and sincere. His admiration for Marlborough, though often fulsomely expressed, was genuine. On the main issues he agreed with the Marlborough-Godolphin policy. With his unrivalled Parliamentary knowledge, he understood every move in the Whig game. He did not mean to become their prisoner. Not for him the plight of Godolphin, who now had no party whom he could join or to whom he could make his way back. Never would he put himself at the mercy of the Whigs. Never would he break the ties which joined him to the Tories. Neither would he separate himself from that considerable body of Tory moderates who had followed him so faithfully, and had proved of invaluable support to the Government. The intrusion of Sunderland might be accepted; but if it was, as seemed to him certain, only the first step to general Whig supremacy, he would oppose the process at every stage.

Anne therefore found in her Secretary of State a very able Minister, admittedly master of House of Commons politics, who spontaneously sympathized with her feelings and took her view. When she talked with Godolphin everything ran against the grain. When she talked with Harley she felt he understood her distress, and she was fortified in her convictions by the vast knowledge and good sense of this admirable servant. Godolphin vexed her. Harley soothed her. To consult with the Treasurer became a duty. To consult with the Secretary of State became a relief.

Harley was not at this stage disloyal to Godolphin, nor did he encourage the Queen to resist his advice. But swiftly and surely there grew up between him and the Queen an easy, confidential relation. It was impossible that this should be lost upon Godolphin. Harassed with the uphill work he had to do, and with the latent insecurities of his own position, he was not unnaturally suspicious of his powerful colleague, renowned for craft. He could not fail to understand that but for Marlborough—there was his rock—he would have been supplanted. To resign is one thing, to be forced out another. The relations of the two Ministers became less cordial. They were soon to become bleak. It was but a step from a perfectly just appreciation of the facts for Godolphin to believe that Harley was adding to his difficulties with the Queen, and seeking to oust him from her favour by intrigue. Nor was this further conclusion long to be untrue. Less than a year had to pass before Harley became Godolphin’s rival and foe.

Nevertheless Harley in the autumn of 1706 had no reason to reproach himself. He believed his views were right. He was sure the war could not be carried on except with the support of the moderate Tories. Let the Government once fall into the hands of the Whigs and there would be an end to national unity upon the war. The Tories, banned from office, would be openly and wholeheartedly a peace party. Harley was the first English statesman to systematize his contacts with public opinion. He had, as we have seen, a regular staff, including men as brilliant as Defoe, who moved continually about the country, and reported to him what they heard and saw. He learned—and he did not hide his knowledge from the Queen—that there was much war-weariness beneath the surface. Nothing, of course, could stand against glorious episodes like Ramillies and Turin. At any moment in the campaigning season these tremendous generals might produce some prodigy, and all men would follow their triumphal car. Therefore it was necessary to proceed with all propriety and prudence. But if, which God forfend, misfortune overtook the arms of the Allies, or a cannon-ball cut off the Captain-General’s head instead of that of his equerry, the peace party, which was the Tory Party, would become very powerful. It must not lack a responsible leader. Surely all this ran along the high road of public duty. If the Queen began to like him better than she did the Treasurer, was it for him, in these days when favour was so much, to complain of it?

Parliament did not meet till December. By that time the Parliament of Scotland had carried the decisive article of the Treaty of Union adopting the Hanoverian succession. Thus fortified, the English Cabinet could plan the session around the final Act which ratified and solemnized the creation of the United Kingdom of Great Britain. The Whigs, squared by Sunderland’s appointment, made haste to prove what their friendship was worth. The Queen’s Speech was for war to such a finish that “it shall no longer be at the pleasure of one prince to disturb the repose, and endanger the liberties, of this part of the world.” Both Houses acclaimed these sentiments. In unanimous addresses they declared their gratitude to the Queen for her conduct of national affairs, their joy at the glories of the campaign, and their admiration for the achievements of the Duke of Marlborough. To back words with deeds, the Commons proceeded forthwith to vote the unprecedented Army and Navy supply of six million pounds for the hearty prosecution of the war. When Queen Anne went down to the House of Lords to give her assent to these startling Money Bills the Speaker said, on submitting them to her, “As in the glorious victory of Ramillies it was so surprising that the battle was fought before it could be thought that the armies were in the field, so it was no less surprising that the Commons had granted supplies to her Majesty before her enemies could well know that her Parliament was sitting.”^[249]

The opposition of the irreconcilable Tories did not venture to show its head until the stage of details was reached. It asserted its vitality upon a supplementary estimate for the overspending of nearly a million pounds in the previous year, largely upon the payment of the German contingents with which Prince Eugene had conquered Italy. The Whig leaders allowed this debate to develop before they declared their position, in order no doubt to keep Godolphin alive to his dependence upon them. On this occasion Harley intervened dramatically. Although so ill that he had been bled the day before, he came down to the House to defend the treaties which had led to the excess expenditure. In his final words he craved leave to withdraw from the debate because of his weakness. He did not know, he said, whether he would recover from his illness. If not, he asked for an inscription on his tomb that he was one of those who had advised the Queen to spend these sums of money in the public service. The Whigs rolled up upon this wave of emotion, and it was voted by 253 to 105 that the money had been expended for the security and honour of the nation.

Nevertheless, Marlborough came home from the most fortunate of all the campaigns of the Grand Alliance and from his year of noblest service to an altered scene. Europe saw him at the summit of glory. Abroad all the doubters were convinced; in London all the detractors were for the moment silenced. Both Houses of Parliament received him with addresses of unbounded admiration. The pension refused in 1702, settled only for his life in 1704, was now, with his titles and estates, made perpetual upon his heirs, male or female, for ever, “in order,” as the statute set forth, “that the memory of these deeds should never lack one of his name to bear it.” The City welcomed him with spacious hospitality. The common people gazed upon him as a prodigy and cheered him as their protector. The captured standards of Ramillies could not be hung in Westminster Hall: it was already decked with the standards of Blenheim. To the Guildhall therefore the splendid cavalcade made its way, and here were displayed the trophies of the second greatest defeat which the arms of France in the reign of Louis XIV sustained. Amid thunderous salutes of cannon all the notables of British life knelt in thanksgiving in St Paul’s Cathedral on New Year’s Eve in celebration of “the wonderful year” that had ended.

But underneath all was insecure. The Queen’s heart was estranged. The Tories saw themselves definitely consolidating as an Opposition. Harley and St John began to look about them.

Disaster is the name affixed by history to the Allies’ campaign of 1707. On the Rhine, on the Riviera, and in Spain the French won or even triumphed. In Flanders, the main theatre, where the best and far the largest armies faced each other, where Marlborough commanded, no victory was gained. At the same time the slow, subtle processes by which Marlborough’s foundations in England were sapped made steady progress, and grew from an intrigue into a crisis. At the end of 1706 the Grand Alliance was once again found incapable of enduring success. Each partner was balancing the hopes of extortionate gains against the risks of a separate peace. Ramillies and its companion Turin had removed from short-sighted Governments the fear of general defeat at the hands of France. The war was hard and long. Why pursue the theme of victory farther? The cruel need which had called into being the disjointed federation of so many states, kingdoms, republics, empires, principalities, had been banished by the swords of Marlborough and Eugene. The temptation to rush for the spoil, to grab and depart, was strong. The Dutch could have their dyke; Austria saw herself mistress of Italy; Prussia was sure of important satisfactions in status and in territory; Germany, incoherent and ineffectual, at this time felt scarcely less fear of Charles XII than of Louis XIV. Thus every common impulse was relaxed, every contribution was neglected, and every preparation for 1707 delayed.

But the power of France was still unbroken. Louis XIV was forming his armies for the new campaign. Twenty-one thousand militia were drafted into the front line. Vendôme and the Elector in Flanders, Villars on the Upper Rhine, Noailles in Roussillon, Tessé in Dauphiné, and Berwick and the Duke of Orleans in Spain confronted the Allies. The Great King sought peace, but still only a French peace: and at any moment a turn of fortune would revive his full claims. Between equals and similars there always is much to be said for peace even through a drawn war; but to a wide, numerous, disconnected coalition, faced by a homogeneous military nation and a grand autocracy, a drawn war embodied in a treaty spelt permanent defeat. One man, still carrying with him the British island in its most remarkable efflorescence of genius and energy, stood against this kind of accommodation. Marlborough, harassed and hampered upon every side, remained unexhausted and all-compelling.

After the day at Blenheim had shifted the axis of the war he had planned the decisive invasion of France by the Moselle. In the sunshine of unhoped-for prosperity the German states had failed him. The surest, easiest road into France would never be trodden by the Allies. The chance had fled. But now 1706 had restored the Blenheim situation, and once again he formed a plan which if it were executed—as with ordinary loyalties it could be—would bend or break France to the will of England. This plan lay in that high region of strategy where all the forces are measured and all the impulsions understood. Since it had proved impossible to lead Germany into France directly by the Moselle, a wider operation was required. His conception was now a double invasion from north and south. This used the resources, the war-will of England, and above all her supreme naval power, at the highest pitch. With his present ascendancy in Holland, with his redcoats and the British-paid contingents and subsidies, Marlborough and the Dutch would hold and press hard upon the principal army of France in the fortress zone of the Netherlands. Simultaneously Eugene, with the forces of the Empire sustained by the allied mercenaries and the whole strength of the English and Dutch fleets in the Mediterranean, and based upon sea-borne supplies and munitions, would invade France from the south. For this purpose they must first of all seize a safe fortified harbour through which the amphibious power of England could exert itself to the full, and also animate the Imperial armies. The mighty French monarchy would be taken between hammer and anvil. This he deemed would be irresistible and final.

According to the recognized and enduring conventions of war, an attack on a central body by opposite forces can normally be met by the simple expedient of masking both assailants, and organizing a mobile central force which can be thrown against either in overwhelming strength as opportunity suggests. But this school-book diagram, like all other strategic manœuvres, is governed by the facts of time, distance, and numbers. When the two fronts threatened are so far apart that it takes many weeks to transfer troops from the one to the other, and when the weight of the two attacks or invasions is almost insupportable in either quarter, the manœuvre which looks so obvious and has so often succeeded in a restricted theatre ceases to work. The separate inroads forge ahead, and no decisively superior concentration can be made against either. This was the basis of Marlborough’s strategy for the year 1707. But all hung on the sea base. And there was only one. Toulon must be taken: it must become the root of an immense rodent growth in the bowels of France, leading to a fatal collapse either on the northern or the southern front, or perhaps on both. Here was the way to achieve the full purpose of the Allies and finish the war.

This scheme, for which Marlborough toiled and ran great and drawn-out hazards, reveals to us his true views about the Spanish theatre. We have seen him repeatedly and genuinely supporting the war in Spain, always ready to send trusted generals and good, sorely needed troops from England or from Flanders to the Peninsula: always ready to accept this large, costly, and disconnected diversion. Although, as has been shown, there were substantial offsets, such a policy cannot easily be reconciled with the canons of true strategy. Political and commercial factors had launched the Allies into a great war in Spain. Not only the Tory Party, but on the whole the bulk of English opinion, preferred an alliance with Portugal and an expedition to Spain to the grim ding-dong in Flanders. To Parliament Spain seemed the easy and clever road. It was in fact an additional détour on a journey already only too long. Why, then, did our great commander acquiesce so tamely in this questionable exertion? Did he agree or did he submit? There is no doubt that he submitted. He paid off at great cost Tory and English prejudices, and did the best he could with what was left. Otherwise even that might have been lost.

But now we shall see how truly he measured the war in Spain. The capture of Toulon and a real thrust up towards Lyons into the vitals of Southern France would, in his judgment, instantly clear Spain. The French, no matter how few there were to drive them, would flow out of the Peninsula as naturally as water flows out of a cistern when its bottom tap is opened. Therefore in the winter of 1706-7 Marlborough’s central aim became the siege and capture of Toulon.

The victory at Turin had roused Victor Amadeus to a high degree of war vigour and of territorial desire. He hoped to have the concessions he had been promised in Lombardy endorsed by treaty with the French, and to spread his sovereignty in Provence by conquest. He was therefore eager to invade Southern France. All his ideas and efforts were in harmony with Marlborough’s plans. The Empire, on the other hand, had contrary ambitions. After the rough treatment they had received from the Dutch in Belgium, and with the proofs of extreme Dutch claims about the Barrier before their eyes, they were resolved to take physical possession not only of Lombardy, but also of the Kingdom of Naples. They were not interested in aiding the general victory by carrying the war into Southern France. They developed an obstinate resistance even to the transfer to Savoy of those parts of Lombardy which had been specifically promised to Victor Amadeus in the original treaty by which he had joined the Grand Alliance. Naples, as a conquest or at least as a counter for the peace treaty, now became their supreme desire. The whole urge of the Imperialist policy was therefore divergent from the purpose of common victory which Marlborough steadfastly pursued.

As early as December 6, 1706, Marlborough wrote a guarded but none the less pointed letter to Wratislaw in which he complained of the ill-treatment by the Empire of the Duke of Savoy, and hinted that he might not be able to prevent the twenty-eight thousand Prussians, Palatines, and Hessians in the pay of the Sea Powers, without whom the victorious campaign of Turin could never have been undertaken, being withdrawn at the instance of the Dutch from the Italian theatre, unless the Imperialist efforts were loyally devoted to the common cause, and justice done to Savoy.^[250] The Imperial Court were alive to the consequences of this threat, which was, in fact, the only lever which Marlborough could use upon them. Nevertheless, they were recalcitrant in the last degree. They retarded every concession to Savoy; they raised every possible objection to the invasion of Provence and the siege of Toulon; and they remained bent above all things on the seizure of Naples. Upon this last froward project they paraded an additional grievance. Peterborough, during his self-imposed mission to the Duke of Savoy in the autumn of 1706, had without the slightest authority held out expectations of a landing force of five thousand British troops for the capture of Naples. Marlborough rejected this demand on the very same day (December 11) that it was presented to him in London, and wrote to Eugene accordingly.^[251] He insisted upon the siege of Toulon, and refused to countenance the excursion to Naples. An acrimonious correspondence ensued in which, in language which became increasingly blunt, he reminded Wratislaw of the immense aid which the Sea Powers were rendering to the Empire, of its helplessness if that aid were withdrawn, and of the grievous disappointment of the Allies at the failure of the Emperor’s war-effort.

It was impossible for the Imperialists to march on Naples unless the English Fleet by its command of the sea prevented French sea-borne reinforcements forestalling the long, slow overland expedition. This potent factor, added to the menace of the withdrawal of the troops of the Sea Powers, forced the Emperor to transfer some of the fortresses of Lombardy to the Duke of Savoy, and to agree to the Toulon plan. But nothing could persuade him to abandon the design upon Naples. Early in February Marlborough made a detailed written agreement with Victor Amadeus for the attack upon Toulon. England would furnish forty ships of the line to sustain the advance along the Riviera of the Savoyard and Imperialist troops. The fleet would supply money, powder, and food upon a very large scale. It would land cannon and sailors in strong force for the siege and the preliminary operations. Article XV was laconic and precise: “The proposed expedition to Naples is excluded, being judged at the present time impracticable, and harmful to the interests of the campaign in France.”^[252]

This document was presented to Vienna as decisive upon the controversy. Confronted with a virtual ultimatum, the Imperial Court behaved in the worst manner. They agreed sullenly to allow their troops to share in the Toulon expedition, and to the vital point that Prince Eugene should command it. They persisted in their plans against Naples. They were taking a far more disloyal and selfish step. They entered ardently into a military convention with France which resulted in the Treaty of Milan. This amounted to a separate local peace. The Emperor agreed with Louis XIV to close down the Italian front altogether. The twenty thousand French troops who were blockaded in the various fortresses of Northern Italy and must in a few months have become prisoners of war were accorded free passage to rejoin the main hostile armies. Portions of them reinforced Vendôme in Flanders; the rest strengthened Marshal Tessé, who was guarding the passes of the French southern front.

The history of all coalitions is a tale of the reciprocal complaints of allies; but the conduct of the Imperial Court at this juncture stands forth remarkably as an example of wanton, reckless self-seeking. If the Dutch were too narrowly set upon their Barrier, if English ambitions sought a disproportionate humiliation of France, at least the Sea Powers backed their aims with enormous and generous exertions for the common cause. But the Empire, saved from disaster in Bavaria in 1704, restored to success in Italy in 1706 by the resources of England and Holland, dependent upon them not only for the inestimable prizes to which it aspired, but also for its very existence, stands guilty of folly and ingratitude of the basest kind.

Through all this Marlborough, working from a distance, using his control in London and his influence at The Hague, strove tirelessly for the larger strategy of the war. His faith was in Eugene. In 1706 he had provided him with the core and substance of the army which had conquered at Turin. In 1707 he placed at his disposal overwhelming naval power, and encouraged him by every practical means to strike another equally glorious and possibly final blow for the allied cause at Toulon. “I not only esteem, but really love that Prince.” To arm him for another splendid achievement he would be himself content to face Vendôme with a smaller army and to conduct a campaign in Flanders under most unpromising conditions. Never mind! He would manage it somehow, and far to the south his great comrade would gather the fruits which would make amends for all. We shall presently recount how these hopes were blighted.

During the successes of 1706 the Northern War encroached ever nearer to the main quarrel. Charles XII was now at his zenith. His triumphs over the Russians were followed at the beginning of 1706 by his crushing defeat of King Augustus of Poland, also Elector of Saxony, at the battle of Fraustadt (February 13). At the head of his veteran and victorious Swedish army Charles marched into Saxony, and, establishing himself at Altranstädt, a few miles from Leipzig, proceeded to exact his terms. These were at once humiliating and sinister. Augustus must renounce his title to the crown of Poland. He must recognize Charles’s nominee, Stanislaus, as Polish king. He must write personally to felicitate him. He must abandon the Russian alliance. In order to make his breach with Russia mortal, he must perform a deed of infamy which the Czar could never forgive, which, indeed, destroyed all basis of faith and honour between the Saxon and the Russian Courts. He must surrender Patkul.

The reader will remember how Patkul, a Livonian patriot and Swedish subject, in revenge for his own and his country’s ill-usage had made himself the mainspring of the coalition against Charles XII. The influence which this impressive personage, waging what was almost a private war, had been able to exert upon so many states and princes was a remarkable feature in these times. Patkul was now General and Plenipotentiary of the Czar. He was his envoy to the Court of King Augustus. He had come there in the sanctity of laws and customs sacred even to barbarian rulers. Although his diplomacy had latterly been tortuous, he had entered Saxony as a friend and ally. King Augustus must now deliver him foully and treacherously to the vengeance of Charles XII. That there might be no hitch in the execution of these grisly terms, a final condition prescribed that the Swedish army should have free quarters in Saxony during the winter of 1706-7, levying their contributions on the countryside by force in so far as their needs were not supplied by the Saxon Government. It was not till September 1706 that Augustus could subjugate himself to these conditions. By the Treaty of Altranstädt he bowed to his fate and his shame. At midnight on April 7, 1707, the Swedish general Meyerfeld halted before the gates of Königstein with a band of soldiers. Patkul, who had been for some months detained in the fortress and had neglected a proffered opportunity to escape, was handed over to Charles’s representative, and forthwith chained hand and foot as a Swedish deserter and high traitor. From the King of Sweden’s point of view this was no doubt a true bill. After some months of rigorous confinement and a vain hunger-strike Patkul was brought before a Swedish court martial, and thereafter the General and Ambassador of Peter the Great was broken upon the wheel and expired in excruciating torment.

Charles XII was now twenty-five. Encamped in the heart of Germany at the head of forty thousand devoted, ruthless, athletic, disciplined Swedish co-adventurers whom no troops had yet been able to withstand, he became the object of the most earnest anxiety, and solicitation from all parts of Central Europe. He recognized no law but his grand caprice; and Christendom, divided against itself, competed for his sword. It was no easy matter to obtain access to him. He lived the life of a general on active service. He saw no ambassadors, and referred all diplomatic notes to Stockholm, where nothing could be settled without his approval. Louis XIV had already sent M. Besenval to wait at his tent-pegs. The Swedish King found it difficult to decide between his various revenges and opportunities. His hatred for the Czar was equalled by his hatred for King Augustus. His dislike of France and the religious persecutions of Louis XIV was matched by his many points of quarrel with the Empire. He conceived himself the champion of Protestantism, particularly of the Lutheran Churches. Personal brawls and fisticuffs had flared up between his agents and the Imperial representatives. An Imperial ambassador had received a box on the ear. There were tangled disputes with the Emperor about Muscovite troops who had taken refuge in the Reich, about supplies, and of course religion. To which quarter would Charles XII turn his fierce and as yet invincible bayonets? Throughout all Germany in the winter of 1706 this was the main preoccupation. To the Sea Powers it was a monstrous irrelevance. But there he poised, with the choice of plunging into the Russian wilderness or marching into the very heart of world affairs.

We shall not weary the reader with the intricate details of the disputes and negotiations which centred round the youthful conqueror’s tent. The main outlines will suffice. Marlborough was alarmed at Charles XII’s attitude as early as September 1706. “I am very much afraid,” he wrote to Heinsius, “that this march of the Sweeds [sic] into Saxe will create a great degree of trouble. . . . Whenever the States or England write to the King of Sweden, there must be care taken that there be no threats in the letter, for the King of Sweden is of a very particular humor.”^[253]

There was a general feeling in the shuddering Courts of Germany and in the dour Cabinets of the Sea Powers that Marlborough, with his military glamour and almost equally renowned diplomatic arts, was the man who of all others could penetrate the King’s designs, could tip the balance, if it were possible, and cushion this formidable, romantic, ruffianly genius and his grim phalanx into the Russian wastes. Accordingly on April 20 the Captain-General set off in his coach from The Hague through Hanover to the tent of Charles XII. Many picturesque accounts have been given of their meeting, which fascinated contemporary Europe as a “topic of wonder” to all men. They met as commanding generals each fresh from glowing victories. Whatever effects could be produced depended upon personal contact. Biographers of Marlborough usually claim that his mission at once transformed the purposes of Charles XII. This seems unreasonable. It established a relationship upon which Marlborough negotiated all the summer with results which eventually reached their conclusion in 1709 upon the battlefield of Pultawa.

The interest for our purpose which attaches to the details of the meeting is Marlborough’s personal demeanour and management. When he arrived at Altranstädt from his tiring journey through Hanover he went to see Count Piper, who was a kind of Prime Minister to Charles XII. The Count, for reasons which are not worth examining, sent out word to say that he was engaged, and kept Marlborough in his coach waiting half an hour behind his appointment. Then the Swede, having asserted his dignity, came down the steps of his house to the gate to receive Queen Anne’s envoy. Marlborough got out of the coach at the same moment and, putting on his hat, walked past Count Piper without recognizing him or saluting him, and turned aside on to the grass “as if to make water.”^[255] After a delay more protracted than would have seemed necessary he came back into the path, and with courtly gestures and ceremonious phrasing began his embassy. Count Piper meanwhile had stood embarrassed in the roadway.

A good general would probably have the knack of retorting affronts so as to retain for himself the advantages of a discussion. There was a day when Murat and Joseph Bonaparte forced themselves upon Napoleon in his bedroom. The Emperor was standing by a large hip-bath filled to the brim with hot water, and as his defence against this intrusion of public business into private affairs had only his towel. The others were dressed in full uniform of blue and gold for a great parade. As they approached him Napoleon threw himself back into the hip-bath and splashed them from head to foot, while, being in a state of nature himself, he underwent no corresponding disadvantage. He then proceeded to deal with the matter in hand.

Charles XII and Marlborough were interested in each other—the first a knight-errant pursuing glory through all hazards, at all costs, and irrespective of reward; the other the statesman and commander, trying to shield large public purposes from capricious disturbance. Charles stands for all time as an example of the firmness of the human soul under every freak of fortune. John was a monument of practical sagacity. The young King, since he leaped from his throne at the throat of Europe at seventeen, had only experienced measureless triumph. The elderly General, reared as a courtier, with all the ups and downs of a lengthening life behind him—a little heavy with the weight of all that weighed upon him, and webbed by the combinations of which he was the motive power—had a different status and outlook. But War and Victory were a theme, a basis, and a bond. At their meeting Marlborough presented a letter from Queen Anne: “Had her sex not prevented it, she would have crossed the sea to visit a prince admired by the whole universe. I am in this particular more happy than the Queen, and I wish I could serve in some campaign under so great a commander that I might learn what I yet want to know in the art of war.”^[256] Charles XII appeared to accept the compliment, and it was frequently repeated by his devoted army. He was not to be easily flattered, and it is said that he deemed it overdone. He thought, we learn from Voltaire, that Marlborough in his scarlet uniform and Garter star and riband looked less like a soldier than he himself in his austere dress and with his studied abhorrence of all show.

Marlborough, for his part, took trouble during his stay to find out personally and through his officers about the Swedish army. What was it worth? How could it be dealt with, if need be? He found the Rev. John Robinson, the English envoy to Sweden, an invaluable companion. Robinson, who had thirty years’ experience of the Swedish Court, has left various letters upon the visit. He says that Marlborough remarked about the Swedish army, “It has no artillery-train, no hospitals, no magazines. It is an army which lives on what it finds, et qui dans une guerre de chicane périrait bientôt.” Even the captious Klopp is provoked to comment, “These seem to be the words of a soothsayer.”^[257] In fact Marlborough was measuring the ugly, but none the less possible, prospect of having to deal professionally with an abominable disturbance of the War of the Spanish Succession.

Often in the casual remarks of great men one learns their true mind in an intimate way. In this expression “a war of chicane” there lies a fund of reflection. A war of chicane is a war of artifice and bickering, of pettifogging even, a war where a fortnight’s delay before some awkward lines or fortress would run an enemy short of bread or cash, a war where time would count more than action, a baffling war; a war of deadlocks, a war where the enemy must face continually an ebbing tide. This was not Marlborough’s kind of war. He was entirely modern. The offensive, the aggressive, the grand, sharp decision in the open field, and the rest would follow, as Napoleon would say, par surcroît. But if nothing could be done with the King of Sweden, a war of chicane was the war which Marlborough and his friend Eugene, with many a comprehending nod, might find themselves not incapable of waging against him.

The meeting was, however, both memorable and important. The two men had a long talk about what they understood best. Marlborough spoke French, which the King understood but did not speak, and Robinson translated the Royal replies. Charles XII, with the reports of Blenheim and Ramillies in his mind, asked whether, and if so why, Marlborough thought it necessary to charge at the head of his troops. Marlborough replied in effect, “Only because otherwise they would not think so much of me.” The King agreed with this. They were together for about four hours, until, in fact, his Majesty’s “kettledrums called him to prayers.”

The King expected Marlborough to make him proposals upon the international situation, but all accounts show that Marlborough kept entirely upon personal and professional ground. He did not even, though he had been pressed to do so, presume to intercede on behalf of Patkul. Voltaire in his romantic but none the less profound Histoire de Charles XII wrote:

Voltaire asserts that this version was given him by Sarah after Marlborough’s death.

It is alleged that more precise methods were adopted with Count Piper; that he was bribed with large or at least substantial sums of money to push his master to the east instead of to the west. Historical argument has developed about this, and no one would wish to do injustice to the memory of the gallant, faithful servitor of Charles XII, who became one of the many victims of the defeat at Pultawa in 1709. But we know that Marlborough made arrangements to procure considerable sums of money for this avowed purpose before starting on his mission; and there is a matter-of-fact business letter from him on July 9, 1708, to Mr Secretary Boyle which contains the following blunt paragraph: “As to what you mentioned in your former relating to Count Piper and the two other Swedish Ministers, it is very true what Mr Robinson writes that they were promised the yearly allowance of £2500; but whatever may be thought fit hereafter, I do not see any necessity for the present payment of it.”^[261] Most people nowadays will consider this decisive upon the point.^[262]

The practice of Ministers receiving gifts from foreign Powers in the course of negotiations was not unusual, and often known and tolerated by their masters. Torcy accustomed himself to mention his receipts to Louis XIV. The entry of Portugal into the war had been preceded by a veritable auction. Stanhope in this same year 1707 accompanied the commercial treaty which he obtained from Charles III by substantial payments to Count and Countess Oropeza.^[263] At the moment in Leipzig Besenval, the French envoy, had received precise instructions from Versailles. “If the King of Sweden helps to bring about the general peace of Europe, the King [of France] will reward the labours of Count Piper, and his Majesty has already taken the resolution of giving him 300,000 livres as a reward for his exertions.”^[264] Against this were the English counter-offers.

It must not, however, be inferred that any of these payments induced their recipients to fail in their duty. Other and far more drastic processes awaited such defaults. In almost every case the Ministers did their work in accordance with their country’s interests or with the wishes of the sovereigns they served; but they were very glad to be able to pick up large sums of money from one side or other, or preferably from both, in the course of their public duties, according to the lax conventions of that age. These gains were regarded as no less respectable than the large profits which nowadays so often come to the organizers of a sound and successful flotation in the markets. The facts should nevertheless be recorded.

The day after the talk of the two warriors Charles XII set off according to his custom (and Napoleon’s) at full gallop for Leipzig, where he had arranged to meet Augustus, dethroned King of Poland and vanquished, but still ruling, Elector of Saxony. More than that, Stanislaus, Charles XII’s nominee and actual holder of the Polish crown, was in attendance. Queen Anne had not recognized this usurping pawn of the Swedish victories. Charles therefore asked Marlborough, whom he kept at his side, whether he could meet him. The Duke made no difficulty, and when Stanislaus arrived through the double doors he bowed and addressed him as “Your Majesty,” which committed England to nothing, but was received with evident gratification by both the conqueror, Charles, and his puppet, Stanislaus. Apart from compliments he was careful to hold no intercourse with the unrecognized sovereign. The King of Prussia did not wish to be left out of these conversations, and Marlborough on the next day therefore repaired to Charlottenburg, where he met King Frederick. He thus, according to the biographers of his day, “met four kings in four days.” His comment to Sarah is the instructive “If I was obliged to make a choice, it should be [the] youngest [Charles XII].”^[265]

He returned by hard stages from Leipzig to Brussels to meet the news of the worst disaster which had yet befallen the Allies.

The departure of Peterborough for Italy in August 1706 had deprived the allied chiefs in Spain of the only objective upon which they were agreed. They resumed their quarrels with added zest, and a new figure, Lord Rivers, arrived presently from England with novel complications. Peterborough, for his part, returned to Spain for Christmas. His credit with the London Cabinet was extinct. To the convinced disapprobation of Godolphin and Marlborough was now added the active hostility of Sunderland. The new Secretary of State had no sooner received the seals than he set himself to examine Peterborough’s conduct. In accordance with the Whig Party view, he stood by Galway, “one of King William’s men.” His prim, pedantic nature was affronted by Peterborough’s extravagances. His taste for controversy was excited by Peterborough’s boastful, acrimonious, and endless dispatches. He determined to break him. Meanwhile the mercurial Earl reached the allied headquarters at Valencia in the middle of January 1707 to find discord at its height. The hatreds against him had in his absence been supplanted by a different, a more recent and more lively crop. Indeed, he even seemed about to capture the favour of Charles III. But the hounds were on his trail. Along the slow sea communications with England Sunderland’s directions made their way. Galway was appointed to the supreme command in Spain. Peterborough, thus superseded, continued to disport himself gaily in council, and no one was quite sure of his actual position.

Strong reinforcements had arrived. We have seen how the whole of the British and Huguenot troops, above eight thousand strong, so long held in readiness for a “descent” on the French coasts, had been deflected in August 1706 to the Peninsula. They had lingered at Lisbon till the end of the year. They arrived in Valencia in February 1707. In all, the Allies disposed of nearly thirty thousand men. The three proverbial alternatives presented themselves to the council of war held on January 15 at Valencia. Galway and Stanhope, in accordance with Marlborough’s general directions, proposed to combine all forces and march on Madrid, challenging a decisive battle on the way. Charles III and the “Vienna crew” urged that the troops should be dispersed in garrisons for the defence of the loyal provinces of Valencia and Catalonia. He was backed by Noyelles, whom we last saw leading Marlborough’s advance guards to the forcing of the lines of Brabant in 1705.^[266] Noyelles had served in Spain during 1706, and he was rapidly replacing Lichtenstein in the King’s confidence and favour.

Peterborough ridiculed both plans, and proposed to lead a large detachment to join the Duke of Savoy. All were therefore opposed to Peterborough, and as disaster attended their action he was subsequently able to claim that all were wrong. Indeed, it is hard to understand how experienced generals could have drifted into the feeble-fatal compromise which they adopted after all reasonable argument had burned itself out. In the upshot King Charles, with Stanhope and the Austro-Spanish troops, marched northward to garrison Catalonia and Aragon, while Galway, with the flower of the allied infantry and Das Minas and his surviving Portuguese, set forth, cruelly weakened in numbers but in considerable optimism, for Madrid. Peterborough did not accompany them. Sunderland’s later dispatches had arrived. He was stripped of all his commissions ashore and afloat, and peremptorily recalled to explain his measures, his excursions, and the bills he had drawn upon the British account.

Marshal Berwick, soon to be reinforced by eight thousand men released from Italy by the Treaty of Milan, lay in the field before Madrid. He had prepared magazines in Murcia to enable him to manœuvre there. Galway marched upon these magazines as a preliminary to his advance upon Madrid. The population of Murcia were hostile, and sickness made inroads upon the new recruits from England. Galway, who found it difficult to obtain intelligence of the real strength of the enemy, hardened his heart and resolved to force a battle upon Berwick. He had fifteen thousand men, of whom five thousand were British, while Berwick commanded twenty-five thousand, half of whom were French, and was now daily expecting the arrival of the Duke of Orleans with the eight thousand reinforcement. It is not surprising in these circumstances that Berwick was equally desirous of battle. While Galway was besieging the small town of Villena, he heard that the main French army was but four hours distant. He heard also that Orleans had not yet joined it. This was true so far as concerned that tardy Prince. But the bulk of his forces had already reached Berwick, and their royal commander was moving with leisurely gait some days behind them. Forthwith Galway and Das Minas set out against Berwick. At daybreak on April 25 the Allies advanced into the plains before the walled town of Almanza. Here Berwick awaited them in order of battle, with certainly thirty thousand men against fifteen thousand. However, the wine was drawn and must be drunk.

Berwick drew up seventy-six squadrons and seventy-two battalions in two lines in front of Almanza. He placed the Spanish cavalry on his right, the infantry in the centre, and the French on his left. Galway’s army was so weak in cavalry that it was necessary to intersperse the English on his left with infantry detachments. His main body of infantry faced Berwick’s centre. Their right was protected by the Portuguese horse, who under Das Minas demanded this post of honour. The battle was begun about three o’clock by the horse and foot of the English left. They broke the first line of the Spanish cavalry. Inspired by this, the infantry of the Allies—English, Dutch, and Huguenots—attacked the greatly superior forces opposite to them with admirable spirit and actually drove this large mass of French and Spanish foot almost to the walls of Almanza. Meanwhile, however, the cavalry of the French left observed that the Portuguese in their post of honour on the right had not conformed to the general advance, and that the right flank of the allied infantry was therefore uncovered. They therefore rode forward upon both. The Portuguese cavalry galloped from the field before any collision was possible. Das Minas and a handful of his officers threw themselves into a square of Portuguese infantry which made a stand; and when this broke they rode round to fight it out with Galway on the left, or quitted the field. The whole French cavalry then fell upon the naked flank of the allied centre, breaking up and cutting down whole battalions and throwing at least a third of it into disorder.

The battle now became most fierce and bloody. The one-armed Galway, blinded by the blood from a sabre-cut above his eyes, could no longer command. Berwick, relieved by the partial confusion among the allied infantry, transferred his best French battalions to sustain the yielding Spanish horse. The English cavalry in their turn were driven back, and now not only the right but the left of the British, Dutch, and Huguenot infantry was exposed to the full fury of cavalry and infantry attack. Practically all the Portuguese troops had now fled, and little more than eight thousand infantry remained to face the exultant onset of at least three times their number. Galway, whose wound was now bandaged so that he could again see, led forward his reserve of English infantry to protect and cover the retreat of the centre. An orderly withdrawal from the field began; and, surprising as it may seem, this was effected. Galway, with 3500 English and Dutch, made good his retreat in unbroken order. The remnants of the centre under Count Dohna, one of Marlborough’s veterans, and Major-General Shrimpton likewise retired in a disciplined array, but in a different direction. They found a respite in darkness and among the mountains. The separated fragments of the allied army lay for the night nearly twenty miles apart. With the dawn Galway saw himself bound to continue his retreat upon Valencia. Shrimpton, with about two thousand British, resisted all attacks for two days, but, being then surrounded on all sides without food or hope of succour, he surrendered at discretion upon the third.

History has noted the oddity that in this battle the English commanded by the Frenchman, Galway (Ruvigny), were beaten by the French commanded by the Englishman, Berwick. The proportion of casualties was unusual. The Allies left on the field four thousand killed and wounded and three thousand prisoners, or half their total force. Berwick’s own casualties were also severe. He admitted only two thousand, but most authorities compute them at at least five thousand.^[267] There were five thousand allied stragglers, most of whom rejoined the army. Galway retreated rapidly to Alcira, where he reorganized his troops and arranged for the defence of the frontier fortresses of Valencia. Here he was joined by two thousand six hundred reinforcements newly landed by Admiral Byng.

Considering the memorable character and consequences of this savage battle, the accounts are both scanty and obscure. It is therefore right to print a few new letters upon it from the Blenheim archives.

Considering how destructive was the defeat of Almanza, the rally and front presented by Galway were praiseworthy in a high degree. Crippled, wounded, beaten, discredited, distrusted in the vilest manner, a foreigner hated in England, an intruder in the Spanish brawl, he never for a moment ceased to wage war upon the enemy. He gathered together the fragments of his shattered army; he yielded no post without stubborn fighting, and in October, after five months of apparently hopeless struggle, he was still at the head of a coherent force of upwards of fifteen thousand men. He was of course greatly aided by the withdrawal in September of French troops in Spain for the rescue of Toulon. There is nothing known about Galway that is not to his honour.

“This ill success in Spain,” wrote Marlborough stubbornly (May 23), “has flung everything backwards, so that the best resolution we can take is to let the French see we are resolved to keep on the war, so that we can have a good peace.”^[270]

Galway’s personal position engaged his attention. “God knows,” he wrote to Sarah (June 6), “what is to be done for the recovery of the great disorders that are now in Spain. For by what Lord Rivers says it is too plain King Charles apprehends that Lord Galway betrays him, which can never enter into my head; however if they believe it, it will poison all the undertakings on that side.” To Godolphin (June 13): “I find Lord Galway in very bad circumstances. For my own part I think him incapable of being guilty; but if there be no confidence, the consequences must be fatal.” (June 23) “It is impracticable for Lord Galway to continue in that service.” And, finally, to Lord Sunderland on June 27: “Nobody can have a better opinion than I have of Lord Galway, but when I consider the Court and King of Spain, I think it would be the most barbarous thing in the world to impose upon Galway to stay; for I am very confident he would rather beg his bread—I am sure I would.”

His own opinion about the tactics of Almanza was equally decided (Meldert, June 16): “I had this morning yours of the 30th of the last month, with the order of battle, by which it appears that the enemies were very much stronger than Lord Galway, which makes it very strange that by choice they should go to attack them in a plain.”^[271]

On May 21 the Duke had assumed command of the army which had assembled under Overkirk near Brussels, and advanced at once to the south of Hal. He drew out ninety-seven battalions and 164 squadrons with 112 guns, in all about ninety thousand men. Vendôme had assembled around Mons 124 battalions and 195 squadrons—say, about a hundred and ten thousand men, not including the detached cavalry (sixteen squadrons) of La Motte.^[272] Vendôme was operating from a frontier well guarded by many fortresses of the first class; and his instructions were not to hazard a battle without urgent need. Marlborough, on the other hand, had to cover several important but poorly fortified towns, especially Brussels. He had thought earlier of making a dash for Mons or Tournai before Vendôme was ready. His journey to see the King of Sweden had prevented this, and the moment had now passed. He was too far outnumbered to undertake a siege, and must content himself with covering Brabant, hoping for a chance of battle on favourable terms. All his letters show him anxious for battle, though not at undue risk. The Dutch had instructed their field Deputies that they were not to allow a battle. He was careful “not to let the army know that the Dutch are not willing to venture, since that must have an ill effect.”^[273] He tried to obtain some latitude by assuring Heinsius that he would not fight except at a marked advantage. The Dutch Government only enjoined more strict caution upon their Deputies. Marlborough was thus thrown back into the conditions he had found intolerable in previous campaigns. He had to create a situation where the superior enemy were at great disadvantage, and where at the same time the Dutch had no option but to fight. This double problem was incapable of solution. Thus unhappily circumstanced, he took the field.

At midnight on May 25, after he had ordered the army to march the next day to Soignies, his spies reported that the French were also to move forward at daybreak. These movements brought the two great armies into critical relation. On the 27th Marlborough, taking with him the field Deputies, made a reconnaissance in force towards the enemy but failed to find them. They had in fact moved eastward to Gosselies, where they formed a strong camp. This was not known till late in the day. The French movement deliberately uncovered the fortress of Mons, as if to challenge its siege. Had the Allies attempted this, Brussels, Louvain, and, indeed, all Brabant would have been exposed. The choice remained of moving eastward across the Senne to converge upon the enemy with the chance of battle, or of retracing the marches along the Brussels road and standing between him and Brabant. A council of war debated the question. Marlborough proposed to remain where he was, and send a detachment to demolish the abandoned French lines before Mons. Evidently he wished to lead Vendôme to believe that he was about to commit the error which the Marshal’s movement had invited. Upon this pretence he would await Vendôme’s next move. The general opinion was against this apparent adoption of an unsound policy.

According to Goslinga, Marlborough then proposed to retire on Brussels. At this the Deputies, supported by many of the generals, Dutch and English, raised an outcry. A sudden retreat at the very opening of the campaign would be injurious to the prestige and morale of the army; it would give the French, already comforted by Almanza, exactly the tonic they required. The council wished to cross the Senne and march on Nivelles. Marlborough consented to this, and orders were issued accordingly. Goslinga slept in his boots, expecting to move at two a.m. But at three o’clock he could hear no movement in the headquarters, and at four he learned that Marlborough had changed the plan and persuaded Overkirk, and that the army would fall back on Brussels. The reason given was that Cadogan had personally reconnoitred the passage of the Senne at Ronquières, and found it both occupied and difficult. The other passage was even less satisfactory. There was therefore no alternative but the “humiliating” withdrawal, which was, in fact, in full progress. Obviously Marlborough was doing what he chose, and finding facts and excuses to baffle the contrary argument. Filled with wrath at what he calls cette foutue démarche, the fiery, opinionated Dutchman mounted his horse and accosted the Captain-General during the march: “I used full freedom in thrusting before the Duke face to face [entre quatre yeux] how much this ignominious retreat at the opening of the campaign would stain his fine reputation, raise that of the Duke of Vendôme, and reanimate the castdown courage of the French soldiers. He said little in response [pas grande chose]; but persisted in his course.” Such is Goslinga’s tale.

On the other hand we have Marlborough’s letter written to Godolphin on May 30, while the facts were well known to the principal officers of the army:

There is thus a conflict between Goslinga’s retrospective memoirs and Marlborough’s report written at the time to Godolphin; but the explanation of Marlborough’s decision seems plain. Had he possessed the powers which are the right of every commander of an army, he would have marched to meet Vendôme through Nivelles after encouraging him to commit himself more deeply by a feint by Mons; and perhaps the chance of battle would have come. But it was not primarily against Vendôme that he was in this instance manœuvring. He hoped that this super-prudent retreat, and the heart-burnings it caused to the Dutch field Deputies and generals, would convince Heinsius of his extreme cautiousness, and procure him the freedom without which it was not possible to handle an army with success. If he gained that freedom from his friends, and if the enemy, inflamed by his apparent weakness, would “grow insolent,” then something might be made of the campaign. Meanwhile he had no intention of forcing the Senne and bringing about a situation where he could offer battle, when he knew that at the culminating moment the Deputies would produce their written instructions to veto such hazards. As the somewhat crestfallen confederates passed by Brussels and their columns bent eastward towards the Dyle and their former fighting-grounds, the news of a second major disaster reached Marlborough. The Lines of Stollhofen had been captured by Marshal Villars.

Prince Louis of Baden was dead, and the Margrave of Bayreuth, appointed by Vienna because, though a bad general, he was a good Catholic, led the armies of Germany in his stead. Prince Louis had left behind as his monument that renowned system of defences upon the Upper Rhine known as the Lines of Stollhofen. It had become a joke in the armies that the late Prince’s whole conception of the world war was the defence of the Lines of Stollhofen. He had originally expected to command on the Rhine the hundred and twenty thousand Imperial troops which had been promised by the old Emperor in the treaty of the Grand Alliance. These had not appeared; but as the successive campaigns passed with their twists of fortune Prince Louis when in doubt had always persevered in the fortification of his lines. In fact, it was said that in exact proportion as the military strength of Germany diminished so his fortifications grew. They had never been more impressive than in the spring of 1707. From the impassable mountains of the Black Forest to Fort Louis stretched the double and triple lines of bastions, redans, redoubts, trenches, strong points, inundations, marshes, which had hitherto in the War of Succession effectively prevented all invasion of Germany along the Rhine valley. Now, after the Margrave had been driven out of Alsace, the defences had been perfected along the whole course of the river to the fortresses of Landau and Philippsburg. Counting round the angle of Fort Louis, these fifty or sixty miles of elaborate earthworks and water-shields constituted the finest manifestation of passive defence which war in those times had seen. Within them stood the ragged remnants of the Emperor’s Rhine army, recently stripped and stinted for the sake of the expedition to Naples. Behind them lay Germany, defenceless, disunited, but, thanks to the Sea Powers, to Blenheim and Ramillies, hitherto unravaged. But behind them also had risen at Rastadt the magnificent palace and gardens of the late Margrave, on which he had lavished hundreds of thousands of pounds, and by which he proclaimed his confidence that his lines were inexpugnable. The mercy of God, manifested through his toe, had laid him in his tomb before the striking of the fatal hour.

Marlborough’s accurate Secret Service, and his own military instinct, had led him to fear some sudden stroke by Villars on the Rhine. Already from St James’s on March 18 he had sent a plain warning. “I am glad,” he wrote to M. de Janus,^[275] “that you are beginning to settle down in your quarters. It is reported, however, from France that M. de Villars seems to have some project in view which he would explode [ferait éclater] at the first chance; but I do not doubt that all necessary precautions will be taken on your side to frustrate it [le faire avorter].”^[276] No notice had been taken by the Margrave of Bayreuth’s headquarters, although nearly two months had passed.

On the night of May 22 Marshal Villars gave a grand ball at Strasburg. This festivity and its date had become widely known. The news had crossed the gulf between the armies, and upon the staff of the new Commander-in-Chief, the Prince of Bayreuth, entire confidence prevailed. But while Villars arranged his general officers in the minuet, their troops, mobilized with the utmost stealth, were marching fast, and when they received their orders from him in the ballroom they rode off to play their parts in a great surprise. The famous lines which for five years had protected the German Fatherland were overrun at numerous points without loss of life, almost without the firing of a shot. The most impregnable section, between the river and the mountains, was the first to fall. The French clambered in succession over tiers of permanent defences. The Reich troops fled in disorder towards Durlach, and Villars fixed his headquarters in the palace and castle of Rastadt on the evening of the 23rd. By then the entire system of defence which had hitherto served Central Germany in the place of an army was in French hands. The roadway into Germany was now barred neither by ramparts nor soldiers. The dyke had broken, and the bitter waters flowed onward in a deluge. This was no more than the Germanic states deserved for their meanness to the Empire, and the Empire for its incompetence. Fortune committed an injustice when the main penalty was paid by the Circles of Swabia and Franconia, which had done the most to defend their country.

Such was the opening of the campaign of 1707. In a trice the entire face of the war had changed. In Italy an improvident separate peace; in Spain a shattering defeat; in Germany unstemmed invasion; in Flanders deadlock and veto. There remained Marlborough’s hope: Eugene and Toulon.

The attack upon Toulon in 1707 was one of the greatest naval enterprises ever undertaken by England. Marlborough’s power and the whole authority of the Government sustained the Fleet. They found in Sir Cloudesley Shovell an admiral who brought to the enterprise a strong surge of his own. Marlborough understood from his youthful service afloat the difficulties and uncertainties of sea war. There was no need to tell him, as Shovell was at pains to explain to Victor Amadeus, that the Navy sometimes took three weeks or a month to arrive at a place which they might with a fair wind reach in twenty-four hours. Marlborough realized what Napoleon would never believe until Trafalgar—that a land commander cannot drive a fleet. Admiral Shovell was, however, from the outset as keen and convinced as Marlborough about taking Toulon. He saw the profit to the naval war of securing this excellent Mediterranean base. He saw from his quarterdeck across the short, wind-whipped seas of the Gulf of Lions exactly what Marlborough saw in his headquarters at Meldert—the destruction of the French fleet and its base, and the command of the Mediterranean for England during the war and perhaps longer. Both Shovell and Admiral Norris, his representative in the Duke of Savoy’s army, also comprehended the strategic consequences upon the whole struggle of the organized invasion of Southern France from a conquered Toulon and an English-dominated Mediterranean.

Peterborough had written in 1705 a description of Shovell which certainly seems borne out by his conduct before Toulon.

Marlborough ceaselessly urged the attack upon Toulon. The disasters at Almanza and Stollhofen only increased its importance in his eyes. “Our greatest hope is on the Italian front, although the expedition to Naples in which they [the Imperialists] are persisting with so much obstinacy may cause much difficulty.”^[278] To Admiral Norris, on June 5, “You will have heard of our misfortune upon the Rhine. Our chief hopes are from the projects on your side, wherein I am confident nothing will be wanting on the part of our fleet.”^[279] To Wratislaw, “England and Holland base all their hopes on the Italian plan and are convinced that the whole future of the campaign and even of the war depends upon it.” To Sinzendorf, the Imperial Ambassador at The Hague, on June 6, “The maritime powers have set their hearts upon the entry into France, and it is there that they expect the greatest fortune that can come to the high allies to restore our affairs.”^[280] Chetwynd, the English Minister to the Court of Savoy, kept Marlborough constantly informed.

Although the nominal command rested with the Duke of Savoy, everything turned upon Eugene. Eugene, as we shall have further occasion to remark, was a land animal, a denizen of Central Europe. He did not understand the sea; what he knew of it he disliked and distrusted. He had no comprehension of amphibious strategy. But the attitude of the Vienna Government with which he was himself bound up also reacted upon him. He knew they had been forced into the plan by Marlborough. The Empire had no army of its own worthy of the name in Italy. It was as feeble and ragged on the Po as on the Rhine. But twenty-eight thousand Germanic troops, to be revived by the Sea Powers with nearly fifteen thousand recruits, were a force upon which they might ride, if not to victory in the South of France, at least to annexation in the South of Italy. The threat of withdrawing these twenty-eight thousand northern soldiers had compelled them to consent to the Toulon enterprise. They resented both the menace and the task; and Eugene to some extent shared their mood. Thus we see before Toulon a Prince Eugene different from any of the gleaming pictures with which he illuminated the warfare of his age. We shall show how in 1708 Marlborough, worn down, leaned upon Eugene and was in a dark hour sustained by him; but now in 1707 it must stand on record that the ever-glorious prince and warrior who with his own dauntless heart constituted the fighting power of the Holy Roman Empire allowed himself to fall below the level of the event.

We therefore have the spectacle of Marlborough inspiring Shovell, and Shovell trying to animate Eugene: of a half-hearted military command and an overflowing fleet stimulus. Shovell was obliged by the agreement to furnish large specified quantities of powder and shot. But he never considered these limits. He would land more than a hundred guns for the siege. Most of his marines had been dropped in Spain to plug the gap of Almanza; but he proffered his seamen. Forty rounds a gun was considered the lowest reserve tolerable in an English fleet; Shovell cut it down to thirty-five without express authority. Acting on Marlborough’s suggestion, he sent to Leghorn and Genoa to purchase ammunition. He pledged his own personal credit pending sanction from the Treasury. Throughout the operation the Navy never failed to give more material aid than was contracted beforehand or asked under necessity. The spirit of the Admiral and his stubborn, audacious counsels thrust themselves upon the Duke of Savoy and still more upon Prince Eugene. At every moment he was at hand to aid, to encourage, to reassure. In our history the Navy has sometimes stood by to watch the Army do the work. Here was a case where a navy tried by its exertion and sacrifice to drive forward an army. It did not succeed.

Marlborough’s wish and endeavour were to begin the advance against Toulon in early May. But many insuperable obstacles intervened. The snow melted late upon the passes; both the Imperialists and the Duke of Savoy were behindhand with their preparations; and even the allied fleet, delayed in Spain, did not “come on to the coast” till the middle of June. In spite of this and of the lengthy and embittered discussions between the Allies, no hint of the Toulon plan had reached Versailles till June 10, when it was reported that Eugene would shortly march on Nice. It was the end of the month before it was recognized that Toulon was the allied aim, and that Provence and not Dauphiné was threatened. Marlborough’s Secret Service gives the date as precisely as the French records. “The French,” he wrote to Chetwynd on July 1, “seem to have penetrated our grand design, so that the longer it is delayed the greater the difficulty you must expect.”^[283] Toulon was at this moment an easy prey. Its defences were neglected; its garrison less than eight thousand men. Forthwith Marshal Tessé, leaving the forces on the coast to delay the advance, began to concentrate all his available troops upon Toulon, and set to work to fortify an extended position north-east of the city.

Eugene, having feinted at Susa, began his march on June 30 with about thirty-five thousand men. Of these scarcely a sixth were provided by the Empire. Over eight thousand Imperialists under General Daun, the defender of Turin, were slowly wending their way down the leg of Italy towards Naples amid the protests of the Papal States. The first charge on whatever recruits, supplies, and transport the Empire could procure had been for Naples. All the engagements which the Imperial Ministers had signed with the Sea Powers, particularly England, about the supplies of food, powder, shot, mules and horses, had hopelessly collapsed. Every attempt to borrow money on the Imperial credit had failed. Eugene’s letters to the Emperor are a painful exposure of military and financial prostration.^[284] On his side, however, stood the redoubtable German mercenaries of the Sea Powers. There were the ardent Savoyards who followed their Duke; and there was the fleet and Sir Cloudesley Shovell, upon whom all burdens could be thrown, and by whom nearly all were accepted.

Up till the last moment Eugene and the Government he served hugged the hope that they would persuade the Sea Powers to abandon the attempt and to send five thousand of their paid troops to Spain. Eugene mooted this to Shovell. The Admiral, supported by the representatives of England and Holland, flatly refused to consider such a desertion, and as they were the masters of the men, ships, and money it could not be pursued. The disputations with Vienna about Toulon were continued by the London Cabinet. The Imperial Ministers made unceasing complaint. “We risk our army,” wrote Wratislaw to Marlborough on July 13, “in the sole view of pleasing England.” “Had they ever,” scornfully exclaimed Godolphin, “had Italy or an army, but for the extraordinary efforts and expenses of England?”^[285]

One feature long unknown to Marlborough and the Allies must be noticed here. Lamberty tells a story of secret Swedish intervention at Turin at the instance of the French envoy to Charles XII.^[286] The Swedish King is said to have brought decisive pressure to bear upon Victor Amadeus to frustrate the attack upon Toulon. The King of Sweden had, it seems, been under a ten-years secret alliance with France. This engagement was limited to mutual aid only in the event of mortal danger. Charles XII recognized such danger in the fall of Toulon. His treaty with France did not expire till the end of 1708. It is alleged that he told the Duke of Savoy’s agent that if Toulon fell he would invade the Empire. If the Allies invaded Dauphiné or Provence he and his Swedes would winter in Saxony and Bohemia. At the same time Marshal Villars, who was already across the Rhine ravaging Swabia and Franconia, made vehement appeal to the Swedish King to join hands with him, and consummate the destruction of the Hapsburg power; and anyone can see how fatal such a combination would have been. Victor Amadeus, it is suggested, deliberately spoiled the Toulon expedition. His apologists present him as being willing to bear silently and secretly all the odium of military treachery committed out of loyalty to the common cause.

It was under these depressing auspices that Eugene came down through the Alps, reached the sea, and marched along the Riviera through Nice and Cannes. The picture presented to modern eyes of shores lined with endless pleasure cities, villas, and gardens, and striped with mighty causeways at every level, affords no suggestion of the stern country that confronted Prince Eugene. Only one ill-kept road wound its way across the innumerable spurs and watercourses with which the mountains meet the sparkling sea. Primitive hamlets of goatherds or fisher-folk offered neither food nor shelter to an army. Small, impoverished coastal towns, few and far between, scowled from amid their fortifications upon open roadsteads, with here and there perhaps a jetty or a quay; and the Mediterranean, for all its smiles, afflicted a sailing fleet with constant uncertainty and frequent peril.

Wishing to be informed by an eye whose measure he knew well, Marlborough now sent Brigadier Palmes, the young cavalry officer who had distinguished himself at Blenheim, “to the Duke of Savoy and Prince Eugene with orders to stay there till they can judge how the campaign will end on that side, and then to have their thoughts on a project for the next campaign. . . . I expect him back about the middle of September.”^[287] The importance of this liaison appointment is shown by the fact that the Queen’s sanction was officially obtained. Thus Palmes was more than Marlborough’s personal representative.

On July 11 Eugene came in contact with the French delaying force in redoubts behind the Var. The English fleet with its Dutch squadron had kept pace with the army. Shovell now stood in, and four ships of the line, one of seventy guns, sailed into the mouth of the river and bombarded in flank the seaward works. These, speedily abandoned, were occupied by landing parties of seamen, while at the same time the advanced troops of Eugene’s army forced the passage inland.

After the Var only seventy miles now stood between the Allies and Toulon. For an army whose artillery and supplies were largely carried by sea a week’s marching should have sufficed. Actually a fortnight was consumed. * “It was the opinion of almost every officer,” wrote Chetwynd to Marlborough a month later, “that if before coming to Toulon, we had not been so dilatory and cautious, we might have done a great deal.”^[290] It was not until July 26 that the allied army and fleet arrived before Tessé’s new lines at Toulon. The Marshal had managed to gather about twenty thousand men for their defence, the last of whom only reached their position some days after the Allies.

Now came the crux. The Admiral proposed the immediate storm of the newly constructed and still only partially garrisoned defences. Victor Amadeus appeared favourable, but, though nominally in chief command, he threw the burden upon Prince Eugene. A year before he and Eugene with barely twenty thousand men had not hesitated to attack the French lines before Turin, although there were on the spot or in the neighbourhood more than fifty thousand enemy troops. At Toulon these proportions were almost reversed. There were the same Prussians, Hanoverians, and Saxe-Gothas—all at their full strength. There was now besides the mighty fleet: fifty battleships with a score of ancillary vessels. Moreover, every day’s delay meant the arrival of French reinforcements and the strengthening of their fortifications. Should the signal be given?

Eugene refused. All the dislike he had for the enterprise, all his misgivings, broke forth. The place was no longer lightly defended. The enemy were there in strength. Surprise had miscarried. Prudence commanded immediate retreat before the army was cut off from Italy by a French descent through a choice of passes upon its communications. A council was held at headquarters. Shovell reacted vigorously. He renewed the assurances he had already given at Nice. Why fear for the line of supply? He would feed the army from the sea. Why fear for the line of retreat? The cavalry could ride away, and he would embark all the infantry in his ships and land them on the Italy side of any intercepting position which the French might occupy. Grave, tense debate! Finally a compromise; no grand onslaught, but an attack upon the lines by bombardment and local assaults. Trenches were accordingly opened, and a dead-lift effort began.

The section of the defences resting upon the height of St Catherine was stormed on July 30, not without severe casualties, and a first parallel of the attacking works was completed by August 7.

Eugene’s outlook and feelings are exposed in his letter to Wratislaw of August 4:

Properly speaking, it was no siege, but only an attack by the fleet and one field army upon the fortified position of another. Eugene, whose sentiments are only too apparent, bent to his task against his mood and judgment in fulfilment of his promise to Marlborough “that he would do his best.” Besides this, however, he formed a certain contact, comprehensible to fighting chiefs, with Shovell and the English admirals. No soldier of high quality can be unmoved by the ardour and comradeship of the naval service in a joint operation. Eugene was evidently affected by Shovell’s grit, resource, and zeal. “In spite of the representations I have made to the Admiral,” he wrote to the Emperor (August 5), “he absolutely insists upon carrying on with the enterprise of Toulon. . . . If they wish to proceed to its serious undertaking in spite of all the difficulties they see with their own eyes, the troops of Your Imperial Majesty will certainly not separate from them.”^[293] And later, “Although the Admirals do not understand the land service, they refuse to listen to facts, and adhere obstinately to their opinion that for good or ill everything must be staked on the siege of Toulon. Yet the pure impossibility of this is clearly before their eyes.”^[294]

For a while the fierce and costly fighting for the outworks of Toulon flowed forth and back as the days drew into weeks, and all the bombardments of Shovell’s landed cannon of the fleet could not master the adverse tide. The strategic excellence of the Toulon design made itself only the more intelligible. Louis XIV and those who sat around him could not see the deep divisions and underlying despondency in the allied camp before Toulon. What they weighed with increasing clarity were the consequences of its fall. They saw, in fact, what Marlborough had seen. They put the same value upon it as he did. Both the high centres from which the war was directed now measured with the same rod. The Versailles Council, through the difficulties of communication, were from three weeks to a month behindhand in their power of intervention. But as soon as they knew that a violent struggle was proceeding on the heights to the east of Toulon, and that the fate of the harbour hung in the balance, they laid their hands on every other theatre and clawed troops away even from the most urgent need. Exactly what Marlborough had foreseen and predicted happened. First of all they denuded Spain. Marshal Berwick in the full exploitation of Almanza was ordered on August 18 to gather his troops and quit the Peninsula, recross the Pyrenees, and march to the succour of Toulon. The foolish descent, prayed for by the Empire, of five thousand men at Barcelona would not have shifted a French battalion out of Spain. The attack upon Toulon denuded Spain of French troops. The remnants of the allied forces were suddenly conscious that everywhere pressure upon them was relieved.

On August 15 a French counter-stroke expelled the Allies from the heights of St Catherine, which they had gained on July 30. The gallant Prince of Saxe-Gotha, who had led the right wing at Turin a year before, was killed. By the 20th it was resolved to retreat. There were the recriminations usual in failure. Eugene reveals his own vexation in his letter to the Emperor of August 20:

The fleet embarked the sick, wounded, and artillery in its transports. Before he sailed away Shovell determined to attack the French fleet in the dockyard basins from the sea. Battleships had already prepared the way for bombardment: they had cannonaded the batteries that prevented the approach of their vulnerable bomb vessels, and had landed men to spike the deserted guns. On August 21, the first day calm enough for bombarding, Rear-Admiral Sir Thomas Dilkes anchored the flotilla of bomb-ketches near the shore. That afternoon and throughout the night under his direction they hove shells and explosive carcasses over the neck of land into the dockyard, setting ships and storehouses alight. What was thought in those days to be immense damage was done, and Toulon was shrouded in the smoke of many fires. That same night the army retreated along the coast in five columns. They were neither pursued nor intercepted. They crossed the Var on the 31st, reached Pignerol about the middle of September, and with the object of securing a more favourable line of advance in another year wound up the campaign with the siege and capture of Susa.

Thus ended the memorable effort against Toulon. The design and will-power were Marlborough’s and the impulse English: but nothing could prevail against the selfish divergencies of the Empire or the signs of oppression which seemed to rest throughout upon Prince Eugene. There may have been a deeper cause, but these were enough. Marlborough and the London Cabinet threw the blame upon the Empire, and never harboured or tolerated suspicions against Victor Amadeus. “You will therefore understand,” wrote Marlborough to Wratislaw (October 2, 1707),

The voice of suspicion suggested that Marlborough’s favourable view of Victor Amadeus was not entirely impartial. According to a Dutch report printed in Lamberty:

It is far more likely that Marlborough accepted the gift than that his judgment or actions were influenced thereby. Indeed, as we shall see, he rigorously subordinated the interests of Victor Amadeus and the Savoy front to the main campaign of 1708 in Flanders.

No one, on the other hand, must ignore the estimate of the difficulties presented on the spot by so sincere and noble a warrior as Eugene. He may well have been right that the task was impossible. It does not look in retrospect so hard as many of the feats of arms which he performed both before it and after. But it had failed, and with it failed the best hope of redeeming for the Allies the year 1707. Nevertheless good strategy even in failure often produces compensations. The secondary evils of the defeat at Almanza were avoided, and the Allies regained a fleeting control of the Peninsula. The results afloat were decisive and enduring. The French had scuttled their fleet in shallow water to save their hulls from the Allies’ fire. When the time came to raise these ships again, all but a few were found to be past repair. Others were burned or fatally injured by the English and Dutch bombardment. The dockyard, its cordage-stores and factories, were largely destroyed. Never again in the War of the Spanish Succession did France attempt to dispute the English command of the Mediterranean, which has been maintained with occasional interludes up till the present day. “The war of squadrons is finished,” wrote the French naval historian. “Toulon is safe; but our Fleet is defunct.”^[300]

It is hard across the gulf of time to represent the magnitude of the effort which the siege of Toulon cost Marlborough. Upon this enterprise he staked all his power to plan the next move which the Ramillies campaign had won him. It was his design. His wishes had been obeyed by the Cabinet in London, by the States-General at The Hague, by the princes of Germany so far as they were concerned or were capable of action. Even Vienna had conformed sullenly, disloyally, but still decidedly. So far as lay in his power, then so far-reaching, he had set all things moving in one direction. Was he right or wrong? Would the fall of Toulon have been the death-blow of France? Marlborough’s own authority and conviction must carry the chief weight; but Louis XIV and his military circle thought the same as their opponent; and Charles XII from his entirely different standpoint arrived secretly and spontaneously at a similar conclusion. Thus the three supreme exponents of the military art were in accord upon the merits of the plan. But the cost was measureless. A year’s campaign must be used; a year of political attrition at home; a year of waning comradeship throughout the Alliance. High stakes for Toulon!

Nothing remained for Marlborough at Meldert but to await the result, and meanwhile to hold the main French army close gripped upon the Flanders front. His smaller numbers prevented him from making a siege; the Dutch veto forbade him to force a battle. There was only the faint hope that Vendôme, like Villeroy, would himself seek a decision. But Vendôme, although from his fortified camp at Gembloux he pressed various projects upon Versailles, was himself restrained from running any serious risks by Louis XIV, who was listening at this time to the cautions of the Elector Max Emmanuel. He continued to make proposals for action, and accepted his master’s refusals without undue chagrin. Thus both the main armies lay motionless within a couple of marches of one another during the height of the campaigning season for more than ten weeks. When we reflect upon the poverty and rudimentary organization of the warring nations, and try to measure the daily cost of keeping these enormous forces watching each other month by month in intense readiness for battle, we may realize the waste and strain involved.

The Captain-General’s letter-bag reveals the whole European scene. In the forefront stood the catastrophe upon the Rhine. The incompetent Margrave of Bayreuth had made no attempt to defend the line of the Enz. Exposing the crossing at Pforzheim, he had retired towards Muhlacker pursued by Villars with forty thousand men. Leaving detachments to demolish the famous Lines of Stollhofen, the Marshal pressed forward impetuously, unhampered by considerations of reserves, bases, siege-train, or supply columns. His aim was to burst into Germany before a militia could be collected, to grind down the defenceless Estates of the Reich, and roam through the land with colours flying, spreading terror before him. On June 8 his headquarters were at Stuttgart. From here he made it plain that the French Treasury would be replenished from the purses of German princes, nobles, burghers, and peasants. Messengers were sent in all directions to demand contributions in kind and payments in money. Threatened by fire and sword, the princes and cities of Swabia produced millions to ransom what they had neglected to defend. Advancing from Stuttgart, Villars drove the Margrave back upon Nördlingen. French raiders traversed the battlefield of Blenheim. French detachments and exactions spread throughout Franconia. There was even a possibility of the general revolt of the Bavarian countryside against the Allies.^[301] Marlborough did what he could to stem the tide. He begged a regiment of cavalry, one of dragoons, and three battalions of infantry from the Elector Palatine. He requested Vienna to return Danes from Bavaria, and eventually diverted Saxons who were approaching his own army.^[302] To the Margrave of Bayreuth he wrote on June 7:

To Harley: “If all their troops were together with a good head, they might themselves remedy this disaster.”^[304] To Wratislaw he prescribed a more personal remedy. “We were right to press you for so long a time to send a general there, I do not propose to say which; but in the name of God do not lose a moment in getting rid of the Margrave and sending thither a general on the active list [un général en poste].”^[305] And to Count Sinzendorff:

To Harley (June 9): “If they had a good general in Germany, I am persuaded they can bring together troops enough of their own to oblige the French to retire over the Rhine.”^[307] And to M. de Janus: “I am sure that all Villars has beyond his sixteen thousand men are militia and local levies on which he would never dare depend.”

These extracts are typical of the authority and vigour of the correspondence which made Marlborough’s headquarters the centre of the whole Alliance. For the ten weeks of his stay at Meldert from June 1 to August 10 the more important letters printed in the Dispatches fill a hundred and twenty-five pages, and this takes no account of his private correspondence with Sarah and Godolphin.

The Hungarian revolt at this time had entered upon a new phase. The French Government sought to commit Rakoczy to an irreconcilable breach. Louis XIV offered him an official alliance, but only on condition that the Diet of Hungary formally deposed the Emperor Joseph I from the kingship. Rakoczy yielded to this pressure. Perhaps he had little choice. But the consequences were fatal to the rebellion. The Hungarian movement was split from top to bottom. The majority of the nation wished to secure their rights by coming to terms with their legitimate ruler. His attempted deposition meant a fight to the death. The Catholic elements on the whole favoured the French view, but the Lutherans were vehemently opposed to it. Rakoczy was himself compelled to coerce Hungarian opinion by violence. A Diet was summoned to meet at Onod. The leader of the Lutherans, one of the enormous family of Okolicsany, was seized and executed, and two of his friends were murdered by Rakoczy’s orders at the instigation of French officers. This event produced a profound impression throughout Hungary. The “bloody Diet of Onod,” as it was called, marked the collapse of Hungarian unity. The revolt was wracked with other difficulties. The peasants of Moravia and Austria had now taken refuge in strongholds; the fields and farms were ruined. Raids were no longer profitable, and the patriot soldiers could only live by preying on their own countrymen. The demand that the Emperor should abdicate the Hungarian Throne redoubled the fury of Vienna. Marlborough, well informed as ever, held back the Sea Powers from further efforts at conciliation. Rakoczy’s position became increasingly precarious, and his insurgent troops began to flinch. During 1707 the resistance of Hungary absorbed the main Imperial effort, but under that effort it steadily weakened, although its final defeat at the battle of Trentschin was not reached until the spring of the following year.

The need for a victory in Flanders became only the more apparent. Marlborough continued to coax and persuade the Pensionary Heinsius to grant him the necessary freedom to fight, without which he could only manœuvre up to a fiasco. Geldermalsen had by this time returned to the army, apparently with Marlborough’s consent. His colleague Goslinga continued to cavil and malign. His charges are not obscure. Upon the retreat at the end of May from Soignies by Brussels to the camp at Meldert Goslinga says:

Thus we see Goslinga blaming Marlborough for sluggishness and lack of zeal against the enemy, while at the same time he had in his pocket the explicit orders of his “masters” to avoid every occasion where there would be a “risk of coming to an action” till news was received of the upshot of Toulon, which might not be for two or three months. It may be thought hard upon a general to be blamed for not fighting, and foully aspersed in his motives, by the very man whose highest function was to prevent him. Goslinga was no judge of the military possibilities. Neither was he Marlborough’s channel to the Dutch authorities. The Duke suffered Goslinga with an eighteenth-century patience. He dealt with Heinsius. On the very day, June 2, when Goslinga depicts himself as deploring the veto on battles because it would give Marlborough an excuse to wriggle out of fighting and meanwhile to continue to draw his salaries, we find a hitherto unpublished letter:

These proofs both from published and unpublished documents can be multiplied to an extent which would be wearisome. Day after day during this injurious, costly paralysis Marlborough’s intimate letters to Sarah and Godolphin show him using the whole influence he had with The Hague and also with the Deputies and generals in the camp to procure freedom of action and manœuvre. In particular he pressed upon the Deputies a march to the west of Vendôme’s position—a minor manœuvre which would, he declared, immediately oblige the French to retreat. Always he begged for the right to fight a battle if he thought fit. He stooped to every kind of promise not to fight a general engagement unless he had undoubted advantage. But the only response was from The Hague reiterated negation to their Deputies, and from Goslinga the insertion of renewed calumnies in his diary. The Dutch Government, with the power placed in their hands by Ramillies, did not intend to jeopardize their gains. “Our friends will not venture,” wrote Marlborough compendiously, “unless we have an advantage, which our enemies will be careful not to give.”^[312] They were chilled by Almanza and Stollhofen. They used the protracted operations against Toulon as a valid excuse for delay. When this was exhausted they found others, and never during the whole of 1707 did they allow the Duke more than a shadow of the freedom he had used so remarkably in the previous year.

It was said of Marlborough that he could refuse a favour with more grace than others could grant one. The business of exchanging prisoners of mark afforded many opportunities for the courteous usages of the day. He had, it will be remembered, after Ramillies given large numbers of French officer prisoners immediate leave of absence upon parole to arrange their affairs. These were bound by a code of honour, accepted throughout Europe, to return when called upon. However, there were many excuses on the grounds of ill-health, private affairs, or old friendship with the Duke. His letter to the Marquis du Plessis-Châtillon-Nonant is a model.

The explanation of these stern orders from Queen Anne is found in Marlborough’s letter to Harley of June 23.

We do not propose to complicate this chapter of misfortune in the field and all the great strategic designs that went awry or were spoiled with any account of the royal and party intrigues at home. Our concern is with Marlborough, in his camp at Meldert, waiting and longing for the good news from Toulon which his comrade Prince Eugene might presently send him, and for the consequent change in the military conditions which would render so many European, domestic, and Cabinet perils obsolete. It is enough here that the Whigs in their anger and alarm had recourse to their usual and hitherto unfailing method of putting the screw on Godolphin, and that Godolphin poured out his troubles into Marlborough’s bosom. Certainly the ten weeks of inaction at Meldert “eating and drinking,” as Goslinga insolently observes about this remarkably frugal and abstemious man, “making his fortune from his pay and allowances,” could not have been among the most agreeable in Marlborough’s laborious life. The story of Job might well be rewritten in the terms which the historical facts of this period provide. But always there was the hope of Toulon. “I have been uneasy in my head,” he wrote to Godolphin (August 4), “ever since I left off the Spa water; but if the siege of Toulon goes prosperously, I shall be cured of all diseases except old age.”^[316]

The repercussion of the attack at Toulon had been protracted. Marlborough used language which spread over the high circles of the Confederate army an expectation that presently Vendôme would be ordered to send troops to Toulon. Even Goslinga records this impression. It was justified. By August 1 Louis XIV had sent peremptory orders to Vendôme to dispatch thirteen battalions and six squadrons to the southern front. As soon as this news reached Meldert Marlborough declared that the hour for action had struck. Vendôme was weakened. His superiority was gone. Marlborough demanded the right to attack him in his fortified camp at Gembloux. He appealed to The Hague. The Hague referred the matter to its Deputies and generals. Goslinga may speak for himself. “The Duke of Vendôme having at last received the order to send a large detachment to France, Milord appeared anxious to use the chance to attack the camp of the enemy, whose strength was still about equal to ours.”^[317] This should surely have been Goslinga’s moment to spur the hitherto recreant Captain-General out of his lucrative inertia. But alas, all he remarks is, “This seemed risky” (C’est ce qui paroissoit téméraire). Therefore he, Geldermalsen, and the Dutch generals with whom they consorted unleashed their veto. “Nothing remained,” says Goslinga, “but a secret sudden march which might compel him [Vendôme] to quit his unattackable camp. This is what the Duke resolved. I may say without vanity that I encouraged him in it as much as possible, and that when he made up his mind it was to me and Geldermalsen that he first told the secret.”^[318]

Here was, in fact, the march which Marlborough had for six weeks past been suggesting to The Hague, to the Deputies and the generals. He was almost certain, through his Secret Service and from his calculations, that Vendôme would resist nothing but a frontal attack, and that a movement upon his communications would send him scurrying back towards his main fortress line. He did not hope for a decisive battle. That could only be obtained by paying the high price of a direct assault. Still, there was the chance of mauling his rearguard or his flank-guard, and once these clashes began no one could fix their limits. The Deputies deemed an attempt of this kind not barred by their instructions. After all, they could always recur to them if undue risk threatened by ordering the Dutch troops to halt or retire at any moment, which would effectually arrest the Confederate army. It seemed a good opportunity for a spirited gesture with restricted commitments. Thus on the late afternoon of August 11 the splendid army of the Sea Powers, the best and largest that Marlborough had yet commanded, sending its baggage by daylight towards Louvain as a feint, broke camp at dusk.

There ensued the second brief series of rapid movements by the great armies which marked the campaign of 1707. Marlborough, marching south-west through Wavre, reached Genappe in the afternoon of August 11.^[319] Here he threatened to attack the left flank of Vendôme’s position, or alternatively to cut him off from Mons and his fortified lines and feeding-base. Vendôme, realizing at midnight (10th/11th) what his adversary was doing, abandoned his strong camp and retreated instantly by Gosselies towards Seneffe. The two armies therefore marched all day, converging in the same direction. But Vendôme by his promptitude in retiring kept ahead of Marlborough. The former distance of ten miles between the armies was perhaps halved, but in spite of their greater exertions no contact could be made by the Allies. The weather had suddenly become frightful; torrents of rain descended, making the few roads by which these large masses were moving most painful. Marlborough, who had intended to march early, postponed his further advance till noon to give his tired troops a rest. He reached Arquennes at six p.m. on August 12. Vendôme, who had halted when his pursuer halted, moved on again as soon as the chase was resumed, and thus kept a lead. Still the armies converged, and when the Allies reached Arquennes the French were but three miles away.

Both generals were under veto of the Dutch and French Governments respectively against wilfully fighting a battle. Marlborough’s only chance was to stamp on the French rearguard. Such an event might have involved a general action. On the other hand, Vendôme, who might, if well posted and entrenched, have been ready to withstand an onslaught, was bound by his orders from Versailles to avoid this contingency if possible. Marlborough tried during the night of the 12th/13th to compromise Vendôme’s rearguard. This operation miscarried, not only because of the general intentions of the French, but also by an accidental delay in the pursuit.

Marlborough sent written orders to Count Tilly to march with forty squadrons and five thousand grenadiers and attack the French rearguard. Count Lottum, with thirty squadrons and twenty battalions, was to support him. Tilly reached the point upon which he had been directed and opened his orders.

Two allied squadrons who pushed on through the darkness reported at daylight the French army already in retreat under a strong rearguard of twenty-five squadrons and two thousand grenadiers. Tilly’s men doubled for six miles; but the rearguard, using sunken roads to delay the pursuit, and withdrawing as fast as possible, got themselves out without serious ill-treatment. Thus the attempt to pin the French tail failed, and with it the last chance, if ever there had been a chance, of bringing about a battle under the limited conditions prescribed. The next two marches could not alter the relations of the armies. Vendôme moved through Haine-Saint-Pierre and on to Saint-Denis, where he was close to his fortified lines about Mons and where further chase was useless. In terrible weather Marlborough moved on August 14 to Soignies; and Vendôme, resting his right wing on Mons, continued a little farther to the westward towards Ath. Both armies, exhausted and dripping, then settled down in almost the same positions they had occupied in May. Vendôme now drew reinforcements from Charleroi and Namur. Marlborough remained about Soignies, being only able in the continuous heavy rain to feed himself by the stone-paved turnpike from Brussels.

The best-known accounts of this swift, abortive manœuvre of the main armies come down to us from Goslinga and Colonel Cranstoun. Both criticize Marlborough. Goslinga complains that he did not move early enough on the morning of the 12th, and that he did not move at all on the 13th. Both he and Cranstoun say that Count Tilly was too old a man to have been entrusted with an operation that required the greatest vigour and daring. Cranstoun blames Marlborough for not having seen Count Tilly beforehand and explained to him orally what he was to do. This is one of those exceptional cases where the commander-in-chief is censured for having given written instead of verbal orders. Goslinga, of course, construes the series of events, the delayed march on the 12th, the choice of Count Tilly, and the halt on the 13th, as evidence that Marlborough did not mean to bring Vendôme to battle; and he further assumes, though without any warrant, that he could have done so by different decisions. Marlborough’s good faith is vindicated by his critic Cranstoun:

And he agrees with Goslinga about Count Tilly: “An old man, and though a notable officer, yet by his age become perhaps too cautious and slow for such an enterprise.”

It may well be that these strictures are valid. They do not in any way affect the main issue. Vendôme was under orders to avoid a battle, and had a good start; Marlborough was not allowed to fight one unless he could bring it about inevitably. Considering that Vendôme marched light and free from all impedimenta, without pitching tents in spite of the cruel weather, and so fast that he lost four thousand straggler-prisoners, and that Marlborough carried with him all his cannon, and was clogged by the roads besides the veto, it is scarcely remarkable that there was no decision. Moreover, Vendôme could at any moment turn south towards his fortresses and bridgeheads on the Sambre at Charleroi and Maubeuge. Marlborough must therefore have been certain throughout that only by some gross error on the part of his enemy, or some piece of good luck, could he bring him to action. Vendôme committed no error, and the odd mischance fell against Marlborough. To catch Vendôme was a forlorn hope which failed.

Peterborough had accepted his dismissal from his military and naval appointments and his recall with outward nonchalance and inward wrath. He made his homeward journey in the spring of 1707 through the capitals of the Alliance. The Secretary of State lost no time in advising the various Courts that he had no commission or authority. Nevertheless Peterborough’s fame, his rank, his energy of mind, his audacious personality, soon won him in most cases not merely ceremony but attention. His method was simple. He took the opposite line to the British Government on all points in dispute. He encouraged the Duke of Savoy to set his pretensions at the highest. Wratislaw he captivated by dwelling on the advantages of the Imperial expedition to Naples, which it was one of Marlborough’s chief objects to prevent. Charles XII refused to receive him. Peterborough galloped after him on a groom’s horse, and overtook and accosted him on the way to Altranstädt. The grim Swede listened in spite of himself.^[322] While Marlborough’s every effort was directed to turning Charles’s thrust to the eastward, Peterborough of course exhorted him to remain and mediate between France and the Grand Alliance. Fortunately the King regarded him with undue contempt. In Hanover he naturally advised the Electress to press her claims to visit England. These marplot peregrinations finally brought the errant Earl to the camp at Soignies. Wratislaw had written Marlborough a highly favourable account of Peterborough’s mood and quality. The Duke, who thought he had better find out what might be his intentions on reaching England, and unruffled by his vexatious conduct, sent him a ceremonious invitation. “I am willing to flatter myself,” he wrote, “that your curiosity of seeing this army, as well as your friendship to me, will give me the pleasure of seeing you very quickly.”^[323]

The Almanza defeat had been a godsend to Peterborough. He was on record as having condemned beforehand the advance which had led to the disaster. Had he not denounced Galway as incompetent? And was this not now terribly proven? Had he not spent and mortgaged his private fortune in the public cause? Had he not been dismissed, as he declared, in the full flow of his genius and success? Peterborough arrived at Marlborough’s headquarters with a somewhat formidable self-justification supported by “several letters and resolutions of councils of war.”^[324] He was well aware that his case would appeal to the Tory Party. Galway was obnoxious to them as a French refugee, as one of King William’s importations, as a Whig protégé, and as a defeated general. Peterborough embodied a first-class Parliamentary quarrel, rich with facts, armed with prejudice, and touching the most irritable spots of English politics.

The English Cabinet were increasingly incensed by Peterborough’s conduct. Both Secretaries of State were hot against him. Harley, in fact, wished to make him show that he had obeyed his orders, and in default to try him for misdemeanour before a common jury. “It would be better,” he remarked, “to find him work to defend himself than to leave him at leisure to do mischief.”^[325] The natural logic, pedantry, and partisanship of the Whig lords sustained this temper. Marlborough saw farther ahead. He warned Godolphin against the crude processes suggested by the Secretary of State. But all were agreed that Peterborough should sooner or later be invited to explain why in 1706 he had not marched to Madrid with the forces under his command; secondly, why he had not fulfilled his instructions by advancing to the King of Spain the moneys entrusted to him for that purpose; and, thirdly, why he had quitted Spain for Italy without orders, and there borrowed large sums of money for the Government on improvident terms.

The Commander-in-Chief received his guest with his customary courtesy, and listened for hours at a time to all he had to say. During ten long days the Duke surpassed himself in patience, urbanity, and reserve. His current comments are illuminating.

To Godolphin (August 15): “My lord Peterborough has been here ever since Friday, and I believe he thinks of staying some days longer.” To Sarah:

And again to Sarah (August 25): “If Lord Peterborough should, when he comes to England, at any time write to you, pray be careful what answer you make, for sooner or later it will be in print.”^[328]

Notwithstanding these drab reflections, Marlborough was evidently impressed with Peterborough’s case. He gave him a letter of recommendation to the English Government which, though studiously non-committal, ended with the decisive sentence, “As far as I am capable of judging, I verily think he has acted with great zeal.”

Towards the end of August Chetwynd’s reports from Toulon were gloomy. “There is not that friendship and reliance between the Duke of Savoy and Prince Eugene as should be wished, for making so great a design succeed.”^[329] Rumours of a failure in the south floated across from the French lines in Flanders. The facts gradually spread. At last the truth was known.

Marlborough bore this crowning disappointment with his usual calm. He set himself at once to minimize the evil effects, and to encourage every one. “We have no direct letters,” he wrote to Count Maffei, the Savoyard Minister in London (September 5),

And to General Rehbinder (commanding the Palatine troops in Spain) (September 7):

During the whole summer Marlborough conducted the allied correspondence with Charles XII. He wrote repeatedly to Count Piper in order to maintain the ties established by his visit. He urged the Emperor through every channel to make the concessions which the imperious Swede demanded. During the whole summer these critical negotiations hung in the balance. They may be studied in Marlborough’s dispatches and in Continental histories. Marlborough tried to keep the King of Sweden in good humour, and eventually persuaded the Emperor to sacrifice his offended pride to grave need. There were moments when he feared that nothing but force would bring Charles XII to reason. He began sombrely to consider ways and means. He let Count Piper feel that the Sea Powers had other resources besides argument and presents, and that if all else failed they would aid the Emperor to defend his territory and rights. He managed to convey this impression to the King without enraging him. It was not till September that the “hero of the North” declared himself appeased. It is significant that he waited till he had news that the siege of Toulon was definitely abandoned. The treaty was ratified on the 12th; and on the 25th his terrifying army turned its bayonets to the east and crossed the Oder into Silesia. The Imperial Court freely attributed to Marlborough the main credit for this result. It was one of his most notable successes in diplomacy.

General Schulenburg gives us a convincing instance of Marlborough’s judgment and of his comprehension, which held all Europe in its gaze. He recounts a conversation which he had with him in 1708 in the presence of Eugene upon Charles XII’s affairs. “Milord duke believes that one cannot do better than let him act exactly as he wishes in the direction of Moscow, where he could never reach his end [venir au bout] but will ruin himself to such an extent that he will not be able to do any more mischief, and that we shall find ourselves altogether rid of him.”^[333] It is curious that Prince Eugene, with all his knowledge of Europe, took the opposite view. He thought that “the attack upon the Czar might go too far and might well produce regrettable consequences; and that the King of Sweden at the head of forty thousand men would be able to overturn the Empire as often as he chose.”^[334]

But Marlborough was right. His measurements of men and affairs were so sure that he seems almost gifted with prophetic power. By the end of 1709 Charles XII was irretrievably ruined by the battle of Pultawa. Every word of Marlborough’s had come true.

This was for the future; and it was with sorrow that the Captain-General surveyed the results of 1707. The recovery of France seemed complete in every theatre. Grievous defeats had overtaken the allied arms at Almanza and Stollhofen; cruel disappointment at Toulon. His own campaign had been fettered and ineffectual. The Empire pursued its woebegone, particularist ambitions. Southern Germany had allowed itself to be ravaged without any rally of the Teutonic princes. The Dutch, angry and disappointed, hugged their Barrier, and their grasping administration had already cost the Allies every scrap of Belgian sympathy. There had been no lack of political malice in England even after the glories of 1706. What would be the temper now when there was nothing to show but vast expense and general miscarriage? In this adversity the Confederate armies sought their winter quarters; and Marlborough returned home to face a Cabinet crisis, the Parliamentary storm, and, worst of all, a bedchamber intrigue.

Sunderland’s appointment rankled in the heart of the Queen. Ignoring the straits to which her two chief Ministers were put, closing her eyes to the Parliamentary situation and the needs of Supply and War, Anne set herself to vindicate her royal authority. Her heart was estranged from Mr Montgomery and from Mrs Freeman. She listened to what they said to her on public business, and complied with all the requirements of State. But she made them feel that the tie which bound her to them was one of duress or convenience and no longer of affection. Nor did the void in the Queen’s bosom remain unfilled. Who would deliver her from the Whigs? This became her obsession. The many glories of her reign, the wonderful position she now held in Europe, which was then the world, the united island, the loyal people, the lustre of immortal victories, all faded in the sullen glow of her resentment. Her search for a deliverer was not long or fruitless. Always at hand was her trusted, well-liked Secretary of State, Mr Harley. What a comfort it was to talk to him! He understood her difficult position; he sympathized with her in the oppression to which she was subjected. He never asked her to do disagreeable things. On the contrary, he made her feel how unnecessary was Godolphin’s subservience to the Whigs, how wrongful and injurious were their insatiable demands. In this business of modern politics, in the House of Commons, in the party intrigues, the money votes, and all that, he was unrivalled. What he did not know about the management of the Commons was not worth knowing. He was there in the assembly which he had led or presided over so long, and could sway. Unlike Godolphin, he had a following, and it was composed of exactly those very elements, the moderate Tories, which Anne conceived to be the true nucleus of any national Government.

Mr Freeman was always at the wars. This was necessary, because he was a wonder-worker at the head of armies. There was none like him in the whole world. It was a pity he could not be at home. If only he would protect her from the Whigs! She would not then have to listen to their hateful voices conveyed shamefacedly through the mouth of their puppet Godolphin. He would keep Sarah from making scenes, writing endless political letters, and giving her unwelcome lectures on matters far beyond the province of a woman subject. There was nothing the Queen would not do for him if in return he could only render her this reasonable and rightful service. With him at her side, all would be well; but he was abroad.

The time came when Anne addressed herself to Harley in terms which were disloyal to her principal Ministers. One day a gardener handed him a secret letter from the Queen. She appealed to him to give her his help.^[335] No greater temptation could have been cast before an eighteenth-century statesman. Moreover, it harmonized with Harley’s deep political calculations and his innate love of mystery and subterranean intrigue. Forthwith he began to organize a group out of which, with the Queen’s exclusive favour, an alternative Government might be formed. He held nightly meetings with his Tory friends, with the law officer Simon Harcourt, and with the Secretary-at-War, St John, to devise a plan of action. It was obvious that this must comprise as its first decisive step the supplanting of Godolphin. But what of Marlborough? Harley was not at all sure which way Marlborough would go. He knew that, on the whole, Marlborough agreed with him, that he wished to preserve contact with the Tories, that scarcely less than the Queen he dreaded falling into the hands of the Whigs. Had not Marlborough visited the Duke of Shrewsbury, now returned from his long self-imposed exile, and spoken to him of the tyranny of the Whig lords? This suggestive fact had been disclosed to the Harley group, who were in touch with Shrewsbury. Shrewsbury was a fresh factor in the combination. A strong rally of the sensible Tories, with new, vigorous support from the Queen, might give Marlborough all that he wanted as the basis for his campaigns.

Up to a point Harley could persuade himself that he was acting in Marlborough’s practical interest. Was Marlborough the man to allow this interest to be prejudiced for the sake of saving an old friend like Godolphin, who had definitely exhausted his political usefulness? Like other people then and in later generations who have studied this enigmatic being, Harley could not measure Marlborough. He therefore deemed it probable that the Captain-General would desert Godolphin—for whom every kind of ceremonious and lucrative compensation would no doubt be provided—and accommodate himself to the new arrangement.

But still it might not be so. Marlborough might stand by Godolphin through thick and thin. The Secretary of State did not shrink from this awe-inspiring contingency. It would no doubt be bad for the war and the allied cause to oust Marlborough from the command of the armies; but when Harley was dealing with exciting personal and party forces, external events seemed to take on a new and temporarily reduced proportion. There was the Elector of Hanover, now at last persuaded to accept the command of the Imperial forces on the Rhine. Even the Whigs would be reassured in their party future by the appointment to the supreme command of the lawful Protestant successor to the crown of England. Apart from questions of victory, the lives of soldiers, the honour of the nation, the glint of the flag, all this looked promising and perhaps practicable, if need be.

But here arose the case of St John. Without St John’s brilliant oratory, his splendid mental equipment, his fire, his ruthlessness, everything would go awry. What would St John do? He was Marlborough’s Secretary-at-War, in the closest touch with the armies, sharing the burden of their labours, fascinated by their prowess. Still revelling in wine and women, he was none the less in office eager, vigilant, and tireless. He was a whole-hearted admirer of Marlborough. He was one of his young men. A comradeship subsisted between them, for Marlborough had come to like and trust St John. They corresponded freely and intimately. The Duke interested himself in St John’s private affairs. He had been made acquainted with the young Minister’s perpetual financial embarrassments. He had concerned himself in having his emoluments raised. More than that, this miser and skinflint, as he is represented, had on one occasion, it is asserted,^[336] paid St John’s debts from his own carefully accumulated fortune. Again the question presented itself to Harley: Would St John go the whole length?

Harley on this occasion did not deal in half-confidences. He let his associate see quite clearly that the ruin of Marlborough might, if the worst came to the worst, have to be faced as part of the plan. On what process St John made up his mind we cannot tell. To cast aside a benefactor and hero, and perchance wreck the policy of the state and the Alliance, and lose the war for the sake of a leap at real political power, must have been to him a tremendous personal issue. In the upshot, however, St John decided, should the need arise, to go with Harley in compassing the overthrow of Marlborough. For the sake of office, for a share in the management of the war, for contact with the Duke, he had very readily four years before let the Occasional Conformity Bill, and all that it meant to those he had incited, go to the devil. Now the same operation must be performed upon a larger scale. It was Marlborough now who must be sacrificed, and possibly the allied cause as well. These were important decisions for the bankrupt gambler and genius to take. They were not, however, decisions to which his audacity was unequal, or his nature a bar.

The next stage carries us into the ecclesiastical sphere. A series of important vacancies occurred. The sees of Chester and Exeter fell vacant, and also the Regius Professorship of Divinity at Oxford. All these were key-posts in religion and party politics. Any dilution of King William’s bishops would affect the small but solid Whig majority in the House of Lords. Oxford was at that time virtually a High Church seminary, from which the country clergy were mainly recruited. Every force at the disposal of the Whigs was set in motion. Sarah had already exhausted her influence, and her long letter of the preceding year and the Queen’s reply explain the opposing points of view very clearly.^[337] In January 1706/7 Somers had persuaded the Archbishop of Canterbury, Tenison, to wait upon the Queen and ascertain her feelings about one of the bishoprics. The Archbishop’s reception was chilling. “My discourse,” he reported, “was short, it being said to me on my entrance that the thing was already determined, though the person was not declared.”^[338] Godolphin’s pleadings were equally vain and unwelcome. Upon the Oxford appointment Marlborough had been induced to exert his whole influence in favour of Dr Potter, the Whig nominee. Although under this heavy intervention the Queen gave way, the concession only strengthened her will upon the bishoprics. She was, in fact, resolved to regain in the episcopal what she had lost in the Ministerial sphere. If Godolphin in the hands of the Junto made her swallow Whig Ministers, she would make the Junto swallow Tory bishops. Who could defeat her here? Was she not the acknowledged Head of the Church? Was not this a matter of conscience? It was no mere party prejudice. Her duty to God was involved. Founded upon the Eternal Rock and her own desires, no one could presume to shake her. She nominated Dr Blackhall, a prominent Tory partisan, to Exeter, and Dawes, another Tory, to Chester. Both did homage in August.

Not only were party politics involved in a sharp, practical form, but behind lay a more disquieting question. If these appointments represented the Queen’s spontaneous personal convictions, it was bad enough. If some one was secretly influencing her, it was far worse. If that some one was a Secretary of State acting behind the backs of his colleagues, and behind the party agreements on which the Supplies had been voted and all Parliamentary difficulties removed—that surely was worst of all. The very doctrine fundamental to the British Constitution, that the Monarch can do no wrong, directed this blast of Whig suspicion and reprobation upon Harley and his agents. What agents? And here the keenest minds in England anticipated the French maxim, “Cherchez la femme.”

It may be remembered that as far back as 1689 Sarah had discovered with some surprise that she had a poor relation named Hill, a Levantine merchant ruined by speculation, who had four children, among them a daughter, Abigail.^[339] When the parents died Sarah became the benefactress of the orphans, and provided for all of them in various ways. Abigail, the eldest, lived at St Albans with the Churchills and their children, and Sarah treated her as a sister. Thus the years passed. When Anne came to the throne Sarah introduced Abigail into the royal household, and during the course of 1702 she became one of the Queen’s dressers. She figured in the list of bedchamber women of 1704.^[340] In this post of humble intimacy Abigail faithfully and tenderly waited upon the Queen in her daily life and frequent illnesses. To beguile the long hours, she played with skill the harpsichord, greatly to the Queen’s enjoyment. But at first and for some time their relations were those of mistress and servant, or of patient and nurse. There is a curious letter of Anne’s in 1703 in which she chides Sarah, with a touch of jealousy, for her friendship for “Mrs [Mistress] Hill,” as Abigail was called.

Gradually, however, an attachment grew in the Queen’s heart towards one who rendered her so many small offices.

We have noticed the change in Sarah’s relations with Anne which followed the Queen’s accession. They were no longer united by common dislike of King William, and they had widely different feelings about politics and religion. We have traced the growing tension and estrangement which Sarah’s advocacy of Whig interests produced between her and her royal mistress. At the same time Sarah’s habits also changed. She had now become a great lady—after the Queen the greatest in the land. She dwelt at the centre of politics, and with her strong, clear-cut views, powerful, practical mind, and caustic tongue was bound to play a prominent part in all the business transacted by Ministers with the sovereign. In her husband’s absence at the wars she was his link with the Queen. Her relations with Godolphin were those of an indispensable Cabinet colleague. Courted by all, besought on every side for favours, united to the Queen by what the world believed to be a tie of lifelong and undying affection, Sarah seemed endowed with power to make or mar. To do her justice, she set singularly little store by the dispensation of patronage and favours. Her interests were in the great spheres of war and affairs; her pride was to manage the Queen for the glory of the realm.

But Sarah had also her own four daughters to guide. She had her pleasant home at St Albans; she had her loving life with John in his fleeting visits, and her daily correspondence with him when he was at the wars. Can we wonder that now she found her constant attendance upon Anne, their endless privacies, the dull, exacting routine of the palace, a companionship almost stifling? Insensibly she began to bring Abigail forward to bear some of the burden of entertaining the Queen. Abigail showed herself apt in this, and Anne made less difficulty about being separated from her beloved Mrs Freeman as the early years of the reign slipped by. There was no doubt, up to 1705 at least, that Anne would much rather have had Sarah with her than anyone else in the world except her husband. Nor can we doubt that had the Duchess of Marlborough continued the same assiduous and unceasing attentions which had been for nearly twenty years Sarah Churchill’s task in life she would have kept her strange dominance over the royal heart. However, as the splendid reign unfolded and Marlborough’s triumphs raised him to the pinnacle of Europe, Sarah saw less and less of Anne, and Anne increasingly leaned on Abigail.

It was also unfortunate that when the two women were together conversation should turn so often on the tiresome politics about which they disagreed, or upon proper and necessary requests by Sarah for decisions and promotions. Unsuspected at first on both sides, affection cooled. By the summer of 1705 Anne had become at least as dependent upon Abigail as upon Sarah. Till about this time Abigail never seems to have “talked of business” to the Queen; but she gradually became conscious of the reality of her influence. She was the witness on many occasions of hot disputes about politics between Sarah and the Queen. She saw Anne’s distresses; she comforted her after stormy scenes. Presently she began not unnaturally to make comments upon public affairs which pleased the Queen. She always said what her mistress liked to hear. This process became pronounced as the divergence between Harley and Godolphin developed, and here we must note, though Sarah appears to have been long unconscious of it, that Abigail stood in about the same family relation to Harley as she did to Sarah. She was bound by a cousinly tie to both. She would naturally see the Secretary of State in his audiences and on many occasions. She cultivated this intimacy, as well as that with the Queen.

It is not till June 2, 1707, that the name of Abigail figures in Marlborough’s correspondence. Evidently Sarah had become aware of a marked change in the demeanour of her poor relation. She felt herself in contact with a new power, hesitating, tentative, furtive, undefined, but in all senses real. She wrote in alarm to the Duke. Marlborough, into whose category of values Abigail had not yet swum, replied, “I should think you might speak to her with some caution which might do good; for she is certainly grateful and will mind what you say.” This optimism did not last long.

Sarah was deeply disturbed. Instead of increasing her attendances upon the Queen, using all her arts upon her, and acting as if she were entirely at her ease, she indulged in the haughtiness of offended friendship. She stayed away from Court, and taxed the Queen roundly in letters with departing from their old affection and talking politics with her chambermaid. Sarah’s eyes ought surely to have been opened by Anne’s letter of July 18.

This evidently was not one of Anne’s genuine, forceful, effusions. It is, indeed, a masterpiece of sarcasm and polished hostility. It may well be that two or three people sat together upon this and chuckled in exclusive comradeship over its many stabs and gibes. We have little doubt that Harley pointed the pen with which the Queen wrote. Such a letter nowadays would chill relations between equals. Between Sovereign and subject it wore a graver aspect. The relations could not be ended. The sword of Marlborough upheld Britain and the Grand Alliance. His authority and connexions at home were on a vast scale, not easily to be measured. Sarah was his wife. Her office of Mistress of the Robes was as important as that of the Lord Keeper. She and the Queen were bound together and had to bicker it out. All political forces converged upon the point. Besides, in the Queen’s heart there still perhaps sometimes lurked a fading wish to kiss, and let old days come back.

At the end of July 1707 Sarah learned that Abigail had been married some months previously to a Mr Masham, one of the Prince’s gentlemen. Abigail, taxed with the concealment of this important fact from the author of her fortunes, admitted it with her mutinous deference. It was not until Sarah learned that the Queen had been present at the ceremony and had made a substantial dotation that she realized how closely organized was this inner world from which she was excluded. We have to measure not only the wrath of an arrogant woman, but a political situation which held all Europe in its grip.

By this time the real facts had dawned on Marlborough. In the midst of this year of misfortune in the field he felt himself struck a deadly blow. He always measured the Queen’s temper far better than his wife. He knew the Stuart qualities, that the breach was irreparable and the danger capital, not only to himself but to the whole cause of the Allies. From this moment a sombre fatalism began to steal over him. Henceforth he considered himself less the responsible master of events, but rather a servant who must do his duty as well as he can, and as long as he is bidden or allowed to do it. Some commentators suggest he should have submitted to the Queen, made terms with the moderate Tories, and thrown all his weight against the Whigs. This involved a wrong and disastrous strategy for the war, and the sacrifice of Godolphin. The opposite course of joining with the Whigs and coercing the Queen to expel Abigail was clearly repugnant to him. He would never take any measure against the Queen except that of leaving her service. Nothing would induce him to be the political tool of either party. He would do his job as General until he was turned out of it. Beyond that at his age he would not go. All this must be remembered when we come to judge his conduct during the Peace negotiations. Abigail was probably the smallest person who ever consciously attempted to decide, and in fact decided, the history of Europe. The first extant account of her is contained in a letter of a lady of fashion dated May 12, 1707:

Dartmouth describes Abigail as “exceedingly mean and vulgar in her manners, of a very unequal temper, childishly exceptious and passionate.”^[347]

These are opposite opinions, equally biased. The reader will be able to judge from the sequel.

The climax in Sarah’s relations with Abigail at the end of 1707 can best be described in Sarah’s own words.

No one reflecting on the relationship which had subsisted for so long between Sarah and Abigail can wonder at Sarah’s inability to address herself adroitly to the new situation. It was more than could be expected from human nature, least of all from Sarah’s nature. Jealousy gnawed her vitals, affront inflamed her proper pride, ingratitude aroused her moral indignation. Hatred and contempt of Abigail inspired her every thought, word, and gesture. Every expression she gave to these uncontrollable feelings drove deeper the wedge between her and the Queen.

Marlborough’s letters to Sarah and Godolphin, written from the camp during the summer and autumn, give a revealing picture, alike of his own mood and of the impending Court and party crisis. He wrote under strain and disappointment to his wife and to his closest friend, unconcerned with the eyes of the future.^[350]

Apparently this process of communication with a delinquent colleague through a Law Officer was reserved for the most serious differences and for decisive steps. We shall see it in use later on—a kind of writ, a legal process entirely different from the usual elaborate courtesies, however formal.

This letter is of interest because of its reference to the poet Prior. Prior had a small post at the Board of Trade, and wrote odes glorifying Marlborough’s victories. For some time he had been suspected by Godolphin of intriguing with Harley and writing anonymously in the opposite strain. In April 1707 he was dismissed from his appointment. Prior was a friend of Cardonnel. Marlborough did not believe him guilty of a double part. “When I first heard of yours and my master Blathwayt’s remove,” wrote Cardonnel to Prior (July 14, 1707), “I took the liberty to tell His Grace in the most friendly manner I could what I thought of your circumstances, and he was pleased to answer me, under the injunction of the greatest secrecy, that he had and would take care of you.”^[362] Marlborough’s behaviour in this incident is interesting. He did not attempt to reverse Godolphin’s decision. He did not argue the point with Sarah. On being convinced by Cardonnel that the dismissed poet was destitute he gave him a pension from funds under his control of four hundred pounds a year, which lasted until 1710. It then appeared that Sarah and Godolphin had been right in their suspicions. The hostile Tories on coming into power immediately restored Prior to his place at the Board of Trade, and he subsequently distinguished himself by the malevolence of his attacks upon Marlborough in The Examiner. We shall meet him again at a later stage in this account. But here we see a Marlborough deceived and generous.

Admiral Churchill’s affairs, which reached their climax in the following year, already began to cause anxiety. “When my brother,” Marlborough wrote to Godolphin (July 18), “spoke to you about his renewing, I could wish you had encouraged him in his resolution of being quit, for it would be very disagreeable to me to have him receive a mortification. . . .”^[363]

Evidently Sarah was still championing the Whigs to her husband, urging him to make their interests his own, and to help her press the Queen on their behalf. Under this persistent solicitation Marlborough now showed an utter weariness and despondency. Neither the threats against his brother nor Sarah’s pleadings and remonstrance would stir him. He would do no more.

At this stage Harley was aware that his attitude and activities were exciting the suspicions not only of the Whigs but of his colleagues. A single specimen of his letters will suffice.

“I dread the thoughts,” Harley wrote to Godolphin (September 10/17), “of running from the extreme of one faction to another, which is the natural consequence of party tyranny, and renders the Gov[ernment] like a door which turns both ways to let in each party as it grows triumphant, and in truth this is the real parent and nurse of our factions here.”^[368] It was hardly possible to express more tersely implacable opposition to the whole system of party government as it was to flourish in England for the next two hundred years. But Harley’s attempt to overturn the Government cannot be translated entirely into terms of subsequent or modern politics. In 1708 the party system, though inconceivably violent and bitter, was in the infancy of its power. The use of an organized party to impose a phalanx of Ministers upon a reluctant sovereign had not become respectable. The Whigs could not fight the coming election upon the principle that a victorious faction is entitled to dictate to the Crown its choice of advisers. Such a suggestion would have at once discredited them in the eyes of many worthy persons. If it came to a clash between the Whig Parliamentary doctrines and the Queen it was certain that large numbers of Whigs would stand by her. Public coercion of the Crown on personal issues was impossible.

Harley, armed with the Queen’s favour, planned to regain his control of a great part of the Tories and at the same time to woo the moderate Whigs and isolate their extremists. The language which he held was that he represented the Queen, was fully in sympathy with her, and that she was even willing to take certain moderate Whigs into her Cabinet. Were the Junto, then, prepared to defy her wishes, to stand together against her, and to go to the polls as the declared enemies of the Prerogative? His early moves, as reported to Shrewsbury by Vernon, the former Secretary of State, indicate that Harley was beginning to take up this national position by grouping friends of the Prerogative against the Junto.^[369] Thus at the same time he undermined Godolphin and sought to drive the Whigs to argumentative extremities which would divide and ruin them. Moreover, once Harley became the probable head of a Government he could rely upon a flow of recruits from Whig ranks. Whig discipline, though remarkable for the age of Anne, could not compare with twentieth-century caucus control. “I never in my life,” Swift wrote to the Archbishop of Dublin,

The swift and decisive failure which overtook Harley’s schemes, and the rejection by following generations of his views, must not blind us to their deadly sagacity and force at this time. Nor can we say that upon the merits Harley was wrong. The issue, apart from personal rivalries, was to him one of national versus party government at the height of a great war. His methods are not to be reconciled with any standard of honour or good faith. But at this juncture he came within an ace of frustrating the development of the party system, and ruling by a composite majority on the principles which St John in his old age afterwards embodied in the idea of a Patriot King.

Neither must we underestimate the quality and resources of Godolphin. His Pole Star was Marlborough and Marlborough’s war. He saw his supreme duty in forming a Parliamentary foundation upon which Marlborough could bestride Europe, and in furnishing him with supplies of money, men, and ships. To this purpose he used all the ruse and artifice with which forty years of Parliamentary and Court intrigue, in times most of them rougher than the age of Anne, had made him familiar. While Harley calculated upon the collapse of the party system, Godolphin relied upon its feuds. The Lord Treasurer’s strength consisted, according to Briançon, in his supreme gift for applying the maxim ‘Divide and govern.’ His skill lay in the management of business in such a way that, immediately any party assault on the Ministry threatened to become dangerous, some question would be raised to set the Tories and Whigs by the ears. Therefore he worked for national government through the equipoise and cancellation of the parties, whereas Harley sought it by the fusion of their central elements.

As the meeting of Parliament approached it became known that a serious attack impended upon the administration of the Navy. Naval circles debated in those days, as in our own, whether our sea effort should be directed to keeping open the lines of communication or expended on main military purposes in support of the armies. During the first six years of the war Marlborough’s strategy, always aiming at decisive results, had been ready to suffer heavy losses on the trade routes for the sake of gaining command of the Mediterranean and all that followed therefrom. Part of the price paid for the immense naval effort against Toulon had been the marked weakening of trade protection, with consequent heavy forfeits on the oceans and elsewhere. Never in our history has the Fleet been used so much for the military purpose, or so little for the comfort, convenience, and profit of trade. The losses of the merchants had been severe. No fewer than eleven hundred merchant ships belonging to London River alone had been lost during the war. In this very year of 1707 French cruisers had raided three great trading fleets, and taken a heavy toll off Brighton, off the coast of Lapland, and between Scilly and Ushant, capturing or destroying six battleships of the escorting squadrons. The Whigs, apart from their political manœuvres, were naturally sensitive to the bitter complaints of the merchants and the City financiers. We may measure the classic vigour of the war administration by the fact that it was capable in the pursuit of victory of imposing such hardships upon these powerful and vital interests. But now victory was lacking; there was naval miscarriage and defeat. The brunt of all this fell upon George Churchill, virtually, in modern terms, First Sea Lord, who under the Queen’s husband, Prince George of Denmark, managed the Admiralty in harmony with his brother’s strategic aims.

To these serious, debatable public issues private friction was added. Halifax, better known to history as William III’s famous Finance Minister, Montagu, one of the lords of the Junto, a brilliant, powerful man, for years excluded from office, was at this time in a fury with Marlborough. Having been associated with him in the Barrier-Succession negotiations of the previous year, he ardently desired to be nominated a plenipotentiary in the peace discussions which always lay just beneath the threshold of the war, and might at any moment become all-important. He had paid his court to Marlborough. He had even stood, hat in hand, to Sarah as she entered her carriage. His wish had not been gratified. His anger is recorded in vehement letters now extant. He made little secret that he would retaliate for this rebuff, and his means were ready to hand. He would when Parliament met attack George Churchill and the administration of the Admiralty.

Admiral Churchill, Marlborough’s faithful naval wing, was personally vulnerable. He was a vehement Tory, probably in his heart a Jacobite. Rumour said graft was rife in the Admiralty; and, indeed, there was evidence of convoys denied to the merchants or delayed on insufficient grounds, and of officers who must be bribed to do their duty. Marlborough’s brother was, then, to be accused by Halifax and the Whigs at once of maladministration which had proved disastrous and of feathering his own nest. Upon the first count he has a good answer to later times. He steadfastly pursued the major objects of the war. Upon the second count no very satisfactory rebuttal is forthcoming. In the event nothing was brought home against him. But whether this was due to his innate purity, or to the fact that the Whigs for larger reasons, which will appear, eventually abandoned the hunt, is a dubious matter.

Marlborough was distressed and worried by the attack upon his brother, of which he had learned early. As his letters from the camp show, he was well aware of Halifax’s intentions and their cause. He tried to placate that offended magnate by a ceremonious and conciliatory letter. Halifax had no mind to be paid off in such light coin. He left the Duke’s letter unanswered—a marked affront—and continued his hostile preparations. There was, however, one helpful reaction. Any attack on the Admiralty was an attack upon the Queen’s beloved husband, the Lord High Admiral. Prince George had been friendly to Marlborough even before the days when they both rode off at Salisbury from James II to William III. He was under the Duke’s spell. All his influence with the Queen was steadily exerted for Marlborough. He was in these years, for all his simplicity, ailing health, heavy meals, and heavier potations, one of the linchpins in that marvellous coach of State that drove so triumphantly along the roads of Europe. Anne would tolerate no reflection upon her husband. To attack Admiral Churchill was to attack George of Denmark. The Queen would have liked to see him commanding the armies of the Grand Alliance, and winning the great battles of the age. This through Dutch obstinacy and other difficulties had failed. Mr Freeman had had to do it all in his own name. But the Admiralty and the sea war and all that the Royal Navy meant to Britain were in the Queen’s eyes embodied in her husband. That sphere should certainly be his. Moreover, Prince George readily made common cause with Admiral Churchill. He let himself be managed by him, felt that thereby he was helping the Duke, was loyal to the now broken Cockpit circle, and pursuing the surest road to victory in the war. It is by no means certain that this limited man had not laid hold upon the root of the matter. Thus the Queen’s husband stood by George Churchill, and the Queen resented the attack upon the Admiralty as a personal insult to herself. She expected such treatment from the Whigs. She was perturbed but not unduly dismayed to find not only high but moderate Tories joining in it.

A catastrophe at sea had closed the year of disaster. Sir Cloudesley Shovell, returning late in the year from Toulon with the battle fleet, approached the mouth of the Channel in the third week of October 1707. We are prone in these days of steam, perfect charts of rocks, shoals, and currents, well-lighted coasts, and wireless telegraphy to ignore the awful dangers of the sea in the early eighteenth century. We may remember Rooke’s repugnance to a late return of the heavy ships.^[371] But in this period the fleet was used as roughly as the armies, and all risks were run for main objects. These mighty oak vessels, carrying sometimes ninety guns and more than seven hundred men, were in the narrow waters at the mercy of gale, mist, and current. So unsure were the methods of fixing a position within twenty or thirty miles that the Admiralty was wont to send out frigates to cruise about to pick up the homeward-bound battleships and cross-check their position by their recent contacts with the land. This precaution was not neglected in October 1707. Unhappily, the helping frigate was too late to find the fleet. The weather was thick and violent; and there was a current, not then known to navigators, which carried Admiral Shovell forty miles out of his reckoning. The evening of October 22 found the battle fleet with a deadly wind amid the sharp rocks of the Scillies. Two great ships and a capital frigate were dashed to pieces, fifteen hundred sailors perished, and, worst of all, our finest admiral, cast upon the beach exhausted and unconscious, was let die for the sake of his emerald ring by an island woman, who a generation later at the point of death confessed her crime.

Such were the elements of the storm, about to break upon the Admiralty, which the foundations of Marlborough’s political structure must now withstand.

The first Parliament of Great Britain met on November 6/17, 1707. The forty-five new members from Scotland were solidly favourable to the Government, and the re-election of Mr Speaker Smith was uncontested. The Commons replied dutifully and without demur to the gracious Speech. When the management of the Navy was arraigned they listened contentedly to the cogent defence presented by a young Minister—Robert Walpole by name—who had lately been appointed to the Admiralty Board. Not so the Lords: on the contrary, while the Commons were voting even larger Supplies than in the previous year and increasing the army from fifty to sixty thousand men, the Upper House opened a series of debates on the most thorny questions of the day. They declined to acknowledge the Queen’s Speech until the state of the nation had been reviewed. They actually delayed their reply for six weeks. Never had such action been taken by the Peers. It seemed, as the Queen said, to deny her “even ordinary politeness.” The Whig lords led the way in the attack on the Admiralty, and no sooner was this launched than the Tories came in behind it. The Government was called to account by both the great parties. Marlborough, reaching England on November 16/27, found Godolphin in dire straits.

When we review the situation which the two friends had to face after the year of disaster one must admit that it required strong nerves. The Queen, estranged from Godolphin, severed from Sarah, bridling at the Whigs, loyal only to the Admiralty; the high Tories in Church and Parliament intent to smash the Government and the war; the Whigs resolved to use the public difficulties to assist their constitutional claims and oust and humble their party foes; the maturing of Harley’s profound schemes, St John at his side, Abigail in his hands! But Marlborough’s weight and fame were immense. In spite of his own barren campaign and the many misfortunes that had befallen the Allies, he seemed to bulk even larger in men’s minds than after Blenheim and after Ramillies. The very fact that things were going wrong restored him an authority denied on the morrow of his victories. When he landed at Dover all eyes were turned upon him. We have glimpses of him at this time from contemporary pens. His levees were thronged as if they were those of a sovereign. He seems to have fallen into the habit, used by the greatest personages of those days, of receiving in his bedroom as he did in his tent. Like the kings of France, though he did not carry it to the same extremes, he made his toilet in public. “Every morning when he is in London he has in his antechamber gentlemen of the first quality including ambassadors and Ministers of foreign princes; he dresses, even shaves and puts on his shirt, in public; yet he behaves in a manner calculated to offend no one, at least by words, and affects a gentle and gracious air with all.”^[372]

Marlborough’s conception of the campaign of 1708 was, in fact, a renewal of the double invasion of France which had failed in 1707. If he could have ordered it, Prince Eugene, with the Duke of Savoy, would have broken into Dauphiné at the head of the forces, brought up again to full strength, which had attempted Toulon in the previous year. He was extremely set upon this, and the reports which Brigadier Palmes brought back showed Victor Amadeus well disposed to the scheme. Marlborough was resolved to stand on the defensive in Spain and make the main effort in the Low Countries. Eugene, for his part, was more inclined to come round to the northern theatre and fight upon the Rhine or the Moselle in conjunction with Marlborough. However, English politics and Parliamentary strategic fancies complicated the problem. Many Whigs, as well as the Tory Party, were unduly fond of the Spanish scene. They had worked themselves up year by year to the exorbitant principle “No peace without Spain,” thus vastly extending the aims of the war. They supposed that the conquest of Spain could best be achieved on the spot. They wearied of the severe fighting in Flanders, and imagined the Iberian peninsula the shorter and easier road. They wished to avenge the defeat at Almanza locally.

These views were constantly pressed by Charles III and all directly interested in the Spanish enterprise. Stanhope had returned home after the disaster as the mouthpiece of the young King. No more competent representative could have been chosen. Stanhope ranks high among the heroic and brilliant figures of the age of Anne. He was an accomplished soldier. He had gained the entire confidence of Marlborough when serving under him in the campaign of 1705. He was one of the Duke’s most trusted informants upon Spanish affairs. Although his military record is chequered by one grievous defeat, his reputation even for skill survived, while his personal prowess was to be adorned by the astounding feat which the Romans exalted as spolia opima. During the battle of Almenara in 1710 he actually, as Commander-in-Chief, cut down with his own sword the opposing commander. When it is remembered that to these unfading laurels he subsequently added the successive discharge of the duties of Foreign Secretary and eventually Prime Minister, his title to rare distinction cannot be disputed.

Stanhope, with his already acknowledged force and ability, now urged upon Marlborough and the Cabinet a halt in Flanders and a decisive campaign in the Peninsula. This was pressed through every channel. “I hope,” wrote Charles III later (January 1708) to Wratislaw, “that you will at last recognize that it is a chimerical conception that one ought to act upon the defensive here. They must either put me in the position to advance and act on the offensive, or they must clearly determine to sacrifice my person and the whole affair here.”^[373] And again, later, to Marlborough (January 18, 1708): “Stanhope’s secret project consists in that you should come yourself to Spain with 25 or 20,000 men with which, you entering by one side, and Prince Eugene and I from the other, you will end with one glorious stroke this long and so bloody war.”^[374]

Such strategy found no foothold with Marlborough. He was inflexibly resolved not to shift the axis of the war to Spain. He was willing to recruit the English forces already there sufficiently to enable them to mark time without collapse. He was willing that the Empire should send new contingents; but the bulk of the drafts and all the reinforcements under British control must be reserved for the main army in Flanders. One grievous concession he would make if absolutely forced: he would consent to Prince Eugene going to Spain. He had foreseen and admitted the attraction of the step and even the need for it in a letter to Godolphin in September.

He had written to Wratislaw (November 21), “One sees that the last resource of the King is in the presence of Prince Eugene at the head of the army next year.”^[376] The English Cabinet was ardent for such a decision. Nothing could be more popular in London. Marlborough therefore lent himself to suggestions of this character which were freely made during the late autumn to the Emperor and to his glorious general. Nevertheless we do not believe that Marlborough ever thought there was much likelihood of Eugene consenting to go. Obviously, if the whole burden of the Spanish theatre was to be thrown upon him, Eugene would stipulate for a strong, effective army. Indeed, he had already written that he would not serve without “a real army, not on paper, capable of acting offensively.”

Marlborough was sure that with his authority in London and his influence at The Hague he could prevent any large diversion of forces. Thus there would be no army to satisfy Eugene. Meanwhile, if necessary, great play could be made in England with the Prince’s name, and the Cabinet could safely go all the way with Parliament in asking for Eugene’s services, which would almost certainly not be granted. This seems to be the key to Marlborough’s inner policy and to the voluminous correspondence which arose between the Allies. On November 29 the Queen wrote to the Emperor asking that Eugene should be sent to Spain. On December 9, however, we know that Marlborough said in great confidence to Primoli, a secretary of Count Gallas, the Imperial Ambassador, that he “did not intend to send troops into Catalonia for the new campaign.”^[377] This is the decisive fact.

The second debate in the Lords on Peterborough’s conduct drew from Marlborough his most memorable Parliamentary performance. It is the more remarkable because, although he had made up his mind what ought to be done and what he meant to do, his handling of the debate was at once spontaneous, dissimulating, and entirely successful. As on the battlefield, he changed his course very quickly indeed and spread a web of manœuvre before his opponents. He made candour serve the purpose of falsehood, and in the guise of reluctantly blurting out the whole truth threw his assailants into complete and baffling error. Under the impulse of an emotion which could not have been wholly assumed, he made a revelation of war policy which effectively misled not only the Opposition but the whole House, and which also played its part in misleading the foreign enemy, who were of course soon apprised of the public debate. He acted thus in the interests of right strategy and of the common cause as he conceived them. He was accustomed by the conditions under which he fought to be continually deceiving friends for their good and foes for their bane; but the speed and ease with which this particular manœuvre was conceived and accomplished in the unfamiliar atmosphere of Parliamentary debate opens to us some of the secret depths of his artful yet benevolent mind. But to the scene!

Rochester opened the debate. The Queen was present incognito in her box “till five of the clock in the afternoon.” The high Tory leader embraced the interests of Peterborough the Whig, who had thrown himself upon the good offices of his party opponents. He dilated upon Peterborough’s courage and skill. He recounted his services. Was it not usual and fitting that an officer of such rank and achievement, recalled from the front, should either be thanked by Parliament or called to account for his conduct? Halifax, speaking for the Whigs, took a line which would enable his party to throw its weight for or against the Government as they might later decide. He supported the demand for a full inquiry. Several Tory peers, headed by Haversham, followed with open attacks upon Galway as an incompetent foreigner responsible for a British defeat. Then Rochester rose again. He broadened the issue. In the temper of the House he felt able to impugn the whole principle of a major offensive in Flanders: “We seem,” he said, “to neglect the principal business and mind only the accessories. I remember the saying of a great general, the old Duke of Schomberg, ‘that the attacking France in the Netherlands is like taking a bull by the horns.’ ” He proposed that we should stand on the defensive in Flanders, and send from that army “fifteen or twenty thousand men into Catalonia.” Nottingham, the other Tory ex-Minister, followed in the same strain: “Spain, the principal object of the war, is almost abandoned.”

Marlborough had certainly not expected this development, nor the evident swing of opinion with which it was received. He rose at once. Every eye was upon him, and his anger was apparent to all. He spoke of “undigested counsel.” He declared that the need was to augment rather than lessen the armies in Flanders. He gave two reasons, blunt and solid. The first “which induces me to object to this proposal is that in Spain most of the enemy’s strong places may be kept with one battalion in each, whereas the great towns of Brabant which we have conquered require twenty times that number of men for their preservation.” This implied that relaxing pressure in the main theatre would liberate incomparably more French troops for the struggle in Spain than any allied reinforcements which could be spared. His second reason was: “If our army in the Netherlands be weakened and the French by their great superiority should gain any considerable advantage, which is not improbable, the discontented party in Holland, who are not a few, and who bear with impatience the necessary charges of the war, will not fail to cry aloud for peace.” These massive truths delivered tersely did not stem the tide. Spain was uppermost in all minds, and Marlborough had not even mentioned Spain.

For the third time Rochester rose. He declared himself astonished that “the noble peer, who had ever been conspicuous for calmness and moderation, should now lose his natural temper.” The House was set upon the succour for Spain. “Would not his Grace oblige their lordships by apprising them how they might attain troops to send thither for that purpose?” “The obligation,” he added, “is the greater as Lord Peterborough has reported the opinion of Prince Eugene that the Germans would rather be decimated than be sent into Spain.”

Thereupon Marlborough resolved to make public the idea of sending Prince Eugene. He excused himself for his warmth. Such a vital issue could scarcely be discussed without profound concern. He would take the House into his confidence:

The peers were staggered by his declaration. They felt they had been made party to the secrets of the Cabinet and of the Captain-General. They rejoiced to find how much they had misjudged the policy. The opposition collapsed. Rochester even said, “Had we known sooner how well all things had been managed, this debate might have been spared.” Somers clinched the matter for the Whigs by moving “That no peace could be reasonable or safe either for her Majesty or her allies if Spain and the West Indies were suffered to continue in the power of the house of Bourbon,” and a resolution was passed unanimously thanking the Queen for pressing the Emperor to send a considerable force to Spain under the command of Prince Eugene. The action of the House moved so rapidly that the Whigs had to be very agile in adding a rider-resolution in favour of also “reinforcing the Duke of Savoy and strengthening the army on the Rhine,” and further setting up a committee to cast this resolution into the form of an address, upon which Marlborough, Godolphin, and Peterborough were named to serve, but no Tory except Rochester. Thus was affirmed the Whig thesis, “No peace without Spain,” but at the same time there was safeguarded the main effort in the main theatre. The long-delayed acknowledgment of the Queen’s Speech embodied these conclusions.

When the Ministers met to consult on the morrow of this memorable debate they set themselves to implement Marlborough’s declaration, with which they themselves were in hearty accord. The idea of Eugene conquering Spain for the Allies captivated London opinion. Accordingly solemn appeals were renewed to the Emperor to send him there. Marlborough joined in these. He wrote letters to Wratislaw. He held conversations with the Imperial Ambassador which presented the view of the British Parliament. But all the time he had continued obstinately and calmly to strengthen the main theatre, to prepare for the double invasion of France, and to withhold all reinforcements from Spain except a meagre draft of eighteen hundred men. He submitted as little to the strategic conceptions of the Lords and Commons in 1707 as he did during the march to Blenheim.

On December 22/January 3 the hopes of the Cabinet were dashed by a dispatch from the English ambassador at Vienna, in reply to their earlier requests, stating that the Emperor could not consent to send Eugene to Spain. The Ministers, with the assurances given to Parliament only three days before vivid in their minds, and the general applause which had greeted them ringing in their ears, were consternated. Indeed, they were furious. Hoffmann, the Imperial Ambassador, was summoned before them. His excuse was blunt: there were not enough troops in Spain to make a worthy command for Prince Eugene. “I must admit,” he reported to his Government, “I have never seen the English Ministers in such a state of excitement as over this refusal.”^[379] Marlborough appeared to share the general feeling, and he lent his weight to their appeals both orally to Hoffmann and, three days later, in a strong letter to Wratislaw. Inwardly, we may suppose, he was able to bear the disappointment with his customary composure.

Eventually, in February, for it is convenient here to anticipate, the Emperor made a counter-proposal. He had recourse to one of those expedients which even now have not gone entirely out of fashion. He suggested a conference at The Hague, where the war leaders of England, Holland, and the Empire should settle among themselves the final plan of campaign. This was found acceptable by all. In the first place it seemed to put everything off for a time. The Ministers could feel that the question of sending Prince Eugene to Spain was still open, and as it gradually appeared that the conference could not assemble until April, Marlborough saw that there was very little prospect of his going. In fact, the procedure adopted after all the political storms left everything in Marlborough’s hands under the exact conditions which he desired. Little wonder, then, that on the very day (February 17/28) when Hoffmann received his instructions from Vienna Marlborough saw him, and personally urged him to frame his proposals for a conference in a formal memorial to be presented to the Queen.^[380] From that moment he never said another word about sending Prince Eugene to Spain. There can be no doubt that he got what he had wanted all along. But he had certainly been guilty of dissimulation.

The first month of Parliament had been dominated by the Whig attempt to link Supply with the attack on Admiral Churchill. This did not prove so formidable as Marlborough and Godolphin had feared. The Tories gave it only partial and lukewarm support. The more the Whig agitation prospered the cooler the Tories became. Their sympathies were more easily aroused by the distress of the Queen’s husband than by that of the City merchants who had lost their trading ships. In the end Parliament was made content by the passing of an Act “for the better securing the Trade by Cruisers and Convoys,” which regulated the service of trade defence on the lines which had been proposed by Admiral Churchill, among others, fifteen years before. Prince George’s Council had in fact followed these principles so far as the means allowed after providing for the offensive function of the main fleet abroad. After the passing of this Act in March 1708 the losses of merchant shipping diminished sensibly; but this may well have been because the state of the war, especially after the destruction of the French fleet at Toulon, no longer required so great a force in the Mediterranean, and thus more cruisers could be found for the North Sea and the mouth of the Channel. The strategy of the first part of the war appears in the final sentence of the answer the Lord High Admiral made to the Committee of the House of Lords in January 1708.

Both Houses seemed glad when in the fifth week of the session the Spanish question, with all the exciting scandals about Peterborough and the Almanza disaster, came upon the scene and diverted attention from what threatened to become a very dangerous Whig electioneering cry. It seems probable that both Godolphin and Harley, for opposite purposes, were favourable to this development. At any rate, it was from the Ministerial bench that on December 9/20 the matter was originally opened in the House of Commons. The first phase of the conflict of the session was ended on December 19/30 by Marlborough’s triumphant speech. The Address had been voted in the Lords; the Supplies had been given by the Commons; the Ministry still held together; and it seemed that the crisis was past. Exhausted, as one may readily believe, by all they had gone through, Marlborough and Godolphin retired to Woodstock and Newmarket for Christmas, and both remained in the depths of the country for a full fortnight.

At the moment when Harley’s underground movement was in its most delicate and critical condition a sudden startling incident plunged him in grave personal weakness and embarrassment. A certain William Greg, one of the various confidential agents whom he was wont so wisely to send about the country to report on the public temper, had been placed by him in the sub-department which dealt with the correspondence of the French prisoners of war. The letters of all these French nobles and generals from Marshal Tallard downward were forwarded to France after being censored. When the mail was being made up for the Continent the Secretary of State’s letters and dispatches dealing with the most secret matters were sent to this same room, and often left lying on the table till they were put in their proper bags for The Hague, Berlin, Vienna, Lisbon, Barcelona, or Turin. Daniel Defoe, the most famous of all Harley’s political scouts, shocked at this lax procedure, had already warned his chief of its dangers; but the Secretary of State had taken no action.

This was a period in the war when French espionage attained its highest efficiency and success. Already in May 1707 Chamillart had corrupted and gained the secretaries employed by the Savoyard Ministers both at The Hague and St James’s. The plan against Toulon had in fact been betrayed, though somewhat tardily, from Briançon’s office in London. Now, in the winter of 1707/8, the tentacles of the French secret service penetrated the office of the Secretary of State and lapped themselves around William Greg. The wretched man, poorly paid, financially hunted, sought to procure from the French Government immunity from capture for an English merchant-ship whose owners had promised him two hundred guineas. He therefore slipped a sealed envelope into the bag of the French prisoners’ correspondence. This contained nothing less than a copy of the letter which Queen Anne had written with her own hand to the Emperor asking for the services of Prince Eugene in Spain. Suspicion had already been aroused by previous leakages; the bag was opened in Holland, the treachery exposed, and Greg, arrested (December 31/January 11), made a full confession of his villainy. At the same time two smugglers whom Harley had employed to procure intelligence between Calais and Boulogne turned out to be double spies. Upon arrest they of course protested that they had only been telling some tales to learn better. In truth they had trafficked with both sides for personal gain. On January 8 Briançon’s secretary, who had sold the Toulon plan in the previous year, was detected, exposed, and after an exciting chase through London laid by the heels. Both the English scandals touched the Secretary of State at a time when the very air seemed poisonous.

It would be an error to ascribe the fall of Harley to his clerk’s treason. It must however have played an important part in this evenly balanced struggle for power. At any rate, when in the middle of January Godolphin and Marlborough came back to town they felt strong enough to consider definitely his expulsion from the Government. Godolphin, with Marlborough’s assent, discussed with the Whig leaders the promotion of the moderate-Whig Chancellor of the Exchequer, Boyle, to the Secretaryship of State in Harley’s place. The Whigs cared little for Boyle’s advancement, but much for Harley’s fall. They saw that their pressure had worn out Godolphin’s favour only to exalt a far more hostile and obnoxious personage, with all his train and designs. Thus in the middle of January the whole blast of these internal passions was concentrated upon Harley, already somewhat smitten in public opinion and under grievous personal imputation. Such was the power of the Queen’s support and his own following that he maintained an equal and now open war within the Cabinet and in Parliament for nearly a month.

Harley, at bay, marshalled his forces. He assembled the elements of his alternative Government. He drew the Duke of Buckingham into his combination. He persuaded the Queen directly, and through Abigail, to encourage the Tories with the near prospect of a moderate Tory Administration. The public need created Parliamentary opportunities. Twenty thousand men were wanted for the army, fifteen thousand of whom must be found with the utmost speed. The most strained interpretations of voluntary recruitment had now failed. A Conscription Bill was brought before Parliament in the early days of the new year. The plan for the campaign of 1708 depended upon it.^[382] This measure stirred parties and individual members alike to their roots. All those deep-seated sentiments of personal freedom innate in English hearts were roused. The press-gang for the Navy was an old custom. Stimulating the constables by bonuses to entice, cajole, or peaceably persuade the unemployed, or to coerce vagabonds, to take the Queen’s shilling had run its course. Now, either the war effort must languish or young men at work in the fields, or even possessed of some property or the heirs to property, must by compulsion don the scarlet coat. In extreme perturbation the House of Commons sat in committee upon the demand.

Harley’s attempt to overturn the Government developed very rapidly. It is to be distinguished both in nature and form from the previous Whig and Tory party manœuvres. These had aimed far lower—points of prejudice for the election, a working agreement with the Ministry, perhaps Cabinet rank for one or two of the leaders. Harley’s was a deliberate attempt to upset the whole Government, to detach men from both parties, and to form an entirely new Ministry of the middle. Shocking!

The first unexpected difficulties arose in the Committee of Friday, January 16, upon the conscription proposals. On the Tuesday following these were defeated by 185 votes to 177. This was the first defeat in the House of Commons which any Ministry of Queen Anne had sustained. While both Houses were wrestling with conscription and vehemently probing the causes of the Spanish disaster, St John, no doubt at Harley’s instigation, committed an indiscretion calculated to bring any Ministry down with a clatter. Harley had on January 12 asked him for the figures for the troops in British pay in the Peninsula and at Almanza on the date of the battle. St John had at first replied that none were available. Now suddenly on January 29 in the course of a tense debate the Secretary-at-War blurted out to the House of Commons that out of 29,595 men voted by Parliament for service in Spain only 8660 had fought in the decisive action. This produced a tremendous sensation. Other Ministers disputed their colleague’s statement, and an interchange of searching addresses to the Queen and Ministerial replies as from the Queen’s hand followed. During the same week the Government majority, even upon a financial measure, fell to twenty-nine, and then to fifteen. On the Saturday a majority of fifty-one was recorded “against the Court.” Finally a hostile resolution about the numbers at Almanza was carried “without a division.” The House of Commons was completely out of control. In the Lords the Whigs were still pressing the Admiralty. Following this week of Opposition triumph, the Queen “told Mr St John that she was resolved to part with the Lord Treasurer. She sent him with a letter to the Duke of Marlborough which she read to him to that purpose; and she gave him leave to tell it about the town, which he did without any reserve.”^[383]

Harley was now sure he had won. He spoke openly of his new Administration and of the favour of the Crown. Nothing remained but the supreme trial of strength. All that royal intrigue and Parliamentary manœuvre could do was achieved. Against it stood Marlborough, virtually alone. No one outside the circle of Harley’s most daring adherents had faced what the nation, Europe, and the Queen would do if he were overthrown. It was generally believed, or at least hoped, that he would consent to the sacrifice of Godolphin, and serve the Queen at home and abroad in the new combination. All this was now to be put to the test.

On January 29, the very night of St John’s disclosure, Godolphin instructed the Attorney-General to tell Harley officially that he no longer possessed the confidence of the Lord Treasurer.^[384] Harley met this formal and final challenge with imperturbable effrontery. He professed himself at a loss to understand what complaint could lie against him. He volubly defended his loyalty and good faith as a colleague. He declared himself the victim of a conspiracy. He demanded an interview with Marlborough. He appealed to him as his patron and protector. But Marlborough had slowly been brought to regard him as an inveterate liar and a mortal foe. He showed that he did not believe a single word that Harley uttered, and he cited with particularity a number of odious but now established details. Even after this Harley wrote Godolphin one of those dishonest letters of injured innocence which have but to be read in the light of the established facts to prove him a base and hardy hypocrite. Godolphin’s answer stands upon its own simplicity:

Marlborough meanwhile had been at grips with the Queen. Those who depict Anne as a weak woman should reflect upon the marvellous tenacity of her will-power, right or wrong. Upon her lone head and worn, ailing frame descended the whole weight of the quarrels of her realm. The mightiest men of that brilliant age contended for her verdict. The passions of great parties, inflamed by faction and impelled by real needs, collided in her bosom. The storms which now exhaust themselves over enormous electorates beat upon her. Alone she had to face in personal confrontation the reason, knowledge, and appeal of her most famous servants and counsellors. We can see from her vigorous letters the skill with which she selected her lines of resistance. When these became untenable she fell back on woman’s tears. But she would not yield. At all costs she would stand by Harley. When Marlborough declared that he would not sit again in Council with such a man she made no response. When he made plain his determination to resign she answered that “he might as well draw his dagger and stab her then and there as do such a thing.”^[386] But she would not dismiss Harley. She wept convulsively, she seemed about to suffocate; but never would she agree. Such were the scenes inseparable from the discharge of public business in these antique conditions. Marlborough, with his tenderness and chivalry to women, his romantic, almost mystic reverence for the Queen, must indeed have felt that life was not worth living.

But Queen Anne was determined to see the quarrel through. On February 9 in a brief, tense audience she received the resignations of her illustrious servants. She made some final entreaty to Marlborough, but showed herself glad to let Godolphin go. The two Ministers who had raised her strength so high at home and carried her fame so far abroad quitted her presence, entered their coaches, and drove away from St James’s. The scene which followed at the Cabinet Council is well known. The Queen seated herself in her State chair at the head of the table. Harley rose with a confident air to open the first business of the day, which happened to relate to his department. “The members at first,” says Coxe, whose account is based on Swift and Burnet, “appeared as if absorbed in reflection: half-smothered murmurs were then heard, and the Secretary paused. A momentary silence ensuing, the members turned to each other, with looks of surprise and uneasiness, till the Duke of Somerset arose, and, with warmth, exclaimed, ‘I do not see how we can deliberate, when the Commander-in-Chief and the Lord Treasurer are absent.’ ”^[388] Swift gives a rougher and probably truer version. “If your Majesty suffers that fellow,” pointing to Harley, “to treat of affairs of the war without the advice of the General, I cannot serve you.”^[389] It was plain that every one agreed with him except Harley and the Queen. Harley faltered. The Duke repeated his remark, and neither the Queen nor her favourite said another word. The Council broke up in confusion. The Queen was assisted from her chair half stifled with anger and distress amid the bows of her agitated advisers. But even now—this is the measure of her grit—she did not abandon Harley. She showed in that hour in magnificent fashion the quality which had sent her grandfather to the scaffold and her father to Saint-Germains. She would not have shrunk from either fate. Absolute deadlock gripped the Government of Great Britain at a time when London was the dominating centre of world affairs.

The news spread far and wide that Marlborough and Godolphin had been dismissed by the Queen. The effect was devastating. The calculations of adroit intrigue, the hot blood of partisanship, suddenly seemed of no account. The larger values asserted themselves in a sobered London. Both Houses of Parliament—the Commons by a definite resolution—decided to conduct no business till they were better informed of these transactions. The City, with its vast new financial power, was in consternation. George of Denmark, appalled by what he heard and saw of the public mood, and strengthened by what he felt himself, implored his wife to bow to the storm. Even then it was Harley, not the Queen, who gave way. During the afternoon and evening he succumbed to the fury of pressures which bore in upon him from every side. He furled his standard for a better day. He advised the Queen to accept his resignation. She wept; and he departed.

Anne was now absolutely alone; apart from Abigail, with the pillows, with the harpsichord and the Tory gossip, she could find no one to whom she could turn. Then, and then only, did she yield. On the 10th she summoned Marlborough to her presence, and after bitter lamentations and reproaches informed him that he had his way. The dismissal of Harley was announced on February 11. The Whig Boyle, from the Exchequer, became Secretary of State; and John Smith, the Whig Speaker of the House of Commons, took his place at the Treasury. St John, Mansell (the Comptroller of the Household), and Harcourt went out with Harley. The office of Secretary-at-War had grown enormously in importance during St John’s tenure. Previously it had scarcely counted as Ministerial. In theory the Secretary-at-War was little more than a private secretary of the Commander-in-Chief. But St John had assumed charge of all military questions in the House of Commons, and with his extraordinary gifts and under war conditions had held the centre of the stage. Another Parliamentarian of the first order must be found. Marlborough chose the young Robert Walpole, who had distinguished himself by his vigorous defence of the Admiralty. In St John and Walpole he seems to have picked or found the two young men of destiny in that day for the office, the efficient conduct of which was an essential part of his power to wage war.

The Whigs now fell upon the fallen Harley. Had this master of political intrigue been content to undermine his colleagues by backstairs influence; or was he a Jacobite betraying war secrets to the enemy? Who could be sure that his machinations stopped short at the English Channel? The torments to which he was subjected were merciless. Greg was condemned to death on January 19/30. The execution was postponed from week to week while a Lords Committee examined him, and it was freely asserted that Greg was offered his life if he would incriminate the ex-Secretary of State. Harley was, of course, innocent of anything except culpable negligence in public business. But the ordeal through which he passed was terrible. He endured it with characteristic phlegm. He asserted his innocence, he offered no explanation and declared that his life and honour were in God’s keeping. William Greg, however, withstood all pressures and temptations; and history has pondered over the mysteries of his nature, which could sell his country for a paltry sum, and yet face a grisly death rather than bear false testimony against his master. When at length in April he was brought to Tyburn to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, he handed the sheriff a paper proclaiming his sole guilt and Harley’s innocence.

There had been also a final scene in the House of Commons. When on February 18/29 the Government admitted that St John’s figures about Almanza were true, so staggering was the fact that the crowded House sat for nearly half an hour dumbfounded, not one man caring to attempt to express its feelings. This oppressive silence brings home to us the magnificent earnestness of that long-vanished Parliament, and we feel the beating of those resolute English hearts which, in spite of so many failings and follies, built up the greatness of our island. At last the spell was broken by some member moving formally to thank the Queen for her reply.

The injuries given and received in this struggle were of the kind that men do not forget. They seared and destroyed all fellow-feeling and comradeship between the antagonists. In this bitter month will be found the explanation of the ruthless ill-usage which Marlborough was to receive four years later at the hands of Harley and St John.

Thus ended one of the decisive constitutional conflicts of our history. The authority of the Crown was once more definitely restricted. The public interest, the power of Parliament, the force of party organization, all combined might not have prevailed against the will and courage of this wrong-headed Stuart sovereign. For her part, in pursuance of her conviction, she would have squandered Marlborough, the Grand Alliance, and all that was bound up in their cause. But she was beaten by Marlborough’s prestige without the slightest distortion of the Constitution, without a vote, without even an address. She submitted only with undying resentment. She never forgot and she never forgave. Henceforth she set herself to plan revenge. If we have called her a great queen, it is not because of her benevolence or her understanding, though both were considerable; certainly not because of her right judgment—but because of her toughness and will-power, and the part they played both for good and for ill in this expansive and glorious period.

Scotland chewed the thongs of union morosely throughout the misadventures of 1707. Harley’s political travellers had warned him of widespread disaffection. Hooke, who toured Scotland for him in the early summer, reported that nine-tenths of the people were against the Union. Highland clansmen, Lowland Jacobites, Whig noblemen, Covenanters, Catholics and Presbyterians, were all ripe for rebellion, though with different objects. Now, if ever, was the hour for the rightful heir to Scotland’s ancient crown to set foot upon Scottish soil. Versailles, long sceptical, as we have seen, of Jacobite hopes, was convinced by far-reaching inquiry that a serious revolt would follow the landing of the “rightful sovereign of the three kingdoms” with arms, money, and supplies, and the French nucleus of an army. James Edward, Prætensus, now twenty, was ardent for the attempt, and around him clustered the faithful exiles of Saint-Germains. During January Dunkirk hummed with preparation. Five French battleships, a score of frigates to serve as transports conveying twelve battalions, thirteen thousand stand of arms, the gold plate, the liveries and insignia of a royal Court, were assembled. The blessing of the Pope and the proved skill of Admiral Forbin were cast into the scales for no less an object than the conversion of England and Scotland ^[390] and the dethronement of the usurper Anne.^[391] Berwick would himself have liked to command the troops, and his services were implored by the Scottish Jacobites. But Louis XIV drew the line at risking the victor of Almanza upon so hazardous a stroke. A squadron of French frigates, six thousand soldiers—these might be staked upon an outside chance, but Berwick—no.

The stir at Dunkirk and elsewhere was reported to Marlborough by his Secret Service in France and Holland, and it may be also through some of those strange personal channels the traces of which are deeply marked in history. At any rate, by the middle of February we see this alleged friend of the Jacobite cause, this persistent correspondent with the exiled Court, suddenly active in many directions. On the 17th he ordered Cadogan in Flanders to watch “the preparations making at Dunkirk,” and

He wrote also to Lumley about the selection of the battalions, to Overkirk about replacing them in the various garrisons, and to the States to supply warships, transports, and facilities, enjoining upon all the utmost secrecy. He began to prepare and mobilize the home forces. Household troops, Foot Guards, nine battalions of infantry, and some dragoons were all that remained in England. The drafts for the English regiments in Spain depleted by Almanza were formed into provisional battalions. A regiment of horse and two of dragoons in the north of Ireland were also prepared for service. By the end of February Marlborough had from all sources a substantial force in hand. Still greater exertions were enjoined upon his high Tory, even Jacobite, brother, George Churchill, at the Admiralty. Without upsetting their arrangements for reinforcing the Mediterranean, the Admiralty fitted out at this rigorous season of the year fifteen British battleships, which sailed from Deal under Sir George Byng, and, together with three Dutch ships, blockaded Dunkirk before the end of February. Within a fortnight this force was nearly doubled. “Since we have got a greater strength of shipping than in all likelihood they can put to sea,” wrote Marlborough, “I think we have nothing to apprehend, whatever their design may be.”^[393] Actually the British strength in the end was five times as great as the French.

Parliament was informed on March 4/15 alike of the impending invasion and of the measures taken to cope with it. It was added that the States-General desired to assist the Queen with their whole disposable force by land and sea. The double effect was remarkable. All parties rallied round the Throne. Drastic legislation against Jacobites, avowed or suspected, was voted. The Habeas Corpus Act was suspended. The Pretender and his adherents were proclaimed traitors and rebels. Lavish funds were provided for the defence of the realm. Yet at the same time the Commons proclaimed “that no attempts of this kind shall deter us from supporting Your Majesty in the vigorous prosecution of the present war against France until the monarchy of Spain be restored to the house of Austria, and Your Majesty have the glory to complete the recovery of the liberties of Europe.”^[394]

Meanwhile at Dunkirk the event occurred. Gales drove off the blockading squadrons, and Forbin put to sea with his warships, his transports, six thousand men, and the Pretender, convalescing from measles but indomitable. Twelve hours behind them Admiral Byng, leaving a division of English and Dutch ships under Admiral Baker to guard the Flanders convoys, sailed in chase. Simultaneously all the troops waiting in England, Ireland, and at Ostend set forth for Scotland by land and sea. Private Deane has left us a laconic record:

By the time these much-tried soldiers reached Tynemouth the danger was over. Forbin entered the Firth of Forth and anchored near the Isle of May on the 12th/23rd. Signals made to the shore met with but vague responses. Byng was already at the mouth of the Forth. A lucky turn of wind prevented the whole expedition from being trapped. The Pretender still hoped to land at Inverness; but all the rest now thought only of home. The sufferings of the soldiers, crowded upon the open decks in storm and icy rain, were extreme. Our own losses, as Private Deane reveals, were heavy. The French lost several thousand men from sickness and exposure. All the French vessels escaped except one, the Salisbury, taken from England in 1703 and “the best ship” in Forbin’s fleet. This was boarded by the Leopard, and yielded a crowd of luckless Jacobites. Among these was the aged Lord Griffin, whom we may remember with John Churchill in James II’s shipwreck of 1681 saving himself “by catching hold of a hen-coop.”^[402] The unfortunate nobleman was again in dire peril. In fact, he had but one hope—his comrade of those early days. This, however, did not fail him.

The news of the arrival of the invaders in the Firth of Forth, the rumour of their landing, and of an alleged Scottish uprising caused a panic in London. The funds fell fifteen points. The Goldsmiths’ Company, which was in some respects the Tory rival of the Bank of England, started a formidable run upon that institution. The Queen, Marlborough, the Dukes of Somerset and Newcastle, Dutch merchants, Huguenot refugees, and Jewish financiers, together with all the Whig wealth, hastened to the rescue. Godolphin transferred all the Treasury gold to the Bank. The shareholders of the Bank prepared to meet a 20 per cent. call. The run was stopped. The good news arrived. The funds soared, and general rejoicings were the order of the day. No severities darkened the success. Lord Griffin, indeed, was condemned to death, but Marlborough successfully, though under much criticism, prevented his execution. This caused some disappointment. “The boys of the town,” wrote Swift sardonically, “are mighty happy; for we are to have a beheading next week, unless the Queen will interpose her mercy.” Eventually the old Lord, respited from month to month, died in the Tower in 1710, of old age, and perhaps of a not unnatural depression.

Thus ended somewhat ignominiously the first of the Jacobite descents. It led, however, to consequences of far-reaching importance in the party sphere. Parliament was approaching the end of a triennial term. What more deadly prelude could there be to a General Election than the seeming or imputed identification of the Tories with the frustrated invasion of the island by foreign troops? All Whig suspicions of Marlborough and Godolphin were swept away by their proven vigilance and zeal. The Queen, having felt the throne shake beneath her, her every instinct of self-preservation stirred, was glad to give expression to her feelings in language which went far beyond her normal mood. Ministers found her willing to declare her obligation “to place her chief dependence on those who had given such repeated proofs of the greatest warmth and concern, for the support of the Revolution, the security of her own person, and of the Protestant Succession.”^[403] In closing the session she allowed herself to say, “All which is dear to you is perfectly safe under my government, and must be irrecoverably lost, if ever the designs of a popish Pretender, bred up in the principles of the most arbitrary government, should take place.”^[404]

It was indeed the hour of the Whigs. Even before the election they renewed their efforts to press themselves upon the Queen. Once again they selected one of their number behind whom all their efforts should be concentrated. Somers, William III’s Lord Chancellor, was, for his gifts, his dignities, and his record in history, the accepted head of the Junto. During Anne’s reign he had been removed with other Whig Lords from the Privy Council. His associates now resolved that he should become its President. The demand by the victorious party for the inclusion of so eminent a statesman in the councils of the sovereign was amply justified. Indeed, the Whigs might boast their moderation in asking only for this. Not only did the five Lords sustain the request, but it was endorsed by the moderate Whig members of the Cabinet, the Dukes of Devonshire and Newcastle. The Queen met their first overtures with the answer that she could not displace Lord Pembroke, with whom she was entirely pleased. The Whig Dukes then reduced their claim to the simple inclusion of Somers in the Cabinet. Anne, taken by surprise at the audience, could think of no grounds for refusal other than that the Cabinet was full enough already. Pressed from all sides, the Queen carried her complaints to Marlborough.

Marlborough, now at the front anxiously watching the French army gathering around Mons, urged her to comply. His letter shows that he was as good a judge of electioneering as of military matters. Evidently the Queen, presumably on Harley’s forecast, hoped that the Tories would hold their own at the polls, and Marlborough was at pains to undeceive her.

Marlborough attached grave importance to the reception of his advice. “If she be obstinate,” he wrote to Godolphin, “I think it is a plain declaration to all the world that you and I have no credit, and that all is governed underhand by Mr Harley and Mrs Masham.”^[407]

The Queen ignored Marlborough’s advice about Somers, but in a letter of European importance assured him that she would in no way lend herself to peace negotiations.

The election was fought out in May. A month before both Harley and the Queen nursed secret hopes of a Tory victory. Now the Tories were taken at a hopeless disadvantage. The shadow of the frustrated invasion overlay the land. The Whigs exploited the occasion to the full. In manifestos and speeches they endeavoured to confound the Tories with the Jacobites, and their political antagonists with the French. Brutally accused by their opponents of bringing the curse of civil war and foreign invasion upon the land, distrusted by important moderate elements, abandoned at this critical moment, though only for the moment, by the Queen, in whom their hopes were set, it was marvellous the Tories were not annihilated in the constituencies. They were stubborn folk, and in those days Englishmen did not run in droves, like their modern descendants. Harley, in spite of the invasion scare, in spite of Greg’s treason, and all the odium thrust upon him both by the Whigs and the Court, was returned for his Welsh seat (New Radnor). St John, having quarrelled with his father, patron of the family borough of Wootton Bassett, sought a refuge in over-represented Tory Cornwall. He failed to find it. No doubt his cynical discarding of the Occasional Conformity Bill for the sake of office three years before had left an impression upon the Tory Party managers, both national and local, which not all his brilliancy and eloquence could efface. He passed for the moment into complete eclipse. Burying himself in the depths of the country, he affected to find in horse and hound, in books and agriculture, a solace for his exile from affairs. As the election results flowed in it became certain that the Whigs would be masters of the new House of Commons. In fact, they secured a majority of over a hundred, and thus the Lords of the Junto became possessed of lawful and predominant power in both Houses, exercisable as soon as Parliament should meet.

Parliament only sat in the winter. It was now no more than June. The Whigs felt that the Queen should recognize the results of the polls by embracing them forthwith in a definitely party administration. The event, however, struck Anne differently. She was surprised and chagrined by the Tory defeat. All her prejudices against the Whigs were redoubled by their triumphs. She understood, and Harley must have explained to her, how narrow and accidental had been the margins by which their previous plans had been cast down. When Secretary of State, Harley had looked forward upon a very solid basis to forming a Government with or even without Marlborough in January or February 1708, and, aided by the favour of the Crown, to winning the General Election. Marlborough’s prestige and his fidelity to Godolphin had ruptured Harley’s scheme of government. The Jacobite raid had spoiled his chances in the constituencies. The Queen resented these unforeseeable happenings. In the face of what Sunderland called “the best Wig Parliament that has been since the revolution,”^[409] Anne was more cordially Tory than ever before. Already she had forgotten the Jacobite scare. She would not hear of new Whigs in the Cabinet. The supplies had been voted for the year; Marlborough was in the field at the head of the armies, and until the money ran short the Whigs could drum their heels in the coffee-houses, or the antechambers—if they could get so far.

Anne’s distress and discontent vented itself upon Sunderland. The Whig Secretary of State had used his office, his influence, and, as far as he dared, the Queen’s name to rig the election of the Scottish peers in his party interests. In a letter to the Duke of Roxburgh he had written: “I would not have you be bully’d by the Court-Party, for the Queen herself cannot support that faction long.”^[410] This undoubted disloyalty to the principles upon which the compromise of the Queen’s Government was framed, and which Marlborough and Godolphin represented, was exposed to her up the back stairs by Harley. All her dislike of Sunderland, all her resentments at his having been forced upon her, now found vehement expression. Her name had been used for a party purpose, contrary, not only to her feelings, but to the whole character of the Government, which Marlborough’s authority had wrung from her as a final settlement. She became so enraged that only her respect for Marlborough and for Marlborough’s power prevented her from taking the seals of office out of hand from his son-in-law. She protested to him indignantly in two letters of June 18/29 and June 22/July 3.

Apparently the Queen was disconcerted by his silence, for she wrote again on July 3/14, when, unknown to her, her armies were gathering the spoils of victory, a more equable and mollifying letter.

Marlborough received the earlier menacing or disquieting messages in the crisis of marches and manœuvres which preceded battle. So obvious an affront as the public dismissal of his own son-in-law at such a moment seemed likely to undermine his authority before all men. Harassed by the Queen’s attitude, he was also incensed by Sunderland’s behaviour. All that we know of Sunderland during the summer of 1708 shows that his only loyalty was to the Junto. For the Queen, for the compromise Cabinet of which he was a member, for Marlborough, his father-in-law, to whom he owed so much, for Sarah, who had wrecked herself to help him—nay, for the cause of the Alliance, he cared in comparison nothing: the party pledge was his only tie. Thus we see him using throughout the year language about Godolphin and even Marlborough which in cold hostility equalled the worst that from the opposite angle Harley could whisper through Abigail to the Queen.

Marlborough, at grips with a superior French army, worn and wearied, ill and fevered, was, as we shall see, roused after a brief collapse to the mood of Napoleon before Wagram; “La bataille répondra.” He cast political intrigues from him with inexpressible loathing. He left the Queen’s letters unanswered, and mounted his horse.

Prince Eugene, according to Schulenberg, said of the campaign of 1708, “He who has not seen this has seen nothing.” This remark is typical of the accounts of eyewitnesses of all ranks on either side. The captious Goslinga ends his tale with the words, “Thus ended this dangerous and remarkable campaign, one of the most glorious which was ever made.” And our Private Deane, of the First Guards, calls it “very long, tiresome, troublesome, mischievous and strange, yet very successful.” Indeed, it is not easy to find operations more novel and suggestive to the student of military affairs. We have the two greatest commanders of the age at the head of troops from many confederate states, surmounting the vices of coalitions, beginning under a serious misfortune, courting undue risks to gain victory in the field, and undertaking the greatest siege till then recorded, with their communications cut. We see besiegers besieged while still besieging; preserving existence from day to day only by the narrowest margins and chances; isolated and invested in the midst of enemy territory, yet never relinquishing their prey; fighting on in defiance of custom and season till the end of December; finally overcoming every obstruction and succeeding in every detail against the forces of a homogeneous French army, which never outnumbered them by less than six to five.

It is worth while, in order the better to recognize the sequence of events, to set forth the major episodes beforehand: namely, the loss of Ghent and Bruges; the battle of Oudenarde; the investment of Lille; the convoy of the siege-train from Brussels; the French attempt to raise the siege; the severance of the communications with Brussels; the opening of new communications with the sea; the critical action of Wynendael; the bombardment and assaults of the city of Lille; the inundations and aquatic warfare for supplies; the total isolation of the allied armies; the timely surrender of the city of Lille; the opening of a third line of communications from the sea; the French diversion against Brussels; the forcing of the Scheldt and the relief of Brussels by Marlborough and Eugene; the fall of the citadel of Lille; the final recapture of Ghent and Bruges by the Allies.

Encouraged by his success in 1707, Louis XIV resolved, as Marlborough had predicted,^[414] to gain the mastery in Flanders. By a hard effort he brought to the field the most numerous army which the world had seen for centuries. Nearly a hundred and ten thousand men, forming 131 battalions and 216 squadrons, assembled during May around Mons. His intention was to give the effective command against Marlborough to Marshal Vendôme. His eldest grandson, Fénelon’s pupil, the blameless Duke of Burgundy, having, however, expressed a desire to serve, was placed nominally at the head of the army, and the Elector of Bavaria was constrained to transfer himself to the Upper Rhine. Vendôme favoured the change, thinking that the inexperienced prince of the blood would hamper him less than the able, war-toughened Elector.

Max Emmanuel, on the other hand, was loath to leave Flanders. What Marlborough had foretold in 1706 had come to pass. The cities of Belgium were seething with discontent under the rule and exactions of the Dutch. The Elector felt himself possessed of real influence with the Belgian people. Moreover, he feared lest his removal should be the prelude to peace negotiations with Holland at his expense. The French Court, however, consoled him with the prospect of so strong an army upon the Upper Rhine that by a brilliant campaign he might even regain his own Bavaria. “On account of the disgust that subsisted”^[415] between the Elector and Villars, the latter was made to exchange commands with Berwick, who had already been appointed to the southern front (Dauphiné). Berwick, when he arrived on the Rhine, like Vendôme in Flanders, was held responsible commander, with the extra duty of keeping a royal or exalted figurehead out of mischief and in good humour, and of securing to such personages the glory to which their birth entitled them. Neither of them was, however, willing to be a puppet or even a passenger. When we dwell upon Marlborough’s troubles with the Dutch field Deputies and recalcitrant allies, it must not be forgotten that similar vexations often afflicted the marshals of France. Not only had they to endure a divided authority, but also a persistent interference by almost daily couriers from the Great King himself, to whom all decisive issues were referred.

Indeed, once Eugene had joined Marlborough their perfect comradeship and pre-eminence established a higher unity of command than had ever been seen in the war. “The Princes,” as they came to be called in the confederacy, settled everything between themselves. Neither ever allowed a whisper of disagreement to circulate. They were apparently immune from any kind of jealousy of each other, were proof against every form of mischief-making or intrigue, and in the field at any rate were in practice absolute. The councils of war were frequent, and many opinions were heard. But once “the Princes” had finally spoken all bowed to their judgment. Without this new fact at the allied headquarters the extraordinary operations which these chapters describe, so intricate, so prolonged, and contrary on many occasions to the accepted principles of war, could never have been achieved.

Marlborough, Eugene, and Heinsius met at The Hague on April 12 to concert the general strategy of the year. It immediately became obvious that Eugene would not go to Spain. The Emperor would not agree; Eugene did not want to go; Marlborough did not mean him to go. Thus the pet project of the British Parliament and Cabinet which had been referred to this conference was promptly dismissed. The theatre was judged minor, and the policy should be defensive. Who, then, should command? This also had been largely settled by Marlborough. A fortnight earlier Stanhope had been appointed Commander-in-Chief of the British forces there. He had travelled to The Hague in Marlborough’s company. He attended all the meetings. But it was not Marlborough’s policy to send any important British detachment to Spain. Only about two thousand British troops were actually capable of taking the field. Marlborough therefore had procured from the Cabinet authority to pay the expense of a considerable reinforcement of Imperial troops. He also proposed that the Palatine contingent in Italy, seven thousand strong, under General Rehbinder, hired jointly by England and Holland, should be sent to the Peninsula. This was the most he could do; it was also the least. The great preponderance of Germanic troops made it necessary that an Imperial commander should also be appointed. Starhemberg, reputed “the best General of the age for the defensive,”^[416] was at that time commanding against the Hungarian rebels. It was decided to transfer him to Spain. This implied that Stanhope’s military rôle would be minor or nil. However, as he was entrusted with the payment of £10,000 a month from the British Government to Charles III, he was assured of some attention; and his instructions from the Cabinet charged him to “enlarge the bounds” of the operations in Spain by land and sea. To console the British Parliament upon the withholding of Eugene from Spain special emphasis was laid upon the naval aspect of the campaign—namely, the need of capturing a safe sea-base.

It was already plain that no forces could be provided for an important offensive in Dauphiné under Victor Amadeus. Marlborough, serenely unmoved by the Titian hangings, acquiesced at once in this restriction of the southern front. Every one at The Hague welcomed the idea that Eugene should fight in the north. But a further complication remained.

The Elector of Hanover had with great difficulty been at last induced to accept the Rhine command as Imperial Generalissimo. He had viewed the arrival of Prince Eugene in the north with disfavour. He saw himself eclipsed in reputation, and feared—with justice, as it proved—that his troops would be diverted or that his rôle would become subsidiary. Not only because of the difficulty of finding an Imperial commander-in-chief, but as a substantial ally, and heir to the British throne, Elector George Lewis of Hanover was a figure of the highest importance throughout the confederacy, and especially to Marlborough. Nevertheless, when Marlborough and Eugene came together their war-thought prevailed over all other considerations. Eugene at first proposed to Marlborough that the main allied effort should be made along the Moselle and also across the Rhine. Thirty thousand men should be withdrawn from Flanders to Coblenz, making a Moselle army of seventy thousand, which Eugene would command. In conjunction with the Elector of Hanover’s Rhine army of forty thousand men, Marlborough’s abortive plan of 1705 would be tried again under more hopeful conditions. But the States-General would not agree, in the face of the heavy French concentration proceeding daily on their front, and magnified by rumour, to strip themselves of so large a part of their defence. Marlborough was unwilling to weaken the Flanders army. He could use the frustrated invasion of Scotland against moving his forces away from the sea. He warned Eugene from his own bitter experience that the assembly of the German contingents upon the Moselle would be fatally delayed; and the French would seize the initiative in Flanders long before the Moselle army could be assembled.

Accordingly he proposed to Eugene that, although the three armies should be formed, and every pretence made of an invasion of France by the Moselle, yet at the proper moment secretly and suddenly Eugene should carry whatever troops had gathered on the Moselle to join the main army in Flanders; and that in the few days before the French could bring similar reinforcements from the Rhine he and Eugene should fall upon them with the superior strength of a hundred and twenty thousand men, and force a decisive battle. This idea of a super-Blenheim commended itself to Prince Eugene. The two agreed to confine their secret to the narrowest circle. By these plans the French were remarkably deceived. With the impressions of Toulon strong in their minds, they still feared a major offensive in Dauphiné. Everything that leaked out from Briançon’s office in London about such schemes misled them. Completely mystified in this theatre by the allied strategy, they provided a substantial army to guard their southern front and sent Marshal Villars to command it.

As a part of his main scheme Marlborough was still attracted by the idea of a “descent.” He believed that practically all the French regular troops were engaged on the various fronts, and that nothing but encampments of militia guarded the long coasts of France. Even if a serious landing was not made he hoped that the appearance of a substantial force in transports, escorted by a fleet, now here, now there, would draw far more than its own numbers from the main armies. We have seen the fate which awaited the troops of the first “descent.” Now, at the beginning of 1708, a second force under General Erle of eleven English battalions was assembled in the Isle of Wight with the necessary shipping and escort, to be used on the Belgian coast or against the French Channel ports in conjunction with Marlborough’s operations as he should direct. This, as we shall see, played a decisive part.

Thus it was settled that Starhemberg and Stanhope should stand on the defensive in Spain; that Victor Amadeus should play a minor rôle in Dauphiné; that Eugene should concentrate upon the Moselle, as if to work with the Elector of Hanover on the Rhine, but that suddenly thereafter he should join Marlborough for a surprise battle in Flanders; and, lastly, that an amphibious descent should be prepared as a contributory diversion.

The first step in pursuance of this general plan was to reconcile the Elector of Hanover to the preparatory formation of the three armies in the north. For this purpose Eugene insisted that Marlborough should accompany him to Hanover. Disregarding the entreaties of Godolphin and Sarah that he should return home, if only for a fortnight, to save the political situation, of which more later, Marlborough set out for Hanover in the third week of April. His report to Godolphin (The Hague, May 3) speaks for itself.^[417]

In fact, though Marlborough’s letter does not mention it, he had been forced also himself to transfer five thousand troops to the Rhine army, thus providing the Elector with forty-seven thousand men, who were destined to stand virtually idle during the whole of the campaign. Moreover, the Elector never forgave him for the concealment, and afterwards, as George I, he was not without opportunities of marking his displeasure.

Lastly, it was understood between the princes that Marlborough might have to fight a battle before the junction of the armies could be made. “We are assured,” he wrote to the Queen (May 9),

This histrionic note mingles more than once in Marlborough’s later letters to Queen Anne. It marks the decline in their relationship. He never wrote like this in any campaign before 1707. Its lack of reserve is excusable only by the crises of the Queen’s personal attitude and the political factions at work around her. But the same conditions that prompted the Captain-General to strike the note led the Queen to disregard it.

The months of May and June were one of Marlborough’s periods of silent stress. In England the impact of the Whigs upon the Queen had produced a dangerous deadlock. All Holland, especially the burghers of Amsterdam, lent themselves to the demand for peace negotiations, even negotiations to be opened by the Allies. All Belgium was utterly wearied of the Dutch, and its great fortress towns were alive with conspiracy. Eugene’s army, as Marlborough had foreseen, had scarcely begun to assemble. The French were ready to take the field with about a hundred and ten thousand men collected around Mons, and Marlborough faced them with 112 battalions and 197 squadrons, or almost ninety thousand, in his camps to the south of Brussels. Indeed, Louis XIV announced to his Court on May 24 that his reports from the armies led him to believe that a general engagement would be fought before the end of the month.

A wealth of alternatives presented themselves to the French High Command. Vendôme persuaded Louis XIV to approve the siege of Huy as a provocation to battle. It was a small undertaking, and if Marlborough sought to interrupt it the whole army could meet him in country favourable to the more powerful French cavalry and offering no helpful enclosures to the much-respected Confederate foot. Burgundy wished to march directly towards Brussels to threaten the Dutch Barrier and test the alleged disaffection of the Belgians. Marlborough himself apprehended a third plan towards the coast, beginning with a siege of Ath and aiming at Ghent, Bruges, and Antwerp. Later on we shall see that his instinct proved sound. For the moment Vendôme agreed with Burgundy’s view, and on May 26 the French army marched suddenly by night to Soignies. Marlborough advanced to Hal to confront them, and a battle seemed imminent. On June 1, however, the French moved eastward towards Nivelles, threatening Louvain; whereupon Marlborough repeated his retreat of the previous year by a very long march (thirty-six miles in thirty hours and drenching rain). He passed around Brussels, and reached Terbanck, behind the Dyle, on June 3. The French, again confronted, halted between Genappe and Braine l’Alleud. In these positions both armies lay for the rest of June, the French in doubt what to choose, and Marlborough waiting on their choice and for Eugene. The Deputy Goslinga deemed Marlborough’s retirement pusillanimous, and recorded his usual calumnies upon it. But the Duke pursued his strategy with phlegm. At Terbanck he was safe. There he covered Brussels and Louvain, and thence he could move by his many prepared routes to parry attacks so divergent as upon Huy on the Meuse or Ath on the Dender. Meanwhile he contained a superior hostile army; but time was precious.

One discerning eye had early pierced his secret. Berwick had ridiculed the airy plans of an invasion of Germany with which the French Court had soothed Max Emmanuel. He persuaded the Elector by soldierly argument that

Berwick therefore thought it his duty “principally to watch the movements of the enemy,” in order to send the Duke of Burgundy “troops in proportion as detachments should be made by them.”^[419]

Marlborough was soon conscious, from the way Berwick disposed his troops, of his nephew’s suspicious vigilance. Gradually prospects of making a superior concentration against Vendôme faded. “The disappointment of the Palatine troops,”^[420] he wrote to Godolphin (June 11),

This letter is interesting because it shows the relations between Marlborough and Eugene at this time. We see Marlborough giving the definite orders of a superior commander. Moreover, Eugene fully accepts the position. “Your Highness,” he wrote, “may be convinced I will omit nothing to press on my march from Rheinfels. I will give you due notice by courier, being myself extremely impatient to assure you in person of my respect . . .”^[424]

Marlborough used the protracted delays in reviewing the army. Napoleon was accustomed in his greatest days to take every opportunity of inspecting his troops division by division. He used to assemble ten thousand men at a time, and spend the whole day with them, studying their condition, hearing complaints from all ranks, and becoming personally known to the men. Marlborough may well have been his exemplar in this, for during this month he saw the whole allied army in detachments of eight to ten thousand a day, and was increasingly satisfied with its quality and spirit. But the delays of the Germans began to have serious results. To Godolphin he wrote on June 28:

On June 29 the Prince started on his 150-mile march from Coblenz with forty-three squadrons and eighteen battalions—only fifteen instead of the originally hoped-for forty thousand—but still a formidable reinforcement. But Berwick was also hastening to Flanders with fifty-five squadrons and thirty-four battalions (twenty-seven thousand men), and Eugene could not hope to be more than two or three days ahead of him even with his cavalry. The impending climax was apprehended in the secret circle at home. Sarah evidently bent beneath her anxieties, but who should reproach a soldier’s wife in such an hour?

“You are so kind,” wrote Marlborough (June 25), “as to be in pain as to what may happen when Prince Eugene comes. Put your trust in God, as I do, and be assured that I think I can’t be unhappy as long as you are kind.”^[426]

At this time, as was usual in a crisis, his mind played placidly with homely topics. Sarah had long desired a great house in London, and John made no difficulty about the heavy expense. His economies were usually upon small matters mostly affecting himself, and arose from his dislike of frittering money. A hundred thousand pounds for some important object dear to his wife did not afflict him. But his opinions about Marlborough House, and especially about house-building, deserve the attention of all who lack that experience.

The moment (July 2) had now come to inform the States-General that the whole Moselle army was marching to Flanders.

The ink was scarcely dry upon this letter when news arrived that the French army was about to move.

The hatred which the Dutch occupation had aroused in the Belgian people in the two years since Ramillies had made the former French yoke seem light by contrast. Count Bergheyck, a Flemish noble of high repute, headed and organized a widespread pro-French conspiracy. His partisans prepared themselves to deliver the great fortress towns of Belgium to the French at the first favourable opportunity. In May Marlborough had detected and nipped in the bud the plot to surrender Antwerp. He had grave reasons to be anxious about the feeling in Brussels itself. He was under no illusions about Ghent and Bruges. Indeed, he had stationed Major-General Murray in that region with a whole brigade for the express purpose of giving timely aid to any threatened garrison.

During July Count Bergheyck unfolded a design for delivering Ghent and Bruges to France. The plan was considered immediately both by the French headquarters and at Versailles. Burgundy himself resolved upon the sudden flank march across the Dender towards Ghent. Vendôme thought it too hazardous, and advised a longer detour to the south. But the young prince took the plunge. On July 4 his strong advance forces under Grimaldi, ostensibly foraging to the westward, crossed the Dender at Ninove, and moved fast on Ghent. Simultaneously a flying column under the Comte de la Motte moved from the French lines at Comines to summon Bruges. The French Grand Army broke camp at seven p.m. They marched all night and all through the day of the 5th. At three a.m. La Motte entered Bruges without opposition. At dawn the French army was crossing the Senne at Tubize. At eight in the evening, having thrown out strong detachments under Albergotti to cover their right flank, they were crossing the Dender at Ninove. Here they learned that the town of Ghent had surrendered, and that the governor had agreed to yield the citadel by July 8, if not sooner relieved. This continuous march of more than thirty miles, part in heavy rain, had exhausted the army. The baggage and artillery could not cross the Dender till dawn on the 6th. They lay protected only by their rearguards.

Late on July 2 Marlborough learned that the enemy were preparing to move, and on the night of the 4th at about ten o’clock he heard that they were marching westward, having sent strong detachments forward towards the Dender. He gave immediate orders to strike the camp and stand to arms. His first concern was to reinforce the garrison of Oudenarde, and thus make sure of a bridgehead on the Scheldt. He sent the following significant instructions to Murray, whose mobile brigade was near Ghent:

Marlborough began to move his army towards Brussels at the same hour. In the afternoon, when he was near the city, he wrote to the Secretary of State, Boyle:

After a march of eighteen miles the Allies came into camp about Anderlecht, on the south-western outskirts of Brussels, during the afternoon. Their advanced troops, the right wing, lay as far west as Lombeek. We have here a picture which, although drawn by a spiteful pen, is too rare to omit. It shows us the rough side of the tapestry. Goslinga arrived at about half-past six at Marlborough’s headquarters.

Goslinga followed him thither, and urged an attack next morning upon the French rearguard, which must be exhausted by an extraordinary march. The Duke replied that the ground was not favourable. However, upon further reports that the whole French army was before him in position and might even itself attack at daybreak, he reinforced his right or advanced wing with thirty battalions and thirty squadrons of his weary troops, only just camped after their heavy march. “I was wakened at one in the morning,” continues Goslinga,

A detachment sent in pursuit captured a French baggage column and two or three hundred prisoners, but thereafter came in contact with the infantry of the enemy’s rearguard posted in hedges and enclosures, and returned with their booty to camp about noon. It was evident that the French, by a sudden and extremely daring forced march, had carried their whole army beyond the Dender, and that they stood between the Allies and Ghent. They were thus in a position to adopt the third alternative plan, which Marlborough had always apprehended, and to attack the allied fortresses and bridgeheads on the Scheldt and the Lys, including particularly Oudenarde and Menin.^[433]

To give an idea of the trials of the Commander-in-Chief we must dwell a little longer on Goslinga’s account. The Deputy pursued the Duke back to his headquarters. In ignorance of the measures which had been taken for its defence, he opined that Oudenarde was probably already lost. He clamoured for an immediate march south-westward in order to protect Menin and the conquered territories of Flanders. All his account is designed to portray Marlborough as a vacillating sluggard whom the Deputy was endeavouring to arouse to a sense of his duty. The correspondence which has been set out shows that Marlborough was only waiting for the arrival of Eugene’s cavalry to strike his blow. In the meantime he must cover Brussels. He had been without sleep the whole night, moving the army, marching himself, and striving to measure the unknown. He was, by Goslinga’s account, physically very hard pressed. Nevertheless, he endured with patience the prolonged irresponsible solicitations of the Deputy, and, remarking that “your masters would not be particularly edified if we thus abandoned our own Flanders,” ordered the army to march to Assche. Here, guarding Brussels and the crossings of the Dender, he could await developments and Eugene. Goslinga did all he could to create prejudice and marshal opinion against this prudent strategy, but of its massive good sense there can be no doubt.

We have seen that on the evening of the 5th the generals of Marlborough’s right wing conceived themselves in presence of the main French army and even liable to attack. It was not, however, till daylight on the 6th that all the French vehicles and cannon passed the Dender safely, followed during the morning by Albergotti and the rearguard. There is little doubt that if Albergotti had been strongly attacked about four in the afternoon of the 5th Burgundy might have paid for his audacity with the loss of the whole of his artillery and baggage, as well as of his flank and rearguards. This is made a reproach against Marlborough. The question remains whether such an attack was physically possible. Marlborough could not move from Terbanck on the night of the 4th till he knew for certain which way the French main army was marching. Grimaldi’s advance to Ninove might be a feint to cover a stroke in the opposite direction at Louvain, and bring about a disastrous separation of the converging allied armies. When Marlborough moved he moved as fast as the French; but the French had started ten miles nearer to the Dender and seven hours before him. He did not come in touch with their rearguard till half-past five in the afternoon. His own troops had been under arms for eighteen hours and had made a full march. His left wing had not yet arrived. Darkness must have fallen before he could attack in force. When about seven o’clock he said it was too late and turned his horse, he was unquestionably right. If, of course, he had known with certainty the day before what the French intended, if even he could have known what they were doing when they started on the evening of the 4th, a better chance would have offered itself. But Burgundy was protected by the secrecy of his plans and by the very rashness of his march.

Civilian spectators like Goslinga often perceive opportunities which are not in fact open to responsible generals moving large armies in the fog of war, and bound to provide against many dangers which as soon as they are warded off are not remembered or even noticed. Fine stories can always be told of what might have happened if the facts, times, and information had been different. Nor would a Deputy, driving about in his comfortable berlin, appreciate the strain upon the marching troops, or the imperative nature of their need for food and rest. It is not that these factors would be unknown to him, but rather their emphasis and values. We can, however, see from his account Marlborough’s intense fatigue at this time, his despondency and grave anxiety, his unrelenting care and discharge of duty. He was ailing and about to become ill. The prolonged and varied stresses to which he was subjected—the Queen estranged, his political system tottering, the hounds upon his track at home, a superior enemy upon his front, Eugene’s unavoidable delays, Goslinga’s endless officious carping and chatter—had found the limits of his hitherto unconquered spirit.

The worst was to come. On the march to Assche the news he must inwardly have dreaded of the loss of Ghent and Bruges arrived. To Marlborough this seemed for the moment disastrous to the whole campaign. Ghent was, in Berwick’s words, “the key to all the rivers and all the waterways of Flanders.” It seemed to govern the movement of siege artillery. Bruges was only less important. By its loss the direct line of communication with England by Ostend was destroyed. The fruits of Ramillies could be torn away piecemeal. The climax of the new campaign seemed ruined. What wonder if the Captain-General yielded to an hour of gloom? He was only a man.

Brigadier Grumbkow, the Prussian commissary at the British headquarters, wrote to Frederick I:

It was in this mood that Eugene found him. They met at Assche. The Prince, escorted by a hundred Hungarian hussars, had driven on in his post-chaise four days ahead of his cavalry, and here he was fresh and gay with Cadogan at his side. Now for the first time the Army of the North saw the hero of the Empire in their midst. “Eugene had,” we are told, “at first to live down the disappointing impression given by his stunted frame, his slouch, and the pock-marked cheeks which sagged in his pale face. Although thirteen years younger than Marlborough, he was called the ‘old Italian Prince.’ At headquarters and in the heat of the fighting, in deliberations and bold, calculated deeds, in his domination of councils of war and his irresistible power of command, he revealed his worth as a man and a soldier.”^[435]

Marlborough was overjoyed to see his heroic comrade. He was also very glad to have Cadogan back from Ostend. He had noticeably missed his Quartermaster-General and Intelligence chief during these exhausting days. He “tenderly embraced”^[436] Eugene, saying, “I am not without hopes of congratulating your highness on a great victory; for my troops will be animated by your presence.” But this was for the public. The two shut themselves up together for some hours with their maps. No one knows what passed. Eugene was certainly surprised at Marlborough’s depression. “. . . I did not remain in Brussels, but passed straight through the town to the army in order to discuss with the Duke of Marlborough what is to be done. I have found him also in full march and pretty consternated [ziemlich consterniert].”^[437]

Eugene’s encouragement to Marlborough at this moment is a bright feature in their comradeship. He brought a draught of new life to a hard-pressed man. But Marlborough had summoned Eugene from the Moselle for the express purpose of fighting a battle, and no other thought but procuring it was ever in his mind. It was obvious that a movement across the French communications was the effective answer to their daring march, and the best way of bringing on the long-sought decision. When “the Princes” emerged, their plans were made. Their original design of joining forces and attacking in superior strength had failed. It was resolved to rest the army at Assche for two or three days until Eugene’s cavalry could reach Brussels and his infantry come into the theatre. Then they would strike south and west across the Scheldt to prevent or interrupt any siege of Oudenarde or Menin, to attack the French communications along the Belgian coast with France, and if possible to force a battle and to fight it with Marlborough’s army alone. These clear-cut decisions were endorsed by the council of war.

There followed a three days’ lull. Marlborough succeeded in throwing Chanclos, the governor of Ath, with all the troops he could collect (about seven hundred men), into Oudenarde, thus fully manning its defences. He was forced to send four infantry battalions into Brussels on account of the panic and excitement there. His pioneers were busy on the roads to the southward, and the army was preparing itself for march and battle. Eugene returned to Brussels for a private reason. There dwelt in that city an aged lady, his mother, the Comtesse de Soissons. He had survived twenty years of glory and danger since they last met. Now after a day of reunion they must part again, and on the eve of battle. By the 9th his cavalry would be near enough to the capital to make it safe, and Marlborough’s army thus acquired full freedom of movement.

On the evening of the 7th Marlborough collapsed. He was forced to abandon business. His doctor advised his removal to Brussels. He refused to quit the camp, but the orders of the 8th were issued from Overkirk’s tent. “His Grace,” wrote Hare, “has been confined to his bed to-day by a hot fever fit, but something he took in the afternoon carried it off with a gentle sweat and he was much mended.”^[442] Cadogan, with a strong detachment, started south at dusk with pioneers to make sure of the ways. At two a.m. on Monday, the 9th, the army marched in four columns, two of infantry in the centre, with cavalry on either flank. Thirty squadrons under Albemarle covered their rear and interposed as long as possible between the enemy and Brussels. Marlborough’s condition improved greatly in the night, and he was able in the morning to ride his horse in the sight of all men. “In all appearances,” says Hare, “he was very well.” The army reached Herfelingen, where Eugene overtook them, before eleven o’clock, having marched fifteen miles, and the Duke ordered a halt and camp to be pitched. From this place Marlborough wrote a letter to Godolphin which deserves careful attention.

The pith of this lies in the reference to the eleven battalions of British troops, over six thousand men, who were held in the Isle of Wight under General Erle ready with shipping for the “descent” upon the French coast. Marlborough’s request that the Deputies’ advice should be ignored, and that the force should be held suspended, reveals his far-reaching thought. He looked across the impending great battle, with all its chances, to the exploitation of victory. Later on we shall see the form which he wished that exploitation to take.

Meanwhile the French had not been able to make any use of their leisure since the 6th. They had received the surrender of the citadel of Ghent, they had rested their army, they still lay in the angle of the Scheldt, and obviously believed themselves to have the advantage. After sharp discussions it was decided to besiege Oudenarde rather than Menin, to attack it only from the western bank of the Scheldt, and to cover the siege from a strong position at Lessines. The investment of Oudenarde began early on July 9. About three o’clock it was learned that the Allies had camped at Herfelingen. This seemed to the French command to portend a movement on Namur or Charleroi. For precaution they decided to move at once upon Lessines. By midnight their vanguard had reached Voorde, ten miles short of it. But at four o’clock on the afternoon of the 9th Cadogan, with eight battalions and eight squadrons, had set off quietly from the camp at Herfelingen, and by midnight eight hundred of his men had actually crossed the Dender and occupied Lessines. By four in the morning the rest of Cadogan’s forces had come up. They spent the night building bridges for the army and establishing themselves in the naturally strong Lessines camp. Marlborough moved throughout the night with the whole army, and after a short halt at Ghislenghien his head reached the Dender at Lessines at eleven a.m. on the 10th, having marched in extremely good order over thirty miles in thirty-three hours. All day long his columns were crossing the bridges and closing up. In the early morning from Cadogan’s outposts he saw with pleasure the steel flashes of the French troops still on the heights before Voorde. The corner was turned and the Dender passed.

Finding themselves forestalled at Lessines, the French held a council of war. They could, of course, have marched to the attack, in which case the battle would have been fought a day earlier and upon the Dender instead of the Scheldt, with the difference that Cadogan already occupied a strong position, and the allied main army was deployed or close at hand. But neither Burgundy nor Vendôme, although numerically stronger, was thinking of an offensive battle. They were constrained to raise the siege of Oudenarde. The investing cavalry was ordered to return, and their great army of over a hundred thousand men turned right-handed, withdrew northward by an easy march, and lay for the night near the crossings of the Scheldt which they were preparing at Gavre. Their general intention was to hold the line of the Scheldt, and establish a thoroughly secure communication with Lille, and eventually with Berwick’s army. Their sense of security was enhanced by the fact that Marlborough had left some of his tents standing at Ghislenghien. They had no idea that his main body was already at Lessines. None of the experienced French commanders expected a serious event. They might wrangle about future action, but all thought themselves in control of the situation.

Certainly many choices lay open to them. The normal position of the great armies was reversed. The French looked towards France, the Allies towards Holland. Each might threaten the communications of the other. Each could count upon powerful reinforcements. Eugene’s cavalry had reached the outskirts of Brussels. Berwick’s advance guard was already at Namur. Whichever side could combine its whole force first would enjoy for some days a decisive superiority. Burgundy’s stroke on Ghent and Bruges had been crowned by substantial and sensational success. The price of the long French marches to the north and west was, however, that Marlborough and Eugene could now certainly join forces a week before Burgundy could be strengthened by Berwick. In fact, the armies of Marlborough and Eugene were already in strategic relation, while the recent French movements had left Berwick on the balance six marches farther from the decisive scene. The realization of this potent fact explains the hesitancy of the French behaviour. They wanted to guard their stolen prizes in the north; but vital safety enjoined them to come nearer to Lille and to Berwick’s approaching army. This they thought easy to achieve from their central position in the angle of the rivers. They held the chord, while the Allies to forestall them must move around an arc three times as long. It was therefore with complacency that they lay on the night of the 10th within a few miles of the Scheldt, over which their bridges were a-building. Even if Marlborough’s advance troops were holding Lessines, they had plenty of time to blockade the bridgehead of Oudenarde from the west and thus put themselves behind a secure river line and within two marches of Lille.

But they had no idea of the astonishing speed with which Marlborough’s army was moving.

As the campaign of 1708 opened new conceptions of the art of war, so its decisive battle was quite different in character from any previously fought. Apart from the primitive types of firearms and the slow movements of the artillery, Oudenarde was a twentieth-century battle. The chance encounter by forces of unknown strength, the gradual piecemeal broadening of the fighting front, the increasing stake engaged willy-nilly by both sides, the looseness and flexibility of all the formations, the improvised and wide-ranging manœuvres, and, above all, the encircling movement of the Allies, foreshadowing Tannenberg, present us with a specimen of modern war which has no fellow in the rest of the eighteenth century. This was no set piece of parade and order. The troops fought as they came up on the unknown ground where they collided. There was no fixed plan nor formal array. Opportunism and a hardy pugnacity led the victors. The French High Command never understood what was happening till they realized they had sustained a most grievous defeat. And thereafter, also in accordance with modern practice, they lied zealously to prove that nothing had happened. Yet the day at Oudenarde reversed the fortune of war, upset the odds, and dominated the whole campaign.

When the Allies sank into their bivouacs about Lessines, as they arrived during July 10, the soldiers scented battle in the air. Men deserted their duties as escorts of the baggage wagons in order stealthily to take their places in the fighting ranks. “It was expected,” wrote Private Deane, whose regiment of Foot Guards so often guarded Marlborough’s headquarters, “y^e Duke’s quarters would have been att Gillingen [Ghislinghien], but his grace being carefull lay in y^e feild w^th y^e Army that night.”^[446] Recording the long marches, he says, “And all for to force them to a battle, although on great unequallety, they being 21 Batallions of Foot and 24 Squadrons of Horse more than we att this juncture.”

At one a.m. on the 11th Cadogan set off along the Oudenarde road with sixteen battalions, eight squadrons, strong detachments of pioneers, thirty-two guns, and the whole of the pontoon train. Although Marlborough’s rear had hardly crossed the Dender before dark on the 10th, he marched after Cadogan with the whole army at seven. Goslinga, judging backwards, snarls at Marlborough for not starting even earlier. Those who ride in carriages have their own point of view. Eugene’s diary, on the contrary, says, “The army could not follow until the roads had been repaired.”^[447] This seems conclusive; but we must remember also what the troops had done and what they had to do. The rank and file must stand to arms for a considerable time before the columns can move. “We marcht at dawn,” said Private Deane, and that no doubt was how it seemed to him. In fact, not a moment was lost in this surprising march.

This was the greatest day in Cadogan’s splendid military career. It was nine o’clock when he reached the high ground overlooking the Scheldt below Oudenarde. His scouts could see that the great masses of the French army six miles away were still east of the Scheldt. He instantly sent this all-important news back to Marlborough, and proceeded with his engineers to pick the sites of the bridges. At 10.30, while his infantry columns were closing up, his pontoons arrived, and the throwing of five bridges began.^[448] There were also two stone bridges inside the fortress of Oudenarde. These were supplemented by two temporary bridges in order that if necessary the whole of the Dutch, who formed the rear and left wing of the army, could cross thereby. In all, nine bridges for eighty thousand men.

Meanwhile the French, in complete ignorance of these activities, had begun to cross the Scheldt in a leisurely fashion. Lieutenant-General Biron, a nobleman of the highest repute, had been ordered to command the advance- or flank-guard of twenty squadrons and seven Swiss battalions. He was delayed for some time because the French bridges were still unfinished; but during the morning he made his way into the plains beyond, occupied the village of Heurne with his infantry, four battalions of which, apparently in error, moved on a mile farther to the village of Eyne. He remained himself with his cavalry astride of the Ghent road, and his foraging parties scattered themselves about the peaceful fields.^[449]

As soon as Cadogan’s news reached Marlborough at about ten he advanced, with Prince Eugene, at the head of the cavalry of the right wing as fast as possible to the river. Indeed, the two generals, with twenty squadrons of the Prussian horse, made a large part of the way at the gallop. Natzmer, their general, says:

Marlborough disposed the whole cavalry of the left wing as a flank guard to the northward in case the French should advance against him instead of crossing. He ordered the whole army to press on with the utmost diligence. The troops were told that they could surely pass the river before the French. This aroused an intense excitement among all ranks. Forgetting the fatigues of their tremendous marches, the infantry columns strode out manfully. Many intelligent men and veteran soldiers in every rank understood what was at stake. They were also deeply angered by what they considered the treacherous filching from them of Ghent and Bruges. Their exertions were wonderful. “It was no longer a march,” says Goslinga, “but a run.” A fierce enthusiasm, noted by all observers, and most unusual in those times, inspired the private soldiers. The strictest orders had been given against the baggage of high personages being intermingled with the troops. Such breaches as occurred were punished out of hand. The soldiers hurled the wagons from the track, scattering or pillaging the contents, and overtook their marching comrades with hoarse cries of satisfaction. Never was a battle more consciously fought by the rank and file. Trust in Marlborough, admiration for Eugene, and hatred for the enemy filled their sturdy hearts. “Towards 12 o’clock [actually 12.30] the head of our cavalry of the right wing reached the bridges and crossed by the pontoons at a brisk trot; but the infantry took longer to move and it was several hours later that they began to cross.”^[451]

Cadogan’s bridges had been completed shortly before noon, and all his troops assembled near them. Leaving four battalions to guard the passage, he crossed the river with the other twelve, and, with his eight squadrons under Rantzau, the general in command of the Hanoverian cavalry, guarding his left, moved cautiously towards the village of Eyne. Rantzau’s patrols almost immediately brushed into Biron’s foragers. Shots were fired, and some foragers were captured. Others carried the alarm to the rear. Biron thereupon advanced sharply with twelve squadrons, and Rantzau fell back behind the left of Cadogan’s infantry, now in line and approaching the Diepenbeck rivulet and the village of Eyne. Biron, advancing under the belief that he had only a raiding party in front of him, suddenly saw a little after one o’clock a considerable force of hostile infantry already deployed for action. Conspicuous among these was a brigade of redcoats. The presence of allied infantry in such a place at this time was most surprising to the French generals. They were nearly seventeen miles beyond Lessines, where the allied vanguard had been reported the previous evening. But much more broke upon him. Advancing to the windmill of Eyne, he saw the bridges and the battalions guarding them. He saw an endless column of cavalry streaming down the hillside above Eename, crossing the bridges at a trot, and swiftly forming on the near bank. Above all, on the opposite uplands he saw the dust-clouds of an approaching army. Evidently something very serious and totally unexpected by the French command was in progress. He sent a succession of messengers spurring back to the French headquarters as these successive apparitions confronted him.

His aide-de-camp found Vendôme and the royal princes already over the river, dismounted and lunching by the roadside. Vendôme at first refused to believe the news. He thought it incredible that strong enemy forces, especially of foot, could have crossed or even reached the Scheldt at this hour, still less that the allied generals would attempt to carry any large proportion of their troops across the Scheldt within such close striking distance of the whole French army. A study of the distances on the map will show that there were solid reasons for this opinion. After all, it was but two days since Marlborough had been located at Assche, nearly fifty miles away. But successive messengers amplified Biron’s facts, and it is with facts that soldiers have to deal. The Marshal, whose temper had been rising under the pressure of unwelcome news, at length got up furiously from the improvised table and mounted his horse. “If they are there,” he exclaimed, “the devil must have carried them. Such marching is impossible!” But when he looked across the rolling plain to the southward he too saw the dust-clouds from Marlborough’s marching columns. These showed the heads of the allied main body only a mile or two from the bridges. So far, however, it seemed that only their vanguard had crossed. He sent Biron’s aide-de-camp back with an order to attack at once, adding that he would come himself and support him with ample forces. Telling the princes to follow gently with the main body now across the river and close at hand, he rode in no great haste to the head of the leading columns, composed of the cavalry of the right wing, and turned them in Biron’s direction.

There was much dispute among the French after the battle about the hour when Vendôme first realized that the Allies were crossing the river in force. Vendôme declares, and his secretary, Alberoni, in the letter which Saint-Simon analyses so scathingly,^[452] pretends absurdly, that it was as early as ten o’clock; that Vendôme wished immediately to attack; but that Burgundy would not move till four in the afternoon; and then only when Vendôme deemed it too late. Saint-Simon, on the contrary, declares with a wealth of argument that it was two in the afternoon before Vendôme understood what was happening. There can be no doubt that Alberoni’s letter is a tissue of lies. It must have been at least half-past one before Biron’s third aide-de-camp aroused Vendôme to his danger. By that time Marlborough and Eugene had crossed in person with the Prussian horse, and the Duke himself was posting a six-gun battery on Cadogan’s left behind the village of Schaerken.^[453]

When Biron received Vendôme’s order he was hardly in a position to execute it. The hostile front had broadened; it now extended almost to Schaerken village, behind which the battery of cannon was now visible. It was protected by the marshy rivulet of the Diepenbeck. The enclosures and hedgerows behind Eyne and about Schaerken were lined with enemy infantry. Their strength across the river was increasing every moment, and large bodies of cavalry were now formed on the slopes above Bevere. Biron did not know the ground, and was evidently outnumbered. While in these circumstances he was reflecting how to obey the orders he had received, Puységur, a Lieutenant-General of high reputation, afterwards well known as a writer on military subjects, arrived to lay out the camp. Puységur warned him that the ground in his front was impassable. Marshal Matignon, another of the principal staff officers of the army, who had ridden up and heard this discussion, thereupon forbade Biron to charge, and assumed responsibility for so doing.

After another quarter of an hour Vendôme was seen approaching along the Ghent road at the head of considerable forces of horse and foot. He asked why Biron had not attacked as ordered. Puységur intervened. He declared that a morass lay between them and the enemy, and as he was supposed to have unique personal knowledge of the ground his judgment prevailed. Vendôme, still more angry, submitted. He withdrew his reinforcement west of the Ghent road, leaving Biron’s seven battalions in Eyne and Heurne unsupported.

While this was passing Burgundy, “following gently” at the head of the main body of the army, began to descend the slopes towards the Norken stream; and, seeing that no action was in progress, and that Vendôme’s squadrons were halted or moving westward, he and his advisers decided not to cross the Norken, but to draw up the army in order of battle along the high ground behind it with the centre about Huysse. This was accordingly done. In the circumstances, with no special instructions and having regard to the ponderous masses moving steadily behind him, this seems to have been a prudent measure. It must have been half-past three before the movement was completed. Vendôme, who was certainly no more than a mile away, does not seem to have made any attempt to prevent this deflection of the army. It was, however, essentially a refusal of battle, and inconsistent with any idea of driving the allied vanguard into the Scheldt. Moreover, it left Biron’s seven battalions, particularly the four in Eyne, most perilously detached and exposed to Cadogan’s assault.

It was a quarter to three. Although the Allies were morally they were not yet physically committed to the hazardous operation of crossing the deep, broad river, and forming on the other bank in the face of a superior enemy. There was still time to withdraw Cadogan. But the moment of final choice had come. Argyll and the leading corps, including all the British infantry, had reached the bridges. The hesitating movements of the French, their unaccountable delays, their deployment behind the Norken, confirmed Marlborough’s resolve. With Eugene at his side in resolute accord, he allowed his dusty, ardent redcoats to trample across the pontoons. At this moment, when the main action was about to begin, these infantry had marched over fifty miles in sixty hours. For the Allies the die was cast; but even now the French could refuse battle. If they were content to let Marlborough dominate the region between the Scheldt and the Lys, and themselves to stand where they were to cover Ghent, no general attack could be made upon them that day. But their great opponents were playing confidently and high.

No record exists of any order sent to Cadogan; but it is certain that he acted in the very closest concert with his chief. The Swiss battalions in Eyne had been for some time at his mercy. All his preparations were complete. He had filled in the Diepenbeck at numerous points with fascines. He now called up his fourth brigade, no longer needed at the bridgehead, and at three p.m., with his whole force of sixteen battalions and Rantzau’s cavalry guarding his left, advanced to storm the village of Eyne.

Sabine’s British brigade was in the centre opposite the village. In perfect order, with shouldered arms, they moved slowly forward without firing a shot; nor did they bring their bayonets to the charge until they were within twenty yards of the Swiss who lined the enclosures. There was a roar of musketry, and the battle of Oudenarde began. The Swiss brigade, feeling themselves forgotten or abandoned by the French army, now nearly three miles away, left alone far from any help, made practically no resistance. Three battalions out of four surrendered at once. The fourth sought to retreat along the road to Heurne. But Rantzau’s squadrons, circling around the western outskirts of the village, rode in upon them, broke them up, and cut them down. At this grisly spectacle the three battalions in Heurne, who had advanced some distance to support their comrades, fled in disorder beyond the Norken.

Rantzau now saw before him in the open plain Biron’s twelve French squadrons. With him was the young Electoral Prince, the future King George II, and a group of daring notables. Rantzau charged the twelve French squadrons. These good troops, oppressed by the destruction of the Swiss, feeling no firm grip behind them to counter the aggressive will-power of the enemy, were broken and scattered by the Hanoverian charge. They all fled towards the main French army. The cavalry of its left wing, or rearguard, was slowly defiling across the front to take their positions in the battle array drawing up beyond the Norken. Into their left flank suddenly drove a disorderly crowd of fugitives, and behind them Rantzau and his eight squadrons still in hand and in good order. In hot blood no doubt, but as a definite military decision, Rantzau charged into the whole cavalry of the French left wing. There was a wild confusion. Prince George’s horse was shot. The squadron commander with whom he rode, Colonel Loseke, gave him his own, and was himself killed as he helped the Prince to remount. Many French squadrons, unable under the impact to wheel left into line, were thrown into disorder. Numbers speedily prevailed. A French battery between Mullem and the Ghent road came into action. A dozen squadrons advanced at the gallop. Nevertheless Rantzau got out of the mêlée with surprisingly small loss, carrying with him a mortally wounded colonel, numerous officer prisoners, ten standards, kettle-drums, and horses.

This audacious and affronting exploit, much of which was plainly visible to the proud army of France, brought on the general battle. It was an insult not to be borne. Those who had previously favoured caution now clamoured for revenge. The mood was valiant, but the hour was late, the ground unstudied, the plan unformed, and the leadership divided.

All the while the allied deployment across the river was proceeding. Natzmer with his twenty squadrons had already passed the bridges. They met “heaps” (haufen) of prisoners coming back from Cadogan’s attack. “Cadogan himself,” says Natzmer,

At four o’clock the French, more from impulse than design, began to advance from behind the Norken to the attack. Burgundy sent sixteen squadrons under Grimaldi to reconnoitre the approaches to Cadogan’s left. This movement, if the prelude to a general attack, was most dangerous to the Allies. Fortunately the ground west of Groenewald and Schaerken was difficult and broken. Farms and enclosures, small woods, avenues of poplars, and above all three rivulets, of which the chief was the Diepenbeck, with their surrounding thickets and boggy patches, arrested Grimaldi. Marlborough, riding through Heurne with the Prussian horse, drew them out in the open plain beyond in order to afford some protection to Cadogan’s right. Two of Cadogan’s four Prussian battalions, drawn from the bridges, were already lining the hedges about Groenewald along the rivulet towards Schaerken. Sabine’s British brigade was marching to extend his left. Grimaldi reported that the ground was unfit for cavalry, and was held in strength, and that infantry alone would serve. He withdrew towards the mill of Royegem. From the ladder-ways of this large structure, which itself stands on a small eminence, a fair view of the country towards Oudenarde is offered. Here Burgundy and his younger brother, Berri, and the Pretender, the Chevalier de St George, gathered with their staffs and suites.

Practically the whole of the French infantry of the right wing had now crossed successively the Norken and the road from Royegem to Oycke, and were now entering the entangled country on a broad front. This formidable movement was necessarily slow, but at present there were no troops to resist it. Unless it could be stopped it would be fatal. Burgundy ordered six battalions to drive the Prussians from Groenewald. A fierce fire-fight at close quarters along the hedgerows began. The Prussians made good their defence against heavy odds. The six French battalions recoiled in some disorder. The loud, increasing fusillade drew Vendôme to the spot. He would better have discharged his duties as a commander had he joined the princes on the steps of Royegem mill. Instead he plunged into the local conflict. He rallied the six battalions; he brought up another six, drawn from the French centre, along the road from Mullem, and ordered a renewed attack.

All Cadogan’s sixteen battalions were now in line about Groenewald and behind the rivulet towards Schaerken. Cadogan found time before the second attack to occupy the avenues leading to Herlegem, even to seize that hamlet. When Vendôme’s troops came forward again they found themselves unexpectedly galled and delayed by the flanking fire from this advanced position. After a fierce encounter they were again repulsed. Marshal Vendôme was now in a fighting frenzy. The violence of his nature, which so often cowed or quelled his equals and superiors, determined him to have Groenewald whatever the cost. He drew lavishly for that purpose upon the French centre. Brigade after brigade was hurried forward, arriving breathless. Many battalions were even sent into the fire- and bayonet-fight as they arrived in column. A very heavy mass of troops was crowded upon Cadogan’s front. He was outnumbered and hard pressed. His men fought with devoted courage, helped by the congestion of the enemy and the broken ground, to every feature of which they clung tenaciously.

At five o’clock Vendôme sent orders to Burgundy to bring the whole of the left wing into action by attacking to the east of Groenewald and across the Ghent road. Here, where Marlborough had posted them, stood Natzmer’s twenty squadrons of Prussian horse and Rantzau’s eight squadrons, reorganizing after their charge. That was all. Not a single infantry battalion was available. The ground thereabouts was favourable for cavalry, but cavalry alone could not have withstood very long the thirty thousand men—horse, foot, and artillery—constituting the French left wing.

Vendôme’s order reached Burgundy at the mill a few minutes after five. The Prince was assured by his staff and Puységur that the ground was obstructed by a morass. He therefore did not endorse or pass on Vendôme’s order. He sent Captain Jenet, an aide-de-camp who had brought it, back to Vendôme to explain the reason. Jenet was killed before delivering his message by the heavy fire under which the Marshal stood. In consequence Vendôme did not know that the French left would not co-operate in the renewed attack he was about to make upon Cadogan. Had he known that his order was countermanded and the reason he could in a few minutes have reassured Burgundy about the ground, for, as Vendôme stridently repeated ever afterwards, he had himself ridden over it with considerable forces only two hours before.

We must regard the paralysis of the French left wing at this moment as most fortunate for the Allies. No one can pretend to measure what would have happened had Cadogan been driven, as he surely would have been, back upon Eyne by the concerted onslaught of overwhelming numbers. But ill-luck does not exculpate Vendôme. He should not have indulged himself by entering the local fight around Groenewald unless he could keep a sense of proportion and a comprehensive grip of his great army. Half an hour later it was apparent that the left wing was still motionless; but by that time he was fighting with a pike, like a private soldier rather than a marshal of France charged with the supreme control of ninety thousand men.

Another mortal danger confronted the heroic Cadogan. Overweighted in front, his right flank in the condition we have described, he was now momentarily being overlapped and turned on his left by the advance of the French right wing. This alone rendered his situation desperate. But help was at hand. The Duke of Argyll, with twenty battalions of British infantry, advancing in perfect order, now came into line on his left, and met foursquare the masses of French infantry, who assaulted along the whole front from Herlegem to Schaerken.

The first main shock of the battle now began. Along the rivulet upon a mile of front Cadogan and Argyll, with twenty British and sixteen German battalions and the single battery which Marlborough had posted, fought nearly fifty battalions of the French right and centre. The intensity of the musketry fire was said to have surpassed all previous experience. The troops repeatedly fought hand to hand. Each side advanced and recoiled several times in the struggle, and every battalion had its own tale to tell.

Marlborough and Eugene remained together between Groenewald and the Ghent road. They were in equal anxiety both for their right and their left. But the immediate peril was on the left. All the bridges were now disgorging infantry in great numbers. Lottum’s corps of twenty battalions was already close at hand, fully formed in line, and as the weight and breadth of the French right wing began to lap round Argyll’s left, this powerful reinforcement advanced in its turn to meet the extending attack. Cadogan’s action had long been flaring. Argyll was in deadly grip. The inn at Schaerken was captured by the French about 5.30, and the enemy were everywhere across the Diepenbeck. Here they were within a mile of the pontoons. Lottum became heavily engaged at 5.45, and by six o’clock his counter-attack drove the French back over the Diepenbeck and recovered Schaerken. To and fro swayed the struggle. Always the French brought up superior numbers and reached round the allied left. Always Marlborough’s infantry poured across the bridges and advanced to make new head against them.

Hitherto Eugene had sat by Marlborough’s side discharging, as was said, the functions of a counsellor, staff officer, and aide-de-camp. The critical situation in the centre and on the left required Marlborough’s immediate personal control. Lottum’s fight was hanging in the balance. But there was another reason which made Marlborough’s presence at the other end of the battlefield indispensable. Overkirk, with the flower of the Dutch army, all their national troops, horse and foot, was now crossing by the Oudenarde bridges. This force of nearly twenty-five thousand men seemed likely to come into action exactly where and when they were most needed. They could deliver the decisive stroke of the battle. The fighting front was now developing fast in both directions. Marlborough wished to be on the spot to concert Overkirk’s entry into the field. On the other hand, his main preoccupation was still the attack which he must expect at any moment from the French left wing, whose great intact masses of cavalry and infantry could plainly be seen a mile away beyond the Norken. There was a crisis at each end of the line. The “two bodies with one soul” must now separate. At six o’clock, therefore, Marlborough placed Eugene in command of the whole right of the battlefront, including Cadogan and Argyll, Natzmer’s twenty squadrons of Prussian and German horse, and Rantzau’s Hanoverians. Eugene henceforward conducted the main action and commanded all the British troops. Marlborough galloped to the centre of Lottum’s front, and concerned himself with this, and with bringing Overkirk and the allied left wing into action.

Overkirk, with the whole of the Dutch horse and foot, was engaged in crossing by the two stone bridges through the town of Oudenarde, and it was evident that if he could debouch in time he would reverse the position in this quarter of the field, and turn the French right decisively. But Marlborough still feared that Eugene would not be able to support an attack by the French left. Lottum’s successful entry into the action and his advance had given a precious breathing-space. A new corps of eighteen Hanoverian and Hessian battalions was already in line behind Lottum.

We now witness one of those intricate manœuvres in the height of action of which Marlborough’s battles afford several notable examples. There is no evidence that Eugene asked for further help. There is undoubted proof that he needed it. Vendôme’s third attack was actually at its height. At 6.15 he drove Cadogan from both Herlegem and Groenewald. Eugene was at full strain. His comrade felt his burden as if it were his own. At this very moment, therefore, Marlborough brought up the eighteen Hanoverian and Hessian battalions as if to reinforce Lottum’s attack, and then ordered Lottum to withdraw through the intervals of these fresh battalions, and march to the right to strengthen Prince Eugene. We remember how in the crisis of Blenheim Eugene instantly parted with his one remaining cuirassier brigade at Marlborough’s call. Now Marlborough repaid this glorious debt. There was, indeed, also a high economy of force in the manœuvre. Lottum’s troops, which had been fighting heavily, would now march to the right, and be out of the fire for a space before they came again into action. The Hanoverians and Hessians, who had marched so far and fast but not yet fought, would come for the first time into action. The presence of both these forces simultaneously in Marlborough’s array gave the enemy the impression of double weight on this sector. Discipline and drill enabled this complicated evolution to be executed with precision under Marlborough’s eye. It took Lottum over twenty minutes after coming out of the line to reach Eugene on the right flank a mile away. The arrival of his twenty battalions stemmed the adverse tide. At this moment, therefore, Marlborough had placed Eugene in command of fifty-six engaged battalions, while keeping only eighteen under his own hand for the hard fight on his immediate front. Of this, while waiting for Overkirk, he now assumed personal direction.

At six o’clock Overkirk’s intervention in force had seemed imminent. There were still two and a half hours of daylight, and Marlborough might feel, as he did before the final charge at Blenheim, that very great results lay surely within his grasp. On the Danube he had broken the hostile centre. On the Scheldt he could roll the French up from their right flank. But now a misfortune fell upon him. The supplementary bridges in Oudenarde, for some reason not explained to us, broke down, and the two narrow stone bridges could not secure the passage of Overkirk’s great force at the rate expected. Overkirk, with most of his cavalry, was already by 6.15 upon the slopes of Mooregem. There was grievous congestion in the fortress, and the delivery of the infantry into the plain behind Mooregem was delayed for at least an hour. Marlborough found himself hard pressed and overlapped in his turn. It was necessary to attack with the first troops available, and Overkirk received orders to do so at 6.45 p.m.

A high control of the battle is evident at this moment. For the first time the whole allied fighting front advanced together. Overkirk sent his two leading infantry brigades under General Week through a gap in the woodlands to strengthen Marlborough’s left. Marlborough with his eighteen battalions drove the French across the brook as far as Diepenbeck village. On Eugene’s front Lottum arrived with his twenty battalions in the nick of time, and the French were driven from Groenewald and Herlegem. The musketry fire of all the infantry engaged at close quarters in the enclosed, broken country was now perhaps the most intense that had yet been heard anywhere. But a third of the French army had not yet been engaged. Their reserves were enormous. Large masses could be seen moving to reinforce their right, while the greater part of their left wing and all its cavalry still overhung Eugene. The Captain-General could no longer expect the supreme results he had hoped for from Overkirk’s intervention on his left. But neither need he any longer fear defeat in that quarter, for the Dutch infantry were now flowing fast out of Oudenarde, and their leading columns, undeployed, were already beyond Mooregem. His dominant thought was for Eugene. The whole of the British cavalry, seventeen squadrons under Lumley, were now at Bevere. Once Overkirk was in action they were no longer indispensable to the safety of the army. Marlborough therefore at seven o’clock sent his second great reinforcement to Eugene. The brilliant regiments which had charged so finely at Elixem trotted swiftly across the field, and drew out behind the Ghent road to strengthen Eugene’s right flank against the expected onslaught of the French left wing.

Thus we see Marlborough, himself in the height of action only a few hundred yards behind the swaying, quivering infantry fighting line, having also a momentous hope in his heart, depriving himself first of Lottum and then of Lumley for the sake of the general battle. It is these qualities of perfect comprehensive judgment, serene in disappointment or stress, unbiased by the local event in which he was himself involved, this fixing with untiring eye and absolute selflessness the problem as a whole, that deserve the study and respect of soldiers of every age.

Just as Lottum had arrived in time to throw back the French assault and recover the villages of Groenewald and Herlegem, so did Lumley and the English horse reach their new station on Eugene’s right when they were needed. The strain upon Eugene was, as Marlborough had truly felt, almost overwhelming. So bitter was the struggle, and yet so good the hopes that a further advance could be made, that Eugene a little before seven at Count Lottum’s appeal launched the whole of his available cavalry upon a desperate charge. “It was only an hour before dark,” records Eugene in his diary,

General Natzmer, with the Prussian gendarmes, had time to draw up in strict array before leading the charge against very superior numbers. He broke the French squadrons. Behind them lay intact battalions of French infantry. The Germans rode straight at these and were received with a deadly fire. Swerving to the right, they encountered more infantry lining the hedgerows. The Prussian gendarmes broke two battalions, capturing their colours; but the command was now dispersed. The Maison du Roi, “rich in scarlet with silver facings,”^[456] arriving in force, fell upon these remnants. Natzmer, left quite alone in the midst of the enemy, received four sabre-cuts, and escaped only by leaping a broad ditch, “full of water in which a half-dead horse was lying.”^[457] Survivors of his twenty squadrons found refuge behind the ranks of Cadogan’s and Lottum’s battalions. Three-quarters of the gendarmes perished. The twenty squadrons existed no more as a fighting force; but precious time had been gained. The initiative had been held. The charge of the gendarmes, as we can see from Marlborough’s dispatches and from many Continental records, was long deemed memorable throughout the armies. This death ride of a cavalry division has been rightly compared to the charge of Bredow’s brigade at Mars-la-Tour in 1870.^[458] The cavalry of the French left wing, deranged by the incursion, now saw before them in the distance the seventeen English squadrons in perfect order in their path. Ill-led by their chiefs on this day, they forbore to attack them. Lumley’s regiments, now the only shield on Eugene’s right, remained by the prince’s order motionless till darkness fell.

Marlborough, with his small numbers all now heavily engaged and without any reserves, could do no more in the centre than hold the line of the Diepenbeck against a renewed attack. But Overkirk’s great operation upon the left was now in full swing. Week’s brigades were in hot action against the French right flank. The old Veldt-Marshal was already in possession of the high ground called Boser Couter, and a whole division of his infantry, sixteen battalions, occupied the hill of Oycke. From this point the entire field was visible. He saw himself in a position almost to surround the French army. He wheeled to the right and, having received an express order from Marlborough, advanced from Oycke towards Royegem. This deadly attack was delivered by four brigades of Dutch infantry, sustained by twelve squadrons of Danish cavalry. At the head of the Dutch, commanding for the first time the troops of the Republic, rode the young Prince of Orange. He was but nineteen years of age. This was his first battle. Down the slopes before Royegem he marched irresistibly. The French infantry in his path were swept away. The Maison du Roi failed to stop him. At the same time upon the other flank Cadogan attacked successfully from Groenewald. The entire French right and a great part of their centre were now almost surrounded. The straight line had become a vast horseshoe of flame within which, in a state of ever-increasing confusion, were more than fifty thousand Frenchmen. It was now half-past eight. But for the failure of the bridges in Oudenarde this situation might have been reached an hour earlier.

For more than two hours the enemy princes had clustered around or upon the mill of Royegem. With them was the numerous train of military courtiers and nobility who enjoyed the coveted privilege of personal attendance. The slopes about the mill were crowded with several hundreds of orderlies, grooms, and valets, holding the led horses of the royal circle and of the headquarters staff. The Duke of Burgundy and his younger brother, with the pathetic figure of the English Pretender neglected in the background, gazed with anxious, fascinated eyes upon the battle which was raging along a wide crescent a mile away to the south-east. They could see from Herlegem, on their left, almost to the castle of Bevere, on their right, the infantry of the two armies in the meadows between the thickets and woodland, locked together in fierce fight, swaying forward and back, charging and counter-charging amid a ceaseless roar of musketry and drifting wreaths of smoke. They had witnessed the confusion and surging masses of horsemen which had marked the charge of Natzmer’s cavalry division. Reassuring reports had arrived. The assailants had been driven back and cut to pieces. But the left was none the less receding. The line of smoke and flame was now drawn nearer than the villages so lately captured. Masses of enemy infantry could be seen advancing across the open spaces behind Groenewald, while out on the slopes beyond the Ghent road long lines of scarlet horsemen sat motionless upon their horses as if at a review.

Sombre reflections held the mind of Fénelon’s pupil, and gnawing anxiety. Here was the army of France, at whose head he had been marching a few hours before, short of ammunition and in increasing disorder, locked in deadly grapple with an enemy whose strength seemed inexhaustible, whose numbers were growing every moment, and whose confident aggression proclaimed the presence and the genius of Marlborough and Eugene. This was the battle which he, heir to the crown of France, had been sent forth to win. War, yesterday the jaunty boon-companion, now glared upon him with lineaments of fury, hate, and doom. Where was Vendôme? Where was that brutal, bestial, but none the less tremendous warrior who had been placed at his side to win him military glory, whose advice he could lean upon, whose decisions in the end he had been directed to obey? The Marshal was in the cauldron fighting hand to hand, organizing and reorganizing attacks, sending messages which were incomprehensible and orders which were obsolete by the time they arrived. The one thing the Great King had always forbidden, and which Burgundy had above all others resolved to avoid—namely, an infantry battle in enclosed and broken country—was now burning away the grand army of France. Such is the chastisement of those who presume to gain by easy favour and pretence the glories which the gods reserve for their chosen heroes.

But what is this stir close at hand? Why has every one about him turned so suddenly their backs upon the battle? What is this at which they are all staring in the opposite quarter? Who are these troops in ordered lines and masses who are crowning the skyline by Oycke village, and now already rolling forward down the grassy slopes less than a mile from the mill? Horse and foot in great numbers far behind the French flank—nay, upon its rear, driving all before them, their volleys flashing red in the fading light! Messengers gallop up with terrible news, followed by fugitives and riderless horses. The Maison du Roi in the fields by Chobon hamlet can be seen wheeling to the rightabout to meet this new appalling peril. A wave of panic swept the courtly group; the royal princes scrambled to their saddles. The troops of the French right, says Saint-Simon, “gave ground so fast that the valets of the suites of all who accompanied the princes fell back upon them with an alarm, a rapidity, and a confusion which swept them along with extreme speed and much indecency and risk towards the main battle on the left.”^[459] But here too they met masses of French infantry retreating and dispersing in disorder before Cadogan’s final effort. Unhappy princelings, far astray from the mirrored halls and obsequious glitter of Versailles! We are assured by those who attended them that they behaved with courage and composure, that they encouraged the troops, praised the officers, asked the generals they met what ought to be done, and told Vendôme when they found him what they thought themselves. This may well be so. But over their actions, as over the carnage of the field, night and the increasing dissolution of the army now cast an impenetrable cloak.

It is this phase of the battle of Oudenarde which suggests so strongly the German victory at Tannenberg. But with weapons that shot no more than a hundred yards there was no means of covering the many gaps between the encircling brigades. The fish were in the net, but the meshes were large enough to let the greater part of the catch escape. Nevertheless, the circle was in fact completed. The Prince of Orange and Cadogan from the opposite ends of the line of battle actually fired into each other near the mill of Royegem. Total darkness descended upon the wild confusion of the field. Marlborough at nine o’clock ordered all allied troops to cease fire, halt where they stood, and lie on their arms till daybreak.

It must have been nearly ten o’clock when the defeated leaders met in the village of Huysse on the high ground behind the Norken, and on horseback a tragic council of war was held. Two-thirds of the army were in a welter, surrounded by the enemy, and to a large extent beyond control. No one knew how to lay hands upon the remaining third which had not yet been engaged, including all the cavalry of the left wing. Vendôme, habitually careless of his appearance, now dishevelled with the sweat and dust of physical combat, arrived furious with the enemy, with Burgundy, and above all, for good reasons, with himself. What should be done? Burgundy sought to speak, but the Marshal, drunk with authority and anger, told him to hold his tongue. “Your Royal Highness must remember that you only came to this army upon condition that you obeyed me.”^[460] We have to transport ourselves into that vanished age to realize what Saint-Simon calls the “enormity” of these words, spoken as they were before a score of officers of all ranks. They seem, moreover, important in judging Vendôme’s responsibility for the misconduct of the battle. If this was the relation established between him and Burgundy by the King, nothing can relieve Vendôme’s military reputation. He had without purpose or reason delayed crossing the Scheldt. He had been completely surprised by Marlborough’s march. He had flung the army piecemeal into a disastrous action; he had abandoned the functions of commander; he had quitted the centre, from which alone they could be exercised. He had crashed about in the front line like an enraged animal, squandering the strength and cohesion of the troops, and upon his head rested, and rests, the burden and shame of an easily avoidable disaster.

The Marshal was for fighting it out. A little more than half of the army, he said, had been engaged. Let them spend the night in reorganizing the front. Let them bring up the intact reserves from the unused left wing. Let them fall to at dawn and see what was left at the end of the day. But this personal ardour did not correspond with the facts. No one dared outface him, but the silence struck its chill. Officer after officer, Puységur, Matignon, Cheladet, arrived in succession. All declared that the army was in total disorder, and that to await the onslaught of the Allies at daybreak was to court certain destruction. The only course was an immediate retreat upon Ghent. The consensus was overwhelming. It was also right. If the French had engaged little more than half their army, the Allies had fought during the greater part of the day with scarcely a third of their strength. Another third had hardly been in action for two hours; and, according to Prince Eugene,^[461] “there were still troops crossing the Scheldt late on into the night.”

When Vendôme saw himself alone in opinion, and was also probably himself shaken in his own mind, he relieved his passions in the most cowardly manner. “Very well, gentlemen,” he said; “I see you all think it best to retire. And you, Monseigneur,” fixing the Duke of Burgundy, “have long had that wish.” With this crowning insult he gave the order to retreat to Ghent, and disappeared into the night. Once this signal was given the French army fled from the field of Oudenarde. The brave troops still in close contact with the enemy were left to their fate. The masses imperfectly surrounded could take their chance. All the rest set off along the highroad at their best pace. There had been some discussion whether the princes should be taken in their carriages under escort to Bruges, but Vendôme had dismissed this as shameful, and the royalties jogged along on horseback with the rest. No one knew the whereabouts of General Rosen and the cavalry of the left wing. However, they were in fact marching off with the rest in the darkness. The Maison du Roi had cut their way through the encircling Dutch, many squadrons of dragoons being sacrificed to secure their retreat. Ghent became the only thought for the great majority; but large numbers broke out through the thin cordon of the Allies in all directions. Some fled to Courtrai. Nearly ten thousand men struck across the Scheldt towards the French frontier.

Meanwhile the Allies could do no more in the pitch dark but stand their ground and arrest all who collided with their front. Many regiments and battalions surrendered. Stragglers in great numbers were collected. By a stratagem of Eugene’s, Huguenot officers in the allied service were sent into the darkness calling out the names of famous regiments, “A moi, Picardie,” “A moi, Roussillon,” etc., and taking prisoner those who rallied to these calls. It had now begun to rain, and the victors sank worn out upon the ground and slept on their arms. Marlborough and Eugene remained on horseback throughout the night. Reinforcements were brought up, and at least twenty thousand weary troops, who had not yet been engaged, were guided to their places for a general attack at dawn. But dawn disclosed the battlefield occupied only by the prisoners, the wounded, and the slain.

Battles are the principal milestones in secular history. Modern opinion resents this uninspiring truth, and historians often treat the decisions of the field as incidents in the dramas of politics and diplomacy. But great battles, won or lost, change the entire course of events, create new standards of values, new moods, new atmospheres, in armies and in nations, to which all must conform. The effects of Oudenarde, both moral and material, transformed as by magic the campaign of 1708. The hasty retreat of the French did not stop at Ghent. They did not feel safe until they had crossed the canal from Bruges beyond the town. Some one—the honour is disputed—had organized an effective rearguard, and the forty squadrons which Marlborough sent in pursuit met with a stiff resistance. Dismay and disorder none the less gripped the French troops, and their leaders resigned themselves to waiting upon the Allies. Marlborough and Eugene were united: Burgundy and Berwick were widely separated, the former behind his canal, the latter now the sole defence of France. The French army never recovered during the whole of 1708 from the shock, and the remarkable operations of the Allies are only to be explained by this fact.

When Marlborough rode into the fortress of Oudenarde about nine a.m. on the 12th the fine old square—which stands little touched to this day—was already filled with French prisoners, and they continued, as Hare says, “to come in by droves for many hours.”^[462] He sent Lord Stair, with whom he had contracted a friendship, to London with the news. He wrote forthwith to Godolphin.

He summoned a council of war for four o’clock, and meanwhile, after snatching a few hours’ sleep, discussed and decided the next moves with Prince Eugene. The council met in Governor Chanclos’ house. Marlborough and Eugene in preconcerted agreement proposed to march westward at once across the Lys, and threaten the French frontier and its fortresses. The strategic situation was peculiar. While Vendôme continued at Ghent he paralysed the whole water communications of the Lys and Scheldt by which the siege-train could reach the allied army. The French frontier was protected by a strong line of fortifications which ran from the fortress of Lille through Warneton and Ypres, and was thence prolonged to the sea by the water defences controlled from Dunkirk. To pierce and level these lines before they could be occupied by Berwick’s army was to lay bare the path into France. Such a menace, it was hoped, would force Vendôme to evacuate Ghent and Bruges and bring his army to the defence of France. Such was the advice of “the Princes.”

Overkirk, Dopff,^[464] Cadogan, and most of the Dutch Deputies concurred. But Goslinga had a different plan. After making what he calls “a pretty compliment” about opposing such illustrious commanders, he urged that Burgundy and the French army at Ghent and Bruges, with their backs to the sea, should be blockaded, walled in, and starved out. There is no need to ridicule this plan as some writers have done. He had previously half gained his colleague Geldermalsen to his ideas. It was a large and plausible proposition of war. All the generals, following the lead of “the Princes,” were against it. It was pointed out, first, that the line of investment was nearly fifty miles long and could thus be pierced at any time by a desperate sortie; secondly, that the area in which Burgundy would be confined was very extensive and comprised a considerable Dutch population, which would certainly starve first; thirdly, that the French communications along the sea-coast by Nieuport and Dunkirk would be hard to close; finally, that Berwick’s army, gathering all the troops from the fortresses, would fall at a concerted moment upon the allied rear. These reasons were deemed solid, and Goslinga’s project was, not without regrets and respect, dismissed by every one present. Even Geldermalsen, with whom Marlborough had become reconciled, fell away from him. Nothing could be more reasonable and straightforward than this discussion and decision. To measure Goslinga we must read his comments on it in his own words, and note the discreditable motives which it was his habit of mind to impute to every one who differed from him or stood between him and the military career which he fondly pictured for himself.

Of Eugene he says besides, that “he always adopted the views of Marlborough out of the deference which the Court of Vienna had for England.”^[466] Yet the essence of his account of the battle is the complete ascendancy of Eugene and Marlborough’s passive submission to his leadership!

Thus there is not one of these colleagues, commanders, and generals for whom some insult is not reserved. Marlborough was bent on prolonging the war for his own corrupt gains. Cadogan shared his profits. Eugene was politically under Marlborough’s influence, and as a military man had an interest in delaying peace. Overkirk was “quasi-moribund” and subservient to the favour of the Princes. Dopff was a dolt.

The fact that Marlborough had placed Eugene in command of so large a part of his army in the height of Oudenarde was eagerly seized upon by his detractors in England as a proof that it was Eugene who had won the battle. “The ‘moderate’ party attributes the glory of Oudenarde to Eugene.”^[467] Marlborough’s friends naturally resented this. Every effort was made by letters and insinuations to breed jealousy between the two commanders. Not the slightest impression was produced upon either. “I dare say,” wrote Marlborough (July 30) to an English correspondent, “Prince Eugene and I shall never differ about our share of laurels. While the public has any real benefit of my services, I shall not be much concerned at any endeavours that may be used to lessen them.”^[468]

We may contrast this Olympian calm with Goslinga’s insolent tale of the battle.

If this were true it would indeed be a striking episode. The scene is supposed to have occurred beyond the bridges where Marlborough, surrounded by his staff—several scores of persons—was regulating the deployment of the troops as they came over. We are invited to believe that Goslinga and his fellow-Deputy in these circumstances conferred the command of the army upon Prince Eugene, and persuaded him in this dramatic fashion to accept it, while Marlborough was left sitting on his horse supine and dumbfounded amid his abashed staff officers of several different states.

The field Deputies had, of course, no authority to supersede the Captain-General of England and Deputy Captain-General of the Republic. They had, in fact, in this campaign been instructed to obey his orders whatever they were. Still less had they the power to confer the command upon Prince Eugene. Least of all is it credible that Prince Eugene at Marlborough’s side, consulted by him and acting with him, and, as we have seen, under his orders, would have paid attention to such effrontery. Could such a transaction, formal or informal, have taken place without causing an open scandal to the numerous persons who must have witnessed it? Would none of the British and foreign officers present at the bridges have commented upon it? There is no scrap of confirmatory testimony. On the contrary, Goslinga himself, with the other five Deputies, signed a report the next day in which the only mention of Eugene is that he “was present at this action.” Eugene himself in his “Diarium” says nothing which could even remotely suggest such an occurrence. Biron, fresh from a captivity in the allied headquarters and full of gossip, told Saint-Simon that “Prince Eugene took command wherever he went by courtesy of Marlborough, who preserved the entire authority.”^[470] Grumbkow, an impartial witness, wrote to the King of Prussia:

This statement confirms the fact that Marlborough and Eugene were still together at five p.m. They were, as we have described, upon the extreme right flank in front of Heurne, and the command had not yet been divided. It was a cardinal moment in the battle. The movement of Overkirk with the left wing through Oudenarde was, of course, an integral part of Marlborough’s dispositions for crossing the river. Bridges had been built many hours beforehand for that express purpose, and the orders to hasten the movement, which could have no other effect but turning the enemy’s right flank, had been reiterated throughout the march. It may well be that Eugene, pestered by the continued suggestions of the two Deputies, disembarrassed himself and Marlborough of their presence by sending them on a superfluous errand. This would certainly be a natural explanation.

Goslinga’s account of his further personal exploits at Oudenarde has received merciless ridicule at the hands of Taylor. The Deputy assures us that he and his colleague at length found Marshal Overkirk, accompanied by the other generals of the cavalry, and gave them the “orders of the two chiefs.” “The brave but altogether exhausted old fellow could hardly answer me, and stammered out that he would neglect nothing.”^[473] He was at that moment engaged in his extremely toilsome and difficult enveloping movement which decided the battle, and his answer to the excited Deputy seems to have been all that civility required at the moment. Goslinga, shocked to see Overkirk’s cavalry making what he thought was a meaningless movement in the direction of Courtrai, galloped off to animate the infantry. Here he tells us that, when he gave orders to one of the lieutenant-generals to attack, this officer “turned a deaf ear to him.” Thereupon Goslinga dismounted from his horse and put himself at the head of Sturler’s two battalions of Swiss, “after a little compliment which I made them of wishing to fight with such brave men.”^[474] He led them to the assault, followed by five other battalions, and eventually captured a pair of kettle-drums and performed other feats of arms in such a fashion and to such effect that only his innate modesty prevents him from claiming to have won the battle of Oudenarde himself. He preferred that this conclusion should be drawn naturally from his narrative by his children, for whose delectation it was written. It is not strange, indeed, that Goslinga did not choose to publish his memoirs in the lifetime of any who could contradict him. The wonder is that serious historians like Klopp should have cumbered their pages with these malicious inventions, and forced us to deal with them.

Lieutenant-General Biron was among the prisoners. He was personally well known to both Marlborough and Eugene, and had many friends in the allied army. The Duke released him almost at once on special parole, prescribing only that he should go direct to Paris without passing through the French army. The object was no doubt to make sure that Louis XIV had an early and independent account of the magnitude of the defeat. Meanwhile Biron lived at the headquarters, and was treated with intimacy and consideration. Some of his statements recorded by Saint-Simon are illuminating. “He told me that the day after the fight, being at dinner at Marlborough’s quarters with many officers, the Duke asked him all of a sudden for news about the “Prince of Wales,” adding excuses for referring to him by [no more than] that title.”^[475] Biron was astonished at this, and smilingly replied that there need be “no difficulty on that point because in the French army the prince carried no other name than that of the Chevalier de St George.” He then praised the character and behaviour of the young prince. Marlborough listened with deep attention, and said before every one that it was a deep satisfaction to him to learn so much good about him, because he could not help being “keenly interested in this young man.” The Frenchman noticed the gleam in Marlborough’s eye, and that the stern faces of the English officers around the table lit with pleasure. No incident reveals more clearly the latent streak of sentimental Jacobitism which Marlborough and the English Army cherished and, oddly enough, felt able to indulge more particularly in their hours of triumph over the French supporters of the Jacobite cause. Even on the morrow of a battle in which the exiled claimant and heir to the throne had committed the great error of drawing his sword for France against England, these resolute and faithful officers of Queen Anne were thrilled by news of the Pretender. It is a strange commentary on these times that had Anne herself been able to overhear Biron’s account her heart would have made the same unbidden response. “Maybe ’tis our brother.”

Marlborough could no doubt have enormously increased his popularity with the high officers if, in accordance with the custom of those days, he had dispensed a lavish hospitality, and lived in the field, as he could well afford, with the style and magnificence of a prince. His frugal, thrifty habits and the great fortune he was known to be saving were a handicap which his genius accepted and carried at a disproportionate cost. Regimental officers and private soldiers of the army, however, saw none of this seamy side. They would not, in any case, have been invited to the entertainments and banquets of the Commander-in-Chief. They continued to admire the manner in which the affairs of the army were conducted, the regularity of their promotions, pay, clothing, and food amid all the difficulties of war, and the assurance, now in their minds a certainty, that they would be led only to victory. As one of his privates wrote, “The Duke of Marlborough’s attention and care was over us all.”^[477] Without palliating the fault of stinginess when displayed in the circles of rank and fashion, it is only just to remember the other side. The generals shrugged their shoulders at the foible of their illustrious chief; the rank and file, and the mass of the officers who, often with families at home, lived on nothing but their pay, may well have thought his conduct a good example to the ‘fighting sparks’ and wealthy nobles whose baggage-wagons flicked the dust over the marching columns.

Most of the great masters of war have preferred to live with simplicity in the field. Cæsar, Frederick, Napoleon—all avoided the banquetings and junketings which marked the aristocratic organization of eighteenth-century wars. Modern opinion and practice has inculcated austere personal habits in commanders whose duty it may be at any time to send men by the thousand to their death. Luxurious ostentation of any kind would have been fatal to any general in the American Civil War. The utmost plainness of living, brief meals, and formal demeanour were the rules of the British, French, and German headquarters in the Great War. No one grudged a colonel or a brigadier when out of the front line the best feast he and his officers could procure; but upon the High Command and their staffs an almost monastic simplicity was enforced. Thus the vices of one age become the virtues of another. Marlborough’s habit of dining frequently with different commanders in his army of course saved him money. It may have had other conveniences. He got to know the officers of the army as a whole. They no doubt felt cheered and honoured by a visit from the Commander-in-Chief. He was personally most abstemious, and did not like sitting long at table. As a guest he could leave whenever he chose to resume his work. In fact, there are many excuses to be made for his behaviour.

Every effort to minimize the defeat was made by Burgundy and Vendôme to the King and by the Paris Gazette to the world. There had been, it was alleged, a partial and indecisive combat, and the losses had been moderate but equal. These absurdities find repetition even in the instructed pages of Pelet. It was some weeks before Louis XIV himself realized the gravity of the event. His army had left six thousand killed and wounded on the field. Nine thousand prisoners, including eight hundred officers, were taken. At least another fifteen thousand men were scattered about the countryside and separated from the main army. Many of these, however, eventually returned to their duty, or were put to some other service. “It is most certain,” wrote Marlborough a fortnight later,

The casualties of the Allies were almost exactly three thousand, and this loss was more than repaired by recruitment from deserters and captured mercenaries. All our friends, the diarists, Colonel Kane, Major Blackadder, Captain Parker, Sergeant Millner, Privates Deane and Matthew Bishop, fought in the battle. Blackadder noted (June 30, O.S.), “This is another great Ebenezer of my life, to be added to Hochstet, Ramillies etc. We fought the French, and by the great mercy of God, beat them. I was liberally supplied with courage, resolution and a calm mind. All is the gift of God. . . . My frame was more serene and spiritual than ordinary. My thoughts were much upon the 103d Psalm, which I sung (in my heart) frequently upon the march.”^[479]

Marshal Berwick had reached the Meuse at Givet on the day of the battle. His army of 34 battalions and 56 squadrons was still toiling by forced marches; but on the 12th its head lay on the Sambre. Here he learned from the governor of Mons that “there had been an engagement on the 11th near Oudenarde . . ., that the enemy had had the advantage, and that our army was retreating towards Ghent in great disorder.” In spite of the need of resting his troops and allowing his rear to close up, the bad news determined him to hasten forward to Mons, which he reached on the 14th with twenty squadrons. He found great numbers of stragglers and small bodies who had escaped south and homeward from the battlefield, streaming in upon the fortress. He collected and organized these into a force of nine thousand men, with which he reinforced the garrisons of Tournai, Lille, and Ypres. None of these troops were found capable of further service in the field, and in the French accounts of the campaign they are frequently referred to as “débris of the Grand Army.” Here we have another measure of the gravity of Oudenarde.

Berwick’s sure instinct made him fearful for Lille. Ordering his army to concentrate upon Douai, he went himself to Lille on the 14th to prepare for the coming shock. “I took care to supply the fortresses with all sorts of stores, and as my infantry came up I distributed it among them, in order that, which way soever the enemy should take, they might meet with opposition.”^[480]

Marlborough’s army lay during the 12th on the battlefield recovering from its immense exertions; but at midnight on the 13th, in accordance with the decision of the council of war, the Duke dispatched Count Lottum with thirty battalions and forty squadrons to seize and level the French lines about Warneton and Comines. He followed himself with the main army the next day. Eugene went to Brussels, where his infantry was now expected. Berwick, who had scented this danger also, made every effort to occupy the almost undefended lines. But Count Lottum, marching fast, reached the fortifications in time, before dawn on the 15th. “We slung our Firelocks,” says Private Matthew Bishop,

Five hundred prisoners were taken. The pathway into France was now laid bare and open. During the afternoon Marlborough arrived at Werwicq, which became for some time his headquarters.

From here he wrote a series of letters to English agents abroad in order to repair the injury which the fall of Ghent had done. His postscript to Stanhope led to a memorable result.

It is curious to notice how Vendôme and Marlborough from their opposite standpoints were in complete accord upon strategic values. Marlborough hoped, however, that he would succeed in forcing Louis XIV to overrule Vendôme’s correct decision.

Vendôme believed that by holding his key position he could prevent any important siege. He certainly showed remarkable constancy in his opinion, and it was his will-power that kept the French army at Ghent in spite of every strategic pressure or moral provocation that the Allies could apply. Marlborough, however, with his knowledge of the resources of Holland, conceived it possible to undertake a first-class siege, although deprived of the Belgian waterways. Immense masses of munitions and stores and more than a hundred heavy cannon were moved towards Brussels from Antwerp and Maestricht through such canals and rivers as the Dutch controlled. From Brussels all must be drawn forward by road. Two great convoys would be required merely to begin the operation. Marlborough’s army had been separated from its heavy baggage since the first movements in July, and to transport this to them and replenish the field parks was urgent. The second and far larger convoy would carry the siege-train and the heavy projectiles. The process of collecting the necessary sixteen thousand horses from Holland and from the armies, and of extorting them from the countryside and from French territory, must take several weeks, and was at once begun.

A glance at the map will show that both these convoys had very nearly seventy-five miles to traverse through a region in which they could be attacked from opposite sides by both French armies separately or in combination; Vendôme could descend from Ghent, and Berwick could strike north from Mons. The securing of each of the convoys was therefore a major operation of war requiring the use as escort of all the troops at the disposal of the allied command. The passage of the first was accomplished during July 22-25. Eugene covered the wagon-train to the Scheldt with his army; and Marlborough advanced to receive it from him at the bridgehead he had prepared near Pottes. Berwick, who wished to attack Eugene on the way, was by the King’s order held at Douai to safeguard France, and Vendôme, in spite of Berwick’s timely and repeated warnings, remained obdurately behind the Bruges canal.

Critics have asked why Marlborough did not march directly upon Lille, into which place Berwick was daily sending troops and supplies. The first and sufficient answer is clearly that he did not wish to involve himself in a premature attack upon any one particular fortress, until he knew the siege-train could come through from Brussels. He could not have encircled Lille for at least a week, and once the factor of uncertainty had gone the whole French effort and succour would pour in through its open gorge. By moving to Werwicq and levelling the Comines line he threatened equally Ypres, Lille, and Tournai. This uncertainty continued to the end. Even as late as August 11 Berwick was writing to Burgundy, “I have no doubt that in less than two days Lille, Tournay, or Ypres will be invested.” It was only on the 12th, the day before the investment, that he could state, “The enemy are determined to lay siege to Lille.”^[487]

This advantage had to be balanced against the undoubted strengthening of the defences and garrison of Lille which was in progress. Suppose Marlborough had tried to carry the town of Lille by assault without artillery, suppose even that he had succeeded, everything in the theatre of war would have become quite clear, and all the French commanders could have acted upon certainties. There is no reason to believe that he could have stormed the fortifications on July 17 or 18 with his field troops. But if he had achieved this questionable venture, he would have been obviously tethered to the citadel of Lille without any of the means of carrying the operation through. Goslinga, furious at the rejection of his blockade plan, pours out his calumnies. This needless levelling of the lines of Comines was, he asserts, in part the revenge of prolonging the war which Marlborough was taking upon the States-General for having baulked him of his desire to be Governor of Belgium in 1706, and the rest was sordid love of his pay and allowances. During the next ten days, he declares, no doubt with much truth, the resisting powers of the fortress of Lille were enormously strengthened. Marlborough and Eugene decided to face this disadvantage, and on the merits, apart from the high authority of these masters of war, their case is good. But Marlborough had yet another reason for not entangling himself prematurely in the siege of Lille.

In the days following Oudenarde he imparted to Eugene his greatest strategic design. The whole combined army should invade France, ignoring the frontier fortresses and abandoning all land communication with Holland. A new sea-base of operations should be seized and formed in French territory. Abbeville was in every way suitable. General Erle, with his six thousand men, would descend upon it from the Isle of Wight. The English and Dutch sea-power would be used to escort and ferry round from Holland in the calm summer weather the whole mass of stores, cannon, and equipment required for the armies, and thereafter would maintain a constant flow of supplies. From Abbeville Marlborough and his illustrious comrade would march on Paris through unravaged country at the head of a hundred thousand men, and bring the war to a swift and decisive close. This movement the Duke believed would irresistibly draw in its train all the French armies and fortress garrisons. It would free Holland from the menace of Burgundy’s army. It would avoid the cost, labour, and peril of reducing the great fortresses on the French frontier. It would clear or render impotent Dunkirk, Calais, and all fortresses, naval bases, and garrisons on the sea-coast. Such was the secret project of the general who was represented by his detractors as prolonging the war for his own ends.

Marlborough had convinced the London Cabinet. He had, of course, expected a stubborn resistance from the Dutch. He hoped that with Eugene’s aid he might overcome this. But, as we have already observed, Eugene was a land animal. He was staggered at the proposal. The dangers of leaping forward to a new base to be formed from the sea, with the terrible fortresses and strong hostile armies barring all return, seemed to this prince of tireless audacity to involve an unnatural hazard.

Without Eugene there was no hope for the plan. “By what I hear from Buys,” wrote Marlborough to Godolphin (July 26),

And, finally, to Halifax, “Were our army all English, it would be feasible, but we have a great many among us who are more afraid of wanting provisions than of the enemy.”^[490] Yet at this time the gossip of the French Court credited Eugene with the desire of raiding Paris.

While all this was being debated Marlborough from his headquarters at Werwicq sought by every means to torment Vendôme out of Ghent. He sent cavalry detachments northward to cut off all supplies which Berwick might try to send to the main French army. He ordered the governor of Ostend to impede the communications between Bruges and Nieuport by opening such sluices as were under his control. Strict injunctions deterred the Belgian population from offering their produce to the enemy’s camp. By these means he subjected Vendôme to scarcity. It was beyond his power to invoke famine. The French communications along the coast were never effectually severed. But Marlborough’s greatest hope lay in raiding the French provinces which now lay open and exposed. He repeated in Artois, and to some extent in Picardy, the same severities, though greatly modified, which he had inflicted upon Bavaria in the month before Blenheim. Using fifty squadrons, sustained by infantry and guns, he entered many French towns whose names have hallowed memories for our generation. On July 23 he occupied Armentières; on the 26th La Bassée, and his cavalry burned the suburbs of Arras; on the 27th Lens. From these positions during a whole week the allied horse ravaged Artois. Crossing the Scarpe, they harried the countryside, molesting Doullens, Guise, Saint-Quentin, and Péronne. In the last week of July he had at least twenty-five thousand men in Artois gathering food, booty, and hostages. Louis XIV, unable to protect his subjects, authorized the unhappy province to compound for a contribution of fifteen hundred thousand livres. Picardy was also summoned. Following the precedent set by Villars in the previous year in Germany, they were invited to fix their indemnity, having regard to the arrears due from 1702. Burning and pillage enforced these extortions, and many violent deeds were done. Berwick, with such forces as he could spare from the fortress line, resisted with energy; there was sharp cavalry fighting, but the French were everywhere outnumbered.

All that happened shows how easily the first stages of Marlborough’s strategic adventure could have been achieved. He might have moved at this time the whole allied army into France behind the fortress lines, fed himself comfortably upon the country, and received his munitions and reinforcements through Abbeville. Such an invasion would have dominated the war. The lesser processes to which he was confined, although yielding immediate necessary supplies, did not procure the strategic result. Wrath and panic rose in Paris. Here was war, so long fought in foreign lands, now raging upon French soil. The Great King, who had for more than a generation laid his rod upon his neighbours, must now endure the same measure for his own people. But Vendôme stubbornly insisted that so long as he held the waterways at Ghent and strangled the Scheldt-Lys no great siege could be undertaken by the Allies, nor any lasting invasion. He induced Louis XIV to bear the woes of his subjects with fortitude. He clung to his invaluable position. He could even retaliate to some extent by harrying the Dutch province of the Pays de Waes, which was in his grip. If the siege of Lille was to be attempted Marlborough’s incursion could only be temporary. He would need all his troops to bring the convoys through. By the early days of August therefore this bitter phase of the war subsided. Marlborough’s garrisons still held La Bassée, Armentières, and Lens, but his whole strength was required to receive the great convoy from Eugene.

We must regard the refusal of the Allies to accept Marlborough’s scheme for the invasion of France at this juncture as one of the cardinal points of the war. Although Louis had borne the injuries and humiliations which Marlborough had thus far inflicted upon him, the strain was near breaking-point. He forbade Berwick to quit Douai and attack the convoy. He warned Burgundy on July 30, “If the enemy resolve to cross the Somme or the Authie you should not hesitate for one moment to march towards them, taking none the less all proper measures in concert with Marshal Berwick.”^[492] And Chamillart’s order of August 1 to that Marshal contains this significant passage: “You must be very attentive to any movement which the enemy may make with a considerable corps towards the Somme or the Authie. That would be a sure way of completing the ruin of Picardy and of spreading terror throughout Normandy and to the very gates of Paris.”^[493]

Thus it is certain that the spell would have worked had Marlborough been allowed to use it. If his strategy had prevailed, not only would Ghent have been freed, but all the French armies and garrisons would have been recalled to defend the capital and to confront the invasion. Great battles would have been fought in the heart of France, and victory would have provided in 1708 that triumphant peace which after so much further bloodshed the Grand Alliance was still to seek in vain.

The question arises, ought not Marlborough to have been able to enforce his conception upon Eugene and the Dutch? He had the English Cabinet behind him. The Whigs were ardent to carry the war into France. Godolphin, faithful and trusting, was still at the helm. If Eugene had been gained the Dutch could hardly have demurred. But Marlborough’s admiration for Eugene, his respect for his vast experience and mastery of the art of war, made it impossible for him to force Eugene beyond his will. In the previous year he had tried to press him unduly about Toulon. It had not succeeded. Indeed, when Eugene differed from him he may well have questioned his own instinct. His infinite labours, the stresses to which he was being subjected at home, and the physical weakness and weariness which lay heavy upon him in this campaign constrained him to acquiesce, and the supreme opportunity was gone, as fate decreed, for ever. “. . . As I think,” he wrote sadly on another miscarriage at this date (August 2), “most things are governed by Destiny, having done all that is possible, one should submit with patience.”^[494]

It was with a heavy heart that Marlborough now bent his thought and energies to the siege of Lille. In doing so he did not finally relinquish his design. He hoped that a ten days’ bombardment would suffice for the city, and another fortnight for the citadel. If so, Eugene’s condition would be established. There would still be time in the middle of September to march into France. If not, the plan must stand over to the next year. He was therefore most careful to keep General Erle’s force free for the Abbeville descent, and not to disturb that place prematurely. “It will be impossible for us,” he wrote to the Secretary of State (August 3),

The coasts of Normandy and Brittany might be alarmed, but Abbeville was sacrosanct.

The great convoy had now assembled at Brussels. The sixteen thousand horses had been procured.^[497] Every district of Belgium and France in Marlborough’s control had been compelled under threats of fire and sword to deliver every suitable horse or vehicle. In vain had Berwick ordered all horses to be brought into the French fortresses. The threat of military execution was decisive upon the country folk, who were under the hard impression of the ravages in Artois and Picardy only a week before. They had to choose between yielding their horses and having their homes burned. Louis XIV could not ask this sacrifice of subjects he could no longer protect. Strict and stern measures were also used with the farmers and peasants around Oudenarde and Ath. The armies were combed of every horse not needed for fighting. “All the generals, we ourselves,” says Goslinga, “the battalions and even the vivandiers were obliged to furnish horses and chariots; the number used was incredible.”^[498] Finally the tale was complete.

The operation was studied with the utmost care. Eugene rode through from Brussels to Werwicq, and spent several days with Marlborough. Cadogan, in almost daily correspondence with the Duke, had been for some weeks at Brussels preparing all. At length the moment came. To an official letter of August 2 to Cadogan, prescribing various precautions and directing him to come with the convoy himself, and slip away with it “on the sly” (à la sourdine), Marlborough added this unusual and imperative postscript, written in his own hand:

On August 4 Eugene left Marlborough’s headquarters at Werwicq for Ath, where the bulk of his own army was concentrated. Marlborough sent him in addition twenty-five squadrons and twenty-five battalions. Together with the escort of the convoy numbering thirty-five squadrons under the Prince of Hesse-Cassel, who guarded the opposite flank to Eugene, and a powerful rearguard, Eugene disposed of more than fifty thousand men. Thus covered, the convoy started on the 8th. Eighty heavy cannon, each drawn by twenty horses, twenty mortars drawn by sixteen horses, and three thousand four-horse munition wagons, formed two columns, each fifteen miles long, marching by separate roads. They took the direction not of Lille but of Mons, thus keeping as far as possible from the main French army, and incidentally deceiving Berwick, who, thinking Mons was after all the objective, reinforced that garrison by seven battalions from his field forces. By nightfall on the 7th the convoy reached Soignies unmolested. Here they found Eugene with a fighting force of forty thousand men. Marlborough’s anxiety may be judged from the fact that, besides the troops with which he had already supplied Eugene, he had sent on the 5th twelve squadrons to Oudenarde to scout towards Ghent, and on rumours of a French detachment at Ninove reinforced them on the 7th by another thirty squadrons. At the same time he strengthened the garrisons of Antwerp and Brussels from various reserves in Holland, and ordered the keenest alert in both cities. He himself, with the rest of his own army, was ready to march at an hour’s notice.

On the 8th before dawn the convoy turned at right angles on to the road to Ath, and marched throughout the day under shield of Eugene’s army and Hesse-Cassel’s cavalry. They had slipped away from Brussels “on the sly,” and Vendôme could scarcely reach them during their first two marches. But the 8th, 9th, and 10th were the critical days. Upon this stage of the journey Vendôme and Berwick could combine by the shortest route. Marlborough’s forty-two squadrons near Oudenarde were, however, a screen against Vendôme, and would have given timely warning to Eugene had he moved to strike the convoys between Ath and the Pottes bridgehead. The Dender was crossed at Ath on the 9th, and the march towards the Scheldt began the next morning. Had Vendôme moved south in force he could have been encountered on this day by the whole of the allied armies. The Oudenarde squadrons would have fallen back before him, and Marlborough from Werwicq could have reached the battlefield as soon as he. But Vendôme had no thought of moving. He remained deaf to the appeals of Berwick. He suppressed Burgundy. He declared himself incredulous that any great siege could be undertaken while he held the Ghent waterways. He affected to disbelieve all reports about the great convoy. At the root of this attitude lay the fact that he did not mean to fight a battle. In this resolve he was right. He measured truly the havoc Oudenarde had wrought in the Grand Army. Thus the convoy crossed the Scheldt at Pottes in tranquillity during the 10th. Here they were in the midst of Marlborough’s army. Thirty battalions and thirty-four squadrons under the Prince of Orange masked the fortress of Lille, while thirty squadrons at Petegem guarded the northern flank. The Duke himself marched with his remaining troops to Helchin on the 12th, and that night the siege-train safely entered the allied fortress of Menin.

This operation was watched with intense curiosity by the soldiers of all countries. Feuquières, whose pretentious and faulty judgments upon military matters have received too much respect from later writers, opined, in this case truly, that posterity would have difficulty in believing that such a feat had ever been performed. Certainly no general of those days, studying the positions of the armies upon the map, would have pronounced it possible. French military historians have criticized with extreme severity the negligence of Vendôme. Berwick roundly condemns him. Nevertheless, the terror of Oudenarde and the combined skill and prowess of Marlborough and Eugene were facts which maps and documents cannot convey. On the 13th—Blenheim Day—Eugene, crossing the stream of the Marque, joined both hands with the Prince of Orange, and the investment of Lille was complete.

Marlborough wrote that night to Count Maffei: “The Prince of Savoy has invested the town of Lille on all sides, and the cannon has arrived at Menin within reach of the siege, which will be pressed with all possible vigour, and this may at last convince the enemy that they have lost the battle of Oudenarde.”^[500]

We have followed during a quarter of a century Marlborough’s relations with his royal mistress. They were never as intimate as those which she had cherished with Sarah, but they stood throughout at a higher level and on a broader foundation. Sarah had been the playmate of her childhood, the loved companion of her youth and prime, her partisan and comforter in every struggle as princess, a high participant in the glories of her reign. But Marlborough was to the Queen an august friend, a guide who had never led her wrong, a rock where she could always find safety, a sword never raised in vain. Although the fact was concealed for some time from the world, the Queen had now broken with Sarah. Not only had she cast her from her heart, but in its recesses she had installed another. From 1707 onward the Queen began to hate Sarah as much as she had loved her, and to hate her the more because of the language of outworn affection and the candour of vanished friendship which still prevailed between Sovereign and subject.

Marlborough remained: her general, her counsellor, at the head of Europe, by all consent the most remarkable man alive, her lifelong friend, her own triumphant choice! To Marlborough the Queen now addressed herself. She had shown herself prepared in January 1708 to let him go rather than part with Harley, and lose contact with the Tories. She had come in contact for a moment with the appalling weight of national and international force which forbade such a decision. She had submitted: she had been compelled to submit. But she bore no resentment against him. Godolphin, the Junto, Sarah, she regarded as her opponents, even as her foes; but Marlborough was still her hope, almost her last hope. He was, she still believed, the prop of her throne, the only man who could win the war and keep the crown on her head.

Naturally from time to time in former years letters had passed between the Queen and the Captain-General. No great number had been needed when they were agreed upon so much. But in 1708 there grew a correspondence which is little less than an epitome of British history at that time. During this hazardous, grinding campaign, both before and after Oudenarde, the Queen wrote at least a dozen lengthy letters in her own hand to Marlborough, and Marlborough at intervals perhaps half as many in reply. No one can read Anne’s letters, most of which—whatever advice she got or wherever she got it from—obviously sprang from her own heart and fell pithily and passionately from her pen, without realizing across the wastes of time what a woman she was, what a prince she was, and—what a Stuart!

Marlborough’s letters are also revealing. His reverence and affection for the Queen were his dominant sentiment. “I can’t entirely agree with your opinion of the Queen,” he wrote to Sarah. “I must own I have a tenderness for her; I would willingly believe that all that is amiss proceeds from the ambition and ill judgment of Mrs Masham, and the knavery and artfulness of Mr Harley.”^[501] But against this ran the conduct of the war, the cause of the Allies, the necessities of politics, the brutal force of faction, his loyalty to Godolphin and his own personal interests. He loathed being made to put pressure on the Queen by the impulsion of the Whigs. But he was bound in honour to Godolphin, and Sarah was in their hands. Moreover, the Whigs had both Houses of Parliament at their command, and without Parliament the armies of the Alliance, with victory almost in their grasp, would fall prostrate. Also, on the merits the Queen was utterly wrong. Her personal interventions hampered the prosecution of the war, and delayed and eventually frustrated a victorious peace. Thus we see Marlborough in his letters sometimes descending perforce below the natural and manly simplicity of his earlier correspondence. He sets himself to manage the Queen, to play upon her sentiments. References to his own ill-health, to the services he had rendered her, to the risks he was running, to the drum-beats of approaching battles, none of which he would have mentioned in the days of Blenheim and Ramillies or in the earlier campaigns, creep into his letters. And always throughout them jars the threat of resignation. If he had neglected these measures, he feared that perhaps the war would be lost, and all his toils consumed for nothing.

In these years there arose in his heart an intense desire to be quit of politics. Why could he not be free from the factions, and serve at the head of the armies as a soldier? To cease to be a Minister and to remain a General was his heartfelt wish. How easy to bear were the trials and toils and hazards of war compared to this—to him hateful—pressure, the coaxing, cajoling, and coercing of the Queen for the sake of a set of men for whom he cared nothing, but that they alone could support the war! Moreover, as will be seen, he drew a very clear line between pressing the Queen on direct public issues and taking advantage of her weakness or her prejudices. He would argue with her, he would appeal to her, he would warn her; but he would not help the Whigs in their schemes to blackmail her.

At the same time Marlborough had no illusions about Anne. His eye, which measured things so exactly and pierced into the thoughts and motives of men and women, had told him the truth about the Queen. Abigail had got her. The political consequences were plain. “I do not take Mr Bromley for a great negotiator, but a less able man than himself will reconcile Lord Rochester and Mr Harley at this time. I believe you may depend upon it that they will all be of one mind, and that they think themselves assured of the hearts of the Prince and of the Queen, which is a very dismal prospect.”^[502]

In the middle of July Lord Stair arrived in London with the news of Oudenarde. Many circumstances contributed to make this triumphant victory agreeable to the British nation. It was the largest battle yet fought in the war. It had been fought against odds and under conditions which, according to professional opinion, were deemed unprecedented. The defeat and rout of the main army of France, reputed a hundred and twenty thousand strong, seemed to assure the future of the campaign. The hopes of a speedy and victorious peace rose high in both Whig and Tory bosoms. The accounts of the bravery of the Electoral Prince, heir presumptive to the throne, stirred all Protestant and constitutional circles, and many unfair comparisons were made between his behaviour and that of the ‘pretended’ Prince of Wales.

There was a shout of triumph from all classes which for a moment, but only for a moment, drowned the clatter of faction. Marlborough’s answer shows how little his judgment was affected by success. Except perhaps where Sarah was concerned, he was a man without illusions. He saw all the facts in a cool, clear, steady light. After expressing his thanks to the Queen he wrote (July 12/23):

Almost while he was writing these solemn words the Queen was freeing herself from the exhilaration of Oudenarde. We have seen the letter which Marlborough had pencilled in the exhaustion after the battle to Sarah, which she had shown to the Queen. The final sentence ran: “I do, and you must, give thanks to God for His goodness in protecting and making me the instrument of so much happiness to the Queen and nation, if she will please to make use of it.” The chance phrase at the end nettled her; she did not let it pass.

A week later her Majesty replied to Marlborough’s restrained acknowledgment of her gracious congratulations. Her bitterness against the Whigs and fears of their encroachments were unallayed, and this time it must be admitted she had good cause. The Junto, who saw that in the winter Parliament they would be able to carry any fair-seeming project through both Houses, were determined to assert their rights. Incensed by the Queen’s scornful hostility, they devised a new plan to make her yield. The reader will remember how in 1705 the Tories had, with grotesque folly, sought to vex the Queen by proposing to invite the Elector of Hanover or the Electress Sophia, or both, to England; and how serviceable the Whigs had made themselves in burking this manœuvre by their Regency Bill.^[508] Now it was the Whigs who had recourse to this envenomed weapon with which to prod and prick their estranged Sovereign. Both their position and their case seemed overwhelming. They had the majorities; the Tories were compromised upon the point; and what could be more natural than that the young Electoral Prince, fresh from his gallant charge at Oudenarde, should pay a visit to London and receive the hearty acclamations of his future subjects?

The proposal struck the Queen far more deeply than the Whigs or almost any of her contemporaries were aware. We must remember her letter to her dying father, James II, before she assumed the crown, and the reply of Mary of Modena.^[509] Anne had compromised with her conscience on the grounds that her duty to the Church of England compelled her to ascend the throne, lest chaos engulfed both Church and State.

Thus she had reigned, praying always for a son who would assure her of the blessing of heaven and prolong her line. But this hope was now extinct. Her husband was seriously ill with an affection of the chest which grew as the summer passed; and she herself knew she could hardly expect another pregnancy. Henceforward increasingly, the Act of Settlement notwithstanding, the Queen found comfort in the dream that her brother would succeed her. Bound as she was hand and foot by the laws, the Parliament, and the nation, she might not attempt to aid such restoration. Sarah, with her Whig prejudices and rough common sense, did not attach sufficient importance to this mood. But Godolphin and Marlborough knew and understood. They were vigilant and picked their steps with care. Indeed, this sentiment—it was no more than a sentiment—was a secret bond which still united them to the Queen. They knew that Anne would never tolerate the presence of any representative of the house of Hanover in the island while she drew breath. The Whigs, without realizing how sensitive was the spot upon which they directed their thrust, had nevertheless a pretty plain notion that this was a deadly and at the same time a practical method of pressure or revenge.

Accordingly it had been put about, and whispered to the Queen by Abigail, that Marlborough liked the idea of bringing the young Electoral Prince back to England after the campaign.^[510] When this rumour gained some currency the Whig Lords exposed what they designed when Parliament met. They made through Sunderland, and perhaps through Sarah, every promise of active support for Marlborough, for Godolphin, and for the war, if only Marlborough would join with them in this push. Lord Haversham in the Tory interest waited upon the Queen and exposed the intrigue. Anne now wrote again to Marlborough a letter which certainly did not shirk the issue.

We have no record of any reply of Marlborough’s to the Queen upon this issue. But it is certain that he refused to give the Whigs the slightest countenance upon it. He had never favoured the visit of the Electoral Prince; indeed, he had expressed surprise that his father, the Elector, should wish him to serve with the main army in Flanders instead of on the Rhine. He explained himself clearly to Sarah.

Marlborough wrote (August 2) in the form of a grave protest and warning a general reply to the Queen’s letters both before and after the battle.

He complained of his treatment at her hands. “The uneasiness of my mind, upon receiving your Majesty’s letters of the 18th and 22nd of June, had such an effect upon my body as to make me very ill, till it pleased God to bless me with such good success, as in great measure recovered me.”^[514]

He then explained and justified in a very plain manner the phrase that had ruffled the Queen.

Nothing moved the Queen. She defended herself obdurately from the suggestion that she had other advisers than her Ministers. She was conscious that she could hardly expect Marlborough to believe her. But she made no concession.

This response to his remonstrance made the worst impression upon Marlborough. It “has thoroughly convinced me,” he wrote to Sarah (August 9), using with asperity one of the Queen’s phrases,

Queen Anne had received the news of Oudenarde in the little house she had occupied at Windsor to nurse her poor prince. Her instinctive comment reveals her mood to the depths: “Oh, Lord, when will all this dreadful bloodshed cease?”^[521] But now it was the day of thanksgiving for the victory. The Queen left her ailing husband’s couch, and journeyed to St James’s to be robed for her progress to St Paul’s. It was Sarah’s duty to lay out the jewels she was to wear. We may be sure that the Duchess, full of politics, full of the victory, discharged her duty punctiliously. She, the wife of the victor-general, her idolized “Lord Marl,” would drive by the Queen’s side through the cheering crowds to St Paul’s Cathedral, and receive on her husband’s behalf a British triumph. Suddenly she perceived that the Queen was not wearing the jewels her Mistress of the Robes had selected, or, according to some authorities, any jewels at all. Instantly Sarah saw the hand of the hated Abigail. It was not only feminine anger which stirred her. Sarah was also a politician. She knew well that these jewels, or no jewels, would be the talk of every Court in Europe. All the ambassadors who now crowded in the greatest state upon the once-neglected Court of St James’s would write that night the story of Marlborough’s failing favour. For weeks thereafter statesmen, diplomats, commanders, princes, would shake their heads or grin upon it.

As they rode along through the joyful streets she reproached the Queen for wounding her upon Lord Marlborough’s festival. No one knows what the two women said to one another in the coach. They had more than thirty years of intimacy, most of it joyous intimacy, behind them. But Anne was Queen, and extremely capable of making her will felt. Probably very few interchanges passed between them. But at the top of the steps of St Paul’s, at the entry where all the functionaries were arrayed, the Queen began to speak with warmth, and Sarah said, “Be quiet—not here,” or words to that effect. The courtiers and dignitaries gaped and stared, and Queen Anne and the Duchess of Marlborough proceeded to offer their thanks to Almighty God for having blessed the arms of Britain with the timely and glorious victory of Oudenarde.

It may well be that not one word was spoken by either the Queen or Sarah on the return journey from this somewhat grim celebration. An adherent of Harley’s wrote to him:

This is a jaundiced account. But we must remember that it was the seventh year of the war, and that in twenty years there had only been three years of peace.

Sarah, upon the return to St James’s, was conscious that something had happened. Evidently she thought the best course was to pass it off by going on with the interrupted argument. A day or two later she wrote:

Sarah was not disposed to relinquish her right, so long enjoyed, of free discussion with the Queen. Her answer yielded nothing, and does her no discredit. It was also utterly futile for any purpose she sought to serve.

Her sincerity and a certain broad justice in her complaint drew from Anne a further reply:

Some may think that even at this hour Sarah could have saved some way of living with the Queen in decorum and even amity. She would have had to drop politics, smile upon Abigail, and discharge her Court duties with kindly, cool detachment. She could never have done it. The best and the worst of her was her candour and blunt common sense. Anne, apart from her sovereign authority, had immense powers of reserve and dissimulation. Sarah resembled in some respects the kind of woman we are familiar with in the public and social agitations of our own day. But no personal accommodation could alter the antagonism. Behind the Queen lurked Harley, the Tories, and Peace. Behind Sarah stood Marlborough, the Whigs, the Grand Alliance, and the War; and against them all, still magnificent and seemingly inexhaustible—France.

Marlborough had at this time in fact become almost indifferent to the political scene. In the next chapter we shall see what he was facing in the field.

This continued to be his sage opinion. “I am glad,” he reiterated to Sarah (September 17), “that you have taken the resolution of being quiet; for you are certainly in the right, that whatever is said or writ by you, the Lord Treasurer, and me, serves only for information to do hurt.”^[529] And (October 1), “For the resolution you have taken of neither speaking nor writing is so certainly right that I dare assure you that you will find a good effect of it in one month.”^[530]

Neither the Queen, nor Harley in the background, was prepared at this moment of all others to face the consequences of Marlborough’s or even Godolphin’s resignation. The country was still ringing with the Whig triumph at the polls. The new Parliament, in which the Whigs must be supreme, was to meet in a few months. What madness to provoke a constitutional crisis! Marlborough, however treated by the Tories, would defend the Queen’s throne against the Whigs and all comers. But Harley could feel no such assurance that the same defence would be forthcoming for his interests or even his head. Patience! Accordingly Anne appealed vehemently to Marlborough not to resign.

She proceeded to restate her own position. The Whigs, she declared, were “disputing her authority, certainly designing,” when the new Parliament meet, “to tear that little prerogative the Crown has to pieces,” and “have none in any employment that does not entirely depend upon them.” “Now, how is it possible,” demanded the Queen, closing her eyes to Parliamentary majorities, “when one knows and sees all these things, as plainly as the sun at noonday, ever to take these people into my bosom?”

But what possibility was there of denying office to a great party, newly placed by the constituencies in control of both Houses of Parliament? To do so was to strain the Constitution, even as then interpreted. Nor would another Dissolution have been effective. It would have been a violent abuse of the Prerogative; and there was no reason to suppose a different answer would be given by the electors.

Marlborough’s reply could not therefore offer the slightest prospect of any agreement with the Queen. On the contrary, he seems to have been at pain to set the differences forth in terms as blunt and hard as any which an English sovereign ever received from a loyal servant.

Such was the melancholy and dissolving background at home upon which Marlborough had to conduct the greatest siege of the eighteenth century while surrounded by superior French armies. It is only by surveying the double set of pressures and cares weighing upon him that his fortitude of spirit and tenacity of purpose can be judged.

After Paris Lille, the capital of French Flanders, was the greatest city of France. It was almost the earliest, and certainly the most splendid fruit of Louis XIV’s lifelong aggressions. For forty years it had been the monument of his military fame. It was also the staple of all the trade between the Netherlands and France. Its wealthy merchants financed and profited by the privateering from Dunkirk. Its name, Lisle, sprang from its secure position amid the pools and swamps of the Deule. Since the most ancient times it had been a stronghold and refuge. All the art of Vauban, unhurried by time, unstinted in expense, had been devoted to the fortifications. Broad double moats filled with water, massive masonry of covered ways and galleries, surmounted by enormous earthworks armed with heavy cannon, and an intricate system of outer defences made the town itself as strong as a citadel. But, besides the fortifications of the town, a large and wholly independent pentagon-shaped fortress afforded the garrison the means of standing what was virtually a second siege. These defences would have been formidable in the last degree if manned only by six or seven thousand troops. But Berwick, with the King’s cordial agreement, concentrated a miniature army of fifteen thousand men within them, including twenty-one battalions; and Marshal Boufflers, Marlborough’s old comrade of Maestricht days, had claimed the honour of commanding the resistance. It was evident that Lille would be the greatest siege operation since the invention of gunpowder. All Europe watched with wonder what seemed to those times a prodigy of human effort. That it should be undertaken by armies inferior in numbers to the French forces actually in the field, whose water communications were cut by fortresses in their rear, whose road communications seemed to lie at the mercy of Vendôme and Berwick, constituted an act of temerity only possible when allied to the authority and fame of Marlborough and Eugene. Vendôme, among his many miscalculations of 1708, declared that “so wise a commander as Prince Eugene would not venture upon such an enterprise,” and the French Court boasted that “without striking a blow they would oblige the Allies to abandon the siege.”

All these facts are cited by historians to extol the indomitable firmness of the Allies in choosing such a trial of strength. They were, indeed, the very reasons which had made Marlborough earnest to find some other course. Compared with the perils of the siege of Lille and the limited objects obtainable by its capture, the hazards of a new sea-base and of a march to Paris seemed attractive. Thus in our own time we have seen the minds of men and all resources absorbed by the great offensives on the Western Front which were driven forward on both sides regardless of bloodshed or any other exhaustion of war-power, while the dangerous prudence of conventional opinion prevented unexpected and so-called eccentric alternatives. Nevertheless, Marlborough, anticipating Lord Kitchener’s dictum, “One cannot wage war as one ought, but only as one can,” addressed himself with zeal and confidence to the inevitable step. He was glad to welcome in his camp as spectators and volunteers King Augustus of Saxony and the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel. Marlborough entertained—we trust not too parsimoniously—King Augustus at his quarters, and no doubt his silver plate and the massive wine-coolers were displayed at several unavoidable feasts. The Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel lived with his son, who was one of Marlborough’s most active generals.

The Great King was vehemently stirred by the siege of Lille. Like Vendôme, he had not believed it would be begun. He was resolved that it should be prevented. He ordered that Marshal, and, of course, Burgundy, not to hesitate to fight a decisive battle to relieve the city. Weariness of war lay heavy upon this old monarch. For more than forty years he had been the scourge of Europe. But war had lost its glamour with its laurels. One final, supreme battle to rescue Lille or lose the war; and then peace—peace now become dear and precious even on the worst terms. Such was his mood. But the French army and its generals, with the doubtful exception of Vendôme, whose conduct we shall examine later, did not find it so easy to court such dire decisions. They still felt the mauling of Oudenarde. Marlborough judged the facts with perfect accuracy. The siege was a grave hazard and might fail, thus spoiling the campaign, but that the enemy would fight a decisive battle for its relief was too good to be true. Only one movement would force a decisive battle—the march on Paris. That the army he commanded would win any pitched battle he was sure; but he did not think it probable that any decisive result would be reached in the field in 1708.

He added a comic touch. “I have read in a news paper that the Queen had given mr. Harley myself and severall others our Plate, I suppose it is not treu since you do not mention itt.”^[535] Actually Harley had been called upon by the Attorney-General to restore the plate furnished him for his official use during his tenure as Secretary of State. He had made difficulty about this, alleging his poverty; and the Queen was disposed to make him a gift of it. But the question arose, Should this principle be applied to other office-holders? Marlborough, at grips with the Queen, and in all the stresses of the campaign, was at once attentive to this. Anything in the nature of a perquisite stirred him, and gave him real pleasure even in his most magnificent exertions, and under his most wearing ordeals.

The story of the siege is set out fully with many striking anecdotes by Lediard, to whom full reference should be made. The attack was delivered from the north. Prince Eugene commanded the fifty battalions, of whom ten were always in the trenches which were assigned to the task. Of these thirty were provided from Marlborough’s army. Lines of circumvallation were drawn, and the work of mounting the batteries began. The youthful Prince of Orange, who commanded the sector of assault, fixed his headquarters in close shot of the Lille artillery. His house was pierced by several cannon-balls, and when on the morning of the 18th he was being dressed for his duties a round shot, passing over his shoulder, smashed his valet’s head and “besmeared his clothes and face with blood and brains.” He was thereupon persuaded to find a safer abode. As it was known that not only the ramparts but the town was to be bombarded, a large number of ladies sought permission to leave the dangerous area. Prince Eugene chivalrously accorded them facilities; but his engineer officers, disguised as common soldiers among the troops who received them, were able to study the approach to the St Mark and St Magdalen gates, which were the selected points of attack. Two immense hornworks protected these entrances, and were the main defences of the northern side.

The magistrates of Lille, by Boufflers’ leave, sent a deputation “with compliments and refreshments” to Prince Eugene, appealing to him to spare the burghers as much as possible. But he answered

So strong was the garrison that fierce fighting developed upon the approaches. The chapel of St Magdalen and the neighbouring mill were scenes of carnage. However, on the 21st the lines of contravallation and circumvallation were perfected. Thus Eugene and his besiegers dwelt in a double ring of earthworks several hundred yards apart and nine miles in length, facing outward and inward around the city, and Marlborough with the field army protected them from interference. Trenches were opened on the 22nd, and five days later the heavy batteries began to play with eighty-eight pieces. The object of this process in a siege was to shatter the masonry and crumble the earthworks, so that as they fell in ruins they filled up the moats, and made a breach in which hand-to-hand fighting proceeded till the moment of assault was ripe. The large cannon-balls of those days and primitive shells from the mortars, after a certain number of days of firing, which could usually be accurately estimated, were capable of producing such a result. But all depended upon the powder and ball. By the early days of September deserters reported that the breach was very wide, that the ditch was almost full with the ruins of the wall, and that Marshal Boufflers had ordered a good part of his best cannon to be withdrawn from the ramparts into the citadel. The assault of the counterscarp was accordingly fixed for the 7th. But now the French grand army, united with that of Marshal Berwick, arrived upon the scene.

In a letter to reassure Sarah he forecasted with perfect comprehension the future action of the enemy. His power of putting himself in the enemy’s shoes, and measuring truly what they ought to do, and what he himself would most dislike, was one of his greatest gifts. He was only wrong in his anticipations when the enemy made a mistake. But this also had compensations of its own.

After protracted discussions and long letters to and from the King, Burgundy and Berwick marched towards each other at the utmost speed on August 27. They joined, as Marlborough had forecast, at Grammont on the 29th, and reached the Scheldt at Tournai together on September 1. Berwick, who refused to serve under Vendôme, resigned his command, and became Burgundy’s rival adviser. It was learned that Marlborough had left Helchin on the 31st and that he was moving on an inner circle between them and Lille, which, they heard, had been since the 27th under the heaviest bombardment by Eugene. They spent September 2 in crossing the Scheldt, camped at Orchies on the 3rd, and reached Mons-en-Pévèle during the 4th. Here they were joined by their heavy cannon from Douai. Burgundy and Vendôme climbed the heights behind the camp, and thence saw the allied army spread in a wide arc before them. Their best chance was to draw out their line astride of the Lille-Douai road, and begin the battle that very evening. Although all their troops had not come up, they had on the spot or close at hand nearly double Marlborough’s strength. Berwick’s account agrees with Vendôme’s view that the hour was too late. It was, however, earlier than that on which Marlborough had stormed the Schellenberg. Thus night fell in silence. But all seemed set for battle on the 5th. The fate of Lille and of the campaign was at stake. The orders of the King to fight a decisive engagement were imperative and reiterated.

Marlborough’s concentration was effected with precision. Before dawn on the 5th Eugene, with seventy-two squadrons and twenty-six battalions, arrived from the siege and took his station on Marlborough’s right. General Fagel, with seven battalions, by “incredible” marches from Dutch Brabant reached the battle front as the sun rose. The Captain-General drew out 209 squadrons and 109 battalions, between seventy and eighty thousand men, to face the combined French army of a hundred and ten thousand.

As this was the only occasion when Marlborough seemed prepared to fight a defensive battle on a large scale, his dispositions are of interest. The position he had selected permitted the French to attack only on a narrow front. He narrowed the gap further by strong infantry bodies on either flank supported by cavalry. In the gap he placed his cavalry in two lines, covered by guns and backed by infantry. To prevent the enemy capturing Ennetières village on his front and so breaking the cohesion of his cavalry attack, and also to disrupt the French cavalry attack, he occupied it with a brigade of infantry. He clearly intended to disorganize the more numerous French cavalry by artillery fire, and then to charge them down-hill with cavalry supported by infantry, trusting to the training and morale of his cavalry as proved at Blenheim, Elixem, and Ramillies. The position he had selected was four miles outside the lines of circumvallation. He made no attempt to impede the approach and deployment of the enemy. In order to leave himself full freedom to counter-attack early in the action, he did not at first entrench. When Eugene proposed this Marlborough answered that “since he had commanded he had never accustomed his army to entrench in the presence of the enemy.” Eventually he allowed digging to begin at Ennetières; but he kept the whole of the rest of the field open to a gigantic manœuvre-battle once the enemy had committed themselves to the attack. Thus we may measure his confidence in his troops and in himself, and his readiness to risk all upon the stroke of the day.

A different mood held the French High Command. At daylight their chiefs began a prolonged reconnaissance. Vendôme wished to attack at once. Berwick pointed out the particular marshes and woods which would interfere with the advance. Burgundy decided that the approaches must be improved before the attack could be made. This work was accordingly begun, and it soon became apparent that there would be no general battle on the 5th. Boufflers, as prearranged, took advantage of Eugene’s absence from the siege to make a vigorous sortie upon his denuded lines. We are told by several authorities ^[543] that as early as ten A.M. orders were issued to Eugene’s troops to return to the siege. But this is absurd. Even the infantry did not move off the field till darkness fell; and the cavalry not till the next day.^[544] Marlborough, although now only half the strength of the enemy, but with confidence confirmed by their indecision, was still reluctant to entrench. Bidding high for battle, he was prepared to run what seemed desperate risks to tempt the enemy. But the opinion of Eugene, and, indeed, of all the allied generals, was so strong that during the evening of the 5th he began to break the ground, and by the 8th important works stretched from Noyelles to Fretin. As he was now confined to defensive action, he reorganized his array, the infantry being in two lines behind the trenches and the cavalry massed in rear of the wings. The difference between these dispositions and those of the 5th reveals very clearly the kind of battle he had hoped to fight.

The three French marshals spent the 5th and 6th in personal reconnaissance. All day they examined the hostile front with a curiosity which frequently drew the fire of its field batteries. All night they argued in Burgundy’s tent. Vendôme still had no doubts; he urged an immediate onslaught, first upon the allied left and then extending to their centre, which lay across a wide plain. Berwick took the opposite view. The allied flanks were secure. It could only be a frontal attack in a country “where ten thousand could stop thirty thousand.” Burgundy, torn between these conflicting views of eminent commanders, resorted to his customary habit of consulting his grandfather. So on the night of September 6 they all wrote letters to the King. Vendôme wrote:

In a second letter, to Chamillart, he begged to be relieved at the earliest moment of all responsibility. Berwick wrote:

Faced with this grim decision, Louis XIV showed no weakness; he resolved to play the stake. He expressed his surprise that his positive orders had been questioned, and renewed his commands to Burgundy to attack even at the risk of “suffering the misfortunes inseparable from failure, less dishonouring however, both for his person and for the army than to become spectators of the capture of Lille.” He sent Chamillart to the camp to enforce his will.

In the midst of this tension the Allies found themselves strong enough to prosecute the siege. The assaults upon the counterscarp were delivered on the prescribed day, although upon the opposite side of the city at this very moment the largest battle of the war seemed imminent. On the south of Lille Marlborough faced Vendôme at heavy odds. On the north side the great assault was launched. Fourteen thousand men reinforced the troops in the trenches, and at half-past seven in the evening attacked the whole front from one hornwork to the other. Four great mines exploded under the feet of the assailants, “which destroyed abundance of men.”^[548] All through the night the struggle raged with varying fortune in the intricacies of the fortress system. The counterscarp was stormed; but, owing to the engineers who were to direct the second phase being all killed, and the workmen in their charge “departing under the Favour of the Night,”^[548] the enemy were able to retire to their capital works, from whence they maintained a terrible fire for some hours. It was impossible to advance beyond “the Angles of the Glacis of the two Hornworks and of the Tenaille.”^[548] Des Roques, the chief engineer upon this sector, recorded, “This unhappy Accident retards the Taking of the Town, which may yet hold out eight or ten Days.”^[548] The slaughter among the allied troops in this assault by all accounts was nearly equal to their loss in the battle of Oudenarde. The French claimed that five thousand men had fallen. Certainly between two and three thousand, of whom the most part perished, covered the few acres of the saps and breaches with their gay uniforms and mangled bodies.

Had the French grand army forced a general battle on the morning of the 5th, as Marlborough hoped, every scrap of force at the disposal of the Allies would have been cast simultaneously into the fateful scales. The interest of these operations to posterity, and to military annals, consists in the odds against which Marlborough and Eugene preserved their ascendancy, and the absolute conviction with which they acted upon narrow and impalpable margins. Marlborough courted the decisive battle. He was ready to face with less than sixty thousand men the possible onslaught of a hundred and ten thousand. Yet at the same time five miles away Eugene involved himself in the tremendous and necessarily bloody assault of the breaches. The two captains were disappointed in both respects; the assault did not capture the capital works, and the French army did not face a battle. Even more difficult trials lay ahead.

As long as Burgundy and Vendôme were threatening a general battle to the south of Lille, the road from Brussels was fairly free from molestation. Although Marlborough had had to recall General Fagel from the duty of protecting the communications in order to strengthen the line of battle, several important replenishments of ammunition came safely through just in time to enable the bombardments to be continuously maintained. “Last night,” writes the Chief Engineer, Des Roques, on September 10,

While the siege was thus at its crisis and great numbers of troops involved in deadly grapple in the débris of the ramparts, the quagmire of the ditch, and the labyrinth of the counterscarp galleries, Vendôme threatened again to force a battle. Very heavy cannonades and the deployment of the whole French army once more aroused the Allies’ hopes. Eugene rejoined Marlborough on the south front with his cavalry and spare troops. But this time battle was no longer offered in the open field, and it was hardly to be conceived that the enemy would pay the price of demanding it against entrenchments. The only effect of the French demonstrations and bombardments of the 11th was to divert Eugene from the siege for a few hours, and to supply the Allies with a large quantity of cannon-balls, which were diligently collected and fired into Lille. On this day also an important munitions convoy which had left Brussels on the 8th was escorted into camp by Albemarle.

At a council of war on the 14th the proposal was made to open passages through the newly constructed works, march out, and actually attack the French army. Berwick in his memoirs says that Vendôme would in this case have suffered a total defeat. He states that Marlborough and Eugene favoured an offensive, but that the Dutch Deputies forbade them. Goslinga, who in later years discussed the war with Berwick, declares on the other hand that he and his colleagues urged the daring course, and that it was “the Princes” who were adverse. War in retrospect, like life, seems rich in opportunities; but at the time one opportunity shuts out another, and the choices are neither so numerous nor so obvious as appears.

All French Society—indeed, France itself—waited in protracted suspense. A freezing hush fell upon the Court. The card-tables, the supper parties, were deserted. The churches were thronged with rank and fashion praying for the life of husband, lover, son. It was known that Chamillart had been sent to the army for the express purpose of compelling its leaders to fight. This had seemed a very plain and obligatory course amid the galleries of Versailles and in the presence of Louis XIV. He arrived clear and decided. On the spot, in contact with the realities and the atmosphere of doubt which infected the French command, the War Minister soon lost heart. He watched the desultory cannonades. He heard the talk. He saw the ground and the defences along which flaunted the standards of the Allies, and behind which the shapes of Marlborough and Eugene seemed crouched to spring. On the night of the 14th Vendôme was left alone in his opinion; Burgundy, Berwick, Chamillart, and almost all the generals were for retreat. At this point it cost Vendôme little to persist in valorous opinions. No one would take him at his word. Were there not other methods of succouring Lille? They knew the besiegers were short of powder. Although two convoys had lately arrived, a third was urgently expected. Any prolonged interruption of the supplies must be fatal. All the communications were exposed. If the main French army were used, it should be possible to cut Marlborough and Eugene both from Brussels and the sea. There is little doubt that the painful and humiliating decision was right. Comforting themselves with these hopes, the French army fell back by Orchies to Tournai. Burgundy’s headquarters were at Saulchoi on September 17, and Marlborough observed him from behind the Marque.

A great battle being denied him, Marlborough, as he had foreseen, must face a far more harassing attack. The siege batteries were firing at full blast. The defence of Lille had been already maintained for nearly three weeks beyond the scheduled time. The bombardment was living from hand to mouth. To suspend it even for a few days was to take the pressure off Marshal Boufflers, who, for his part, watched with anxiety the daily diminution of his own limited magazines. Unless he could continue his counter-battery, the front would clearly break. The King had prescribed a proportion of powder to be reserved for the defence of the citadel. The losses of the garrison had been severe. If Eugene’s bombardment and the progress of his saps continued, Boufflers must within a definite time retire to the citadel. But if the cannonade ceased he could stand where he was indefinitely. All therefore turned upon the convoys. Now upon the communications with Brussels came the main French army. In the last fortnight of September Vendôme and Burgundy occupied the whole line of the Scheldt from the Lille approaches to Ghent. They held and fortified every crossing. They made a curve around Oudenarde, at which point their defences became more like a fortress than field entrenchments. By this means they cut absolutely all communication between the Allies and Brussels, and beyond Brussels with Holland. Marlborough and Eugene were thus isolated. They were separated both by road and river from their base, from the homeland, and from all supplies, while they had the greatest siege of modern history on their hands, and when any slackening in their attack meant almost certain failure. From this time forward the siege of Lille became a desperate operation.

Only one resource lay open. Marlborough’s eyes turned to the sea-coast. The fortress and harbour of Ostend were in his hands. The road, often a causeway amid the canals, streams, and inundations of the coastal region, ran through Thourout, Roulers, and Menin to the siege, a distance of less than fifty miles. But on either side of this life-line lay the hostile fortresses of Ypres, Nieuport, and Bruges.^[553] From Nieuport the French controlled the sluices of the Yser, and could flood a large and indefinite area. The road from the coast was now alone left to the besiegers of Lille, and the French gathered heavy forces on both sides of Ostend, but especially from the north, to attack the convoys. Possessing the command of the sea, Marlborough had directed large supplies of munitions upon Ostend. On September 21 General Erle with his six thousand British infantry was brought under a strong escort of the fleet from the Channel into Ostend. Marlborough sent a trusted officer to him with full instructions,^[554] and set him to work to prepare a heavy convoy.

Meanwhile the siege and bombardments proceeded with all possible vigour in the teeth of an obstinate defence. Eugene prepared for another major assault on the St Andrew and St Magdalen sectors. This was delivered on the evening of the 21st by about fifteen thousand men. At first good progress was made, and it seemed that the grand breach would be carried. But a violent sortie from the city robbed the assailants of most of their gains. In this savage night they lost at least a thousand men. Among the wounded was Eugene. With Hesse-Cassel at his side, he conducted the attack at close quarters. Seeing the grenadiers repulsed, he advanced into the deadly fire to rally and animate his troops. He was soon struck by a musket-ball which grazed his forehead above his left eye. The force of the blow was broken by his cocked hat, which was “beat off” his head.^[555] Hesse-Cassel gave him his own hat, already pierced by a bullet. Eugene, according to his usual habit when receiving a wound, made light of his injury and insisted upon remaining in action. But as it was apparent that he was half stunned and dazed his officers prevailed upon him to withdraw. He was led or carried to his headquarters while the struggle at the breaches was at its height. Although his injury was bloodless, he was suffering from severe concussion of the brain. It was clear to all about him that he would be incapacitated for some time. This serious news was carried to Marlborough during the night. Early the next morning the Duke arrived at Eugene’s headquarters. He found his comrade, among an expostulating staff, preparing to go up to the trenches. He was only prevailed upon to return to his couch by Marlborough’s undertaking to conduct the siege himself, as well as to cover it, till he was restored.

From September 21 till the end of the month the double burden was borne by Marlborough. This was a period of incredible strain. The besiegers were in extremities. The batteries were approaching the end of their ammunition. The engineers were scandalously at fault in their estimates. Around Lille all was in arrears and in confusion. A critical and hazardous operation was required to bring the convoy through from Ostend in the face of superior forces and ever-spreading inundations. Riding to and fro between the covering army and the siege, Marlborough effectively “sustained the weight of the command.”^[556] He looked narrowly into the siege-stores and munitions, and was shocked at his discoveries. On the 23rd he renewed the assault on the fortifications. He directed it himself from the trenches, and after hard fighting a substantial improvement was achieved. In these days he reorganized the siege operations like a careful housekeeper. The bombardment and trench-grapple were ceaselessly maintained. Meanwhile Eugene began to throw off his concussion.

The remorseless attack and heavy firing reduced Marshal Boufflers’s magazines to very near the last reserve for the defence of the citadel. A French captain from Burgundy’s army, creeping through the lines,

The letter showed that without more powder the defence of the city must be abandoned. This emergency provoked a dramatic enterprise. The Chevalier de Luxembourg, a Major-General, with about two thousand dragoons, who “besides their arms carried each a fusee and a bag of sixty pounds weight of powder,” set out during the night of the 28th along the Douai road. In order the better to conceal their identity in the darkness they wore green boughs in their helmets, as was often done by the Allies on battle occasions. They arrived at the lines of circumvallation at a point near Pont-à-Tressin held by the Palatine troops. Their officers pretended to be Germans carrying prisoners to the camp. In this war of many nations and all languages spoken indifferently on either side they were suffered by carelessness—other accounts say by corruption—to pass the barrier. Several hundred were already safely over when a subaltern officer, “having some distrust, advanced to examine them.” There was a challenge, an altercation, shouts, shots, and pandemonium. The whole two thousand galloped along the road towards the city. About half got through, the rest turned back in disorder. The road from Douai to Lille was paved with cobbles. Horses slipped: sparks struck out from their hoofs, or fire from the muskets, ignited powder-bags. A succession of loud explosions alarmed the camps and covered the road with scorched fragments of men and horses. About thirty prisoners were taken, but Luxembourg brought into Lille nearly sixty thousand pounds of powder for the fortress batteries. Marlborough’s and other allied accounts minimized this grave annoyance, but it was regarded throughout Europe as a brilliant feat of arms.

During this last week of September the fate of Lille hung in the balance. At several agonized councils the raising of the siege was debated by the allied commanders. Goslinga, as usual, declares that he and his colleagues were for fighting it out, and that Marlborough was in despair. All accounts agree that Eugene, rising from his sickbed, declared “that he would be responsible for the success provided he was supported with ammunition.” But this begged the question. It is certain that Marlborough, who was engaged in the important operation of bringing in the convoy, allowed it to be known that, unless the convoy came through, the siege must be abandoned. Here we must let him speak for himself.

General Erle, whom Marlborough had reinforced at Ostend till he had perhaps seven thousand British infantry and a large number of vehicles and horses, in spite of his gout behaved with zeal and skill. He succeeded in draining a large part of the inundation between Nieuport and Ostend. He occupied Leffinghe, and there built a bridge over the canal. Communication was thus for the moment restored with the main army. Marlborough had sent twelve battalions and as many squadrons towards Leffinghe to receive the convoy. But now Vendôme ordered La Motte to advance southward from Bruges with no fewer than twenty-two thousand men, a small army, and seize the prize. Marlborough had early information of this movement, though he underrated its strength. On the 25th he sent twelve more battalions and some horse to reinforce the convoy guard. The command of these troops was confided to General Webb. We are familiar with this picturesque personage through Thackeray’s malicious pages. Webb was a high Tory, at heart a Jacobite, a man as vain as he was brave, but also a competent and experienced veteran of the long wars. He was now to fight a most brilliant and glorious action, no small part of whose lustre falls upon the British infantry.

Early on the morning of the 28th the precious convoy was trailing along the road from Leffinghe to Thourout when the news came that La Motte, rebuffed by the allied defences at Oudenburg, was advancing at right angles upon it. All French historians have condemned his dispositions. His pathway to strike the convoy led him between two thick woods a thousand yards apart. It is contended that his great numerical superiority—far beyond what Marlborough had expected—should have been used to outflank one or the other of these woods. But La Motte felt that the thickets on the one hand and the Château de Wynendael on the other debarred him from this. Accordingly he advanced between the woods, and about two p.m. found himself confronted by General Webb with twenty-four battalions drawn up in the gap, and, as he was soon to learn, in the woods on either side. He deployed his whole force, line behind line, and after three hours’ cannonade advanced to the assault, being in superior strength of at least two to one. His troops found themselves fired upon not only by the British infantry on their front, but by strong forces hidden on both their flanks. The slaughter was heavy, and for those days unusually swift. His leading lines, largely composed of so-called Spanish infantry—that is to say, Belgian battalions adhering to the French—melted under the fusillade, and the rest refused to renew the battle. Here was a striking instance of the superior fire-discipline which was so marked a feature of Marlborough’s infantry training. Three or four thousand men lay killed or wounded in the narrow space, and none would face the allied line, which stood unbroken and invincible. In the intense fire which preceded this decision Webb himself lost nearly a thousand men. But the repulse of the French was utter. Marlborough, who had come with strong forces of the main army to Roulers, had the day before sent Cadogan with twenty-six squadrons and infantry support to strengthen Webb. Cadogan arrived with a handful of squadrons as the victory declared itself. He offered Webb to charge the defeated French corps. Webb thought the odds were too great, and did not ask this effort of his comrade. Meanwhile the convoy had slipped safely past the point of intersection and was coming within the ambit of Marlborough’s main army. The victory of Wynendael had sealed the fate of Lille.

It had another sequel. The Prince of Hesse-Cassel on the 29th sent the States-General a report explaining the unpleasant incident of Luxembourg’s dragoons carrying the powder into Lille. In a paragraph at the end he added:

Hesse-Cassel lay, of course, on the far side of Lille, and had no personal knowledge of what had happened nearly forty miles away at Wynendael. But, as it chanced, his was the first report that arrived. It was instantly published in Holland and, as soon as it reached England, in the Gazette. Thus the whole credit of the action was officially ascribed to Cadogan, and the name of Webb, the Tory General, was not even mentioned. When the truth was known later on the Tory Party raised a furious outcry. Here was a proven case of Marlborough stealing away the credit from an heroic Tory commander and bestowing it upon his own personal favourite and follower Cadogan. From this in the winter arose a bitter debate in the House of Commons, when all the spite of the Tory Opposition was discharged upon Marlborough’s head. In fact no one can be more easily proved guiltless. His official dispatch to the Secretary of State, written as early as Hesse-Cassel’s casual paragraph, made no reference to Cadogan and did full justice to Webb. Cadogan himself evidently told the tale in a fair and soldierly manner. Marlborough on his report wrote immediately to Webb as follows:

His private letters to Godolphin, as we shall see, were earnestly concerned about Webb’s immediate promotion. Webb himself was eventually satisfied that the Duke had done him no injustice. But the malice of the Tory Party spread the impression of an act of personal meanness jealously perpetrated against a subordinate who was also a political opponent. The Duke, struggling with the siege, only gradually became aware of what had occurred. Meanwhile his own letters clear him from this as from so many other reproaches.

Great if haggard rejoicings saluted the arrival of the new convoy in the camps before Lille. Above two hundred and fifty thousand pounds of powder, with cannon-balls and shells sufficient in those days for a fortnight’s bombardment, had reached the besiegers. Besides this Eugene, now fully recovered, began to appear among the troops, and in the early days of October resumed the conduct of the siege, which was prosecuted night and day. However, a new and even more dangerous attack impended upon the communications. Vendôme, stung by the disgrace of Wynendael, came down on October 3 through Bruges to Oudenburg with thirty thousand men. He reinforced Nieuport and threatened Ostend and Leffinghe. He broke the dykes, opened the sluices in all directions, and “drowned the country.” The French were still capable of moving freely all along the coast across the allied communications, which now seemed finally cut. This mortal challenge was instantly accepted. On the morning of the 7th Marlborough divided his army. He left twenty battalions and as many squadrons to aid Eugene in case of need, and with sixty battalions and 130 squadrons, or about forty-five thousand men, marched at daybreak directly upon Vendôme. At Roulers he learned that Vendôme was still at Oudenburg, and there seemed to be good prospects of pinning him against his own inundations. The expectation of battle ran high. King Augustus hastened from the siege to see the day. In an intercepted letter Vendôme had assured Louis XIV that “he engaged his honour the Allies should have no further communication with Ostend.” Indeed, the Marshal was disposed to stay and fight. This hardihood was not shared by his generals. Finding remonstrance useless, they adopted, according to Berwick, a more compulsive argument. They opened the sluices higher up the coast, and before it was too late flooded him out of his camp. Marlborough, arriving on the field of Wynendael with his vanguard, heard that the French had retreated to Bruges, laying the countryside under water to the utmost extent. He accordingly halted his army at Roulers.

Ostend was now completely isolated by the floods. Another heavy convoy of munitions, brandy, salt, and other necessaries had been transported thither by sea from Holland and England. Eight or ten miles of flood-water, rising with the full-moon tides, stretched between these supplies and the ravening batteries and straitened army before Lille. Hitherto the want of food had not been felt. The forays into France had provided for men and horses. The convoys had been reserved almost entirely for powder and ball. In the third week of October, however, Marlborough was forced to reduce the bread ration by one-third, four days serving for six. He ordered the other two days to be paid in money. “Particular care,” he wrote to Cadogan, “must be taken that the officers pay the two days in money, that the soldiers have less reason to complain.”^[563] He had in the middle of October to push his foraging parties ever more deeply into France around Armentières and La Bassée. Both besiegers and besieged were in dire straits. All hung on the passage of supplies. Marlborough now took possession of the region round Dixmude with strong forces. Erle on one side of the floods collected a flotilla; Cadogan on the other procured high-wheeled vehicles. By these means the powder and shot was ferried across the inundations, drawn through the shallow waters by Cadogan’s high wheels, and finally transferred to Marlborough’s supply wagons. Every day and night small quantities came through. The Duke’s letters record each arrival, and give instructions for drying any bags of powder which were wetted. Thus the cannon and the siege were fed literally by handfuls.

Forthwith there developed an aquatic warfare. The French sent light-draught galleys from Dunkirk to attack the munition boats on their daily journeys. The English brought a number of armed small craft to combat these by day and night. The struggle continued in an archipelago of villages and unsubmerged hillocks. The key to all was Leffinghe, now a strong place, but almost flooded at high tide. The French had begun to attack this post on the 13th. With their galleys they mounted a battery on an island knoll, and maintained a severe bombardment to which there could be no reply. By night they attacked in galleys and flat-bottomed boats. The garrison, twelve hundred strong, defended themselves vigorously for eight days, and on the 24th they were relieved by fresh troops. The French pressure increased continually, and the waters spread. “. . . The enemy,” wrote Marlborough to Sunderland on October 13, “having cut the dykes in other places, the spring-tides threw in so much water, that their galleys and armed boats rowed over the very places where we had posted our men, whereby they have destroyed a great tract of land for many years and prevented our drawing anything more from thence; however we have got over nearly seventeen hundred barrels of powder. . . .”^[564] Thus by many desperate shifts and contrivances the bombardment of Lille was maintained. The siege batteries were now entrenched amid the ruins of the fortifications. “They have mounted nearly fifty pieces of cannon, besides a battery of mortars,” wrote Marlborough, “upon the counterscarp, and hope to begin to fire from them to-morrow.”^[565] This intense fire at close quarters marked a well-known phase. The breaches gaped. Boufflers had already withdrawn most of his cannon into the citadel. The hour of summons and of general storm drew near.

Marshal Overkirk did not live to see success. He died in his headquarters at the siege on the night of October 18. Marlborough’s faithful comrade, the indomitable Dutch veteran, had known since Oudenarde that his end was approaching. He sunned himself in the glory of that victory, to which he had himself given the crowning stroke. We are indebted to Goslinga for a striking picture of the old marshal during his last few weeks.

On the 22nd, all the troops being at their stations for the final assault, which if successful would deprive the garrison of quarter and expose the city to sack, Marshal Boufflers beat a parley and offered to surrender the town. The hostages and courtesies were immediately exchanged. Eugene imposed upon Boufflers the task, difficult and exacting to an accomplished soldier and a man of honour, of fixing himself the terms of capitulation. “Whatever you think right I will agree to.” Boufflers asked for a three days’ truce to withdraw to the citadel, leave to send his movable sick and wounded into Douai, and that the attack upon the citadel should not be directed from the town side. Eugene, sending presents of wine and fresh provisions for the Marshal’s table, subscribed to these conditions without demur. Little was lost by these gestures of chivalry. Every inducement was offered to Boufflers to state his terms for the surrender of the citadel, and when the old Marshal deprecated the raising of such unseasonable questions, Eugene began the opening of his trenches and moving his cannon even before the three days had expired. There was an unpleasant difference of opinion as to whether or not the truce precluded this. Of the garrison of fifteen thousand who had defended the fortress three thousand burghers laid down their arms upon parole, four thousand sick and wounded were carried to Douai, and between four and five thousand men retired to the citadel. The rest had perished. Besides the casualties of Wynendael and upon the communications, the Allies admitted 3632 men killed and 8322 wounded, of whom in those days about half died. The French asserted that they had inflicted more than double this loss. The price of Lille, although less than King William had paid for Namur twenty years before, was regarded as terrible throughout Europe.

While their success was reverberating throughout Europe Marlborough and Eugene were for a space completely cut off from the outside world. The city had no sooner been surrendered than the communications with Ostend were finally closed. The garrison of Leffinghe, who had distinguished themselves by their stout resistance, were relieved on the 24th by an English, Dutch, and Spanish force. The newcomers proceeded forthwith to celebrate the joyous news in such a fashion that both officers and men were surprised drunk and incapable by a French attack during the night of the 24th, many being put to the sword. The gateways to the sea were shut, but luckily too late. The situation of the allied armies was nevertheless still precarious. In every direction lay the French fortified positions and lines. Not only the sea-coast but the entire line of the Scheldt was sealed against them by superior forces. In their midst bristled the citadel of Lille with its ample garrison, its powerful artillery, and sacredly hoarded separate reserves of ammunition. On the other hand, the greatly contracted lines of circumvallation liberated more than half the besieging army for service in the field, and both siege-works and bombardment were upon a far smaller scale.

The fall of Lille wrung further efforts from Louis XIV. He drew reinforcements both from the Rhine and Dauphiné to the Flanders theatre. Grave differences of opinion, aggravated by personal bitterness, distracted the French headquarters in the field. Berwick, without a command, had established his ascendancy over Burgundy. His keen eye and military sagacity detected every fault in Vendôme’s successive projects. That Marshal was throughout very loud for battle. Whether, if he had exercised the sole command, he would in fact have fought is doubtful. But as he knew the bulk of the generals would not agree with him, that Berwick and Burgundy would overrule him, and together had greater influence at Court, he ran little risk in assuming an heroic rôle and forcing every one else to hold the only brave man back. Certain it is that Marlborough wished for nothing better on three or four separate occasions than that Vendôme should have his way. It is difficult, therefore, to believe that Vendôme’s attitude, if sincere, was right.

At any rate, the French command had him well restrained. On November 3 there was a council of war at headquarters. Vendôme, as usual, clamoured for battle. His plan to attack Marlborough was vetoed. He then proposed to hold all the canals and rivers from Nieuport and Bruges through Ghent round to Tournai, in order to reduce the Allies to the alternative of being “starved to death or suing for peace.” He might have added “or fighting.” But the ill-reception of his first proposal warned him of the unwisdom of dwelling on this theme. Chamillart favoured the scheme, but Berwick mercilessly pointed out that the Allies had enough ammunition to reduce the citadel, and that, as for food, they could live far better on the plenty of Artois and Picardy than the French in war-worn Flanders. Berwick advised that serious garrisons should be left in Ghent and Bruges while the whole of the French army concentrated to cover the rich French provinces. The council decided to hold their ground and wait events. The relations of Vendôme and Berwick were now so intolerable that Berwick quietly allowed himself to be withdrawn from the main army to his original command on the Rhine. Thus a fortnight passed during which Eugene battered and bored into the citadel of Lille.

In the third week of November the Elector of Bavaria returned from the Rhine, where the armies had gone into winter quarters, and joined the princely circle at the French headquarters at Saulchoi. He had no command, but he had a plan. A renewed attack should be made upon Brussels, and he would lead it himself. The inhabitants, he declared, were his devoted subjects, and would rally to his call. The garrison was thought to be meagre, and the defences were certainly weak and defective. With a small force drawn from various neighbouring fortresses he would capture the city. The idea caught fire; it prevented other plans. The Elector, at the head of fourteen battalions and eighteen squadrons with a minor siege-train, camped at Hal on November 21, and presented himself before Brussels the next day. Marlborough’s unfailing Secret Service, although he lay surrounded by the French forces, gave him warning of this enterprise almost as soon as it had been conceived. He had already some weeks before reinforced the garrison of Brussels. It now consisted of ten battalions, comprising about six thousand men. He enjoined a spirited resistance upon the governor, Colonel Pascal, an officer of exceptional quality.

At the same time he began one of those elaborate strategic farces which on several notable occasions served him so well. We have an account of this, which has not hitherto seen the daylight, from that aide-de-camp of his, Colonel Molesworth, who had saved his life at Ramillies.

The sanguine hopes which the Elector, Max Emmanuel, had nourished about Brussels proved ill-founded. He summoned Colonel Pascal in imperious terms to surrender. “His Electoral Highness knows that the commandant is not in a condition to defend himself with the few troops he has; wherefore if he obliges his Electoral Highness to begin the attack, he should not know capitulation for himself or his garrison. Let not the commandant flatter himself that he can retire with his garrison to Antwerp if he delays to surrender; for he is to know that he will soon find troops posted to hinder his retreat.” But the governor replied with some spirit, “The commandant of Brussels is very unfortunate in not having the honour of knowing Your Electoral Highness. He dares assure you that he will do all that a man of honour ought to do, that he is satisfied with his garrison, and that he has the honour, with profound respect, to be, Monseigneur, Your Electoral Highness’s most humble servant.”^[573]

Colonel Pascal proceeded to animate his troops. He ordered a pound of flesh, two quarts of beer, and four glasses of brandy to be distributed every day gratis to each soldier. Thus fortified, the garrison resisted with vigour; and the inhabitants remained mute and motionless. The Elector, instead of making a happy pounce, found himself committed to a grievous assault, if not, indeed, to a regular siege. He clamoured for reinforcements, and, the business having been started, these perforce had to be supplied. Bloody fighting ensued, and for a week the attempt to break into Brussels siege it could not be called—became the feature of the campaign.

Although the French command were reassured by the news they had of Marlborough’s preparations to move into winter quarters, Burgundy harboured misgivings about his own power to defend the line of the Scheldt if heavy forces were brought against him. Vendôme, on the other hand, appeared to be serenely confident, and had the misfortune to assure the King, in a letter dated the 26th, that the French positions were impregnable. The piercing of long lines by selected attacks was familiar to Marlborough and Eugene. Nevertheless, the decision to force the fortifications of the Scheldt defended by the French main army was deemed most serious in the small circle of veteran officers who were privy to it. It was a major operation which might entail heavy slaughter even if all went well. During the 26th Marlborough marched upon the river at three widely separated crossings, Gavre, Oudenarde, and Kerkhoff, while Eugene, leaving only the barest screen before the citadel, moved on Hauterive. The fortified line was seventy miles long, and the four attacks covered twenty miles of front. The principle of Marlborough’s plan is explained by Captain Molesworth.

When on the night of the 26th all the columns found themselves in movement towards the Scheldt a ripple of excitement spread through the hard-bitten Confederate army. We may find some comic relief and also some gleams of contemporary colour in the memoirs of Deputy Goslinga. Indeed, a patient study of his contacts with Marlborough throws a rare light upon these vanished scenes. Goslinga repaired to the Duke’s tent at four in the morning when the throwing of the bridges was already in progress: “I found him in bed weary and ill, as he himself said, but sad and cast down to a far greater extent. He had just taken medicine.” A little later Cadogan arrived, soon followed by Chanclos, the governor of Oudenarde, who was to accompany Count Lottum, the commander of the north column of attack. Chanclos, perfectly acquainted with the ground, would show him where the bridges could be thrown at Gavre. As usual, Goslinga, who thought that “the fate of the army and of the common cause” was at stake, had his plan to save the situation. If Count Lottum got across at Gavre he must not stop there—he must immediately turn southward and cut off the French troops masking Oudenarde. He pressed this development strongly upon the company. The Duke, whose medicine was no doubt working, “listened to him but did not make up his mind.” In order to encourage him Goslinga volunteered to march himself with Lottum’s corps. Cadogan and Chanclos kept up the conversation, while Marlborough maintained an attentive civility. Finally he indicated that the Deputy’s idea must not be neglected; indeed, he would direct six battalions upon Oudenarde in order to profit by Goslinga’s far-flung turning movement. This brought the Duke’s trials to an end, and Goslinga departed, satisfied and thrilled. He was in no mood, so he tells us, to allow the other Dutch Deputies to share the martial honours which he foresaw. “Indeed, in their presence I gave my people orders to put my baggage and my berlin near the baggage column which should follow the princes’ headquarters”; and it was only when Lottum was already some distance on his road that he found himself honoured and refreshed by the arrival of the Deputy.

Amid the mists of morning Lottum’s troops made the passage near Gavre with little or no opposition. But there Lottum halted. Goslinga at once exhorted him to march upon the rear of Oudenarde. The general drew him into a neighbouring house. Here, to his intense disgust, Goslinga discovered the two other Dutch Deputies whom he thought he had shaken off. A long debate ensued. Lottum said he had his orders from the Duke. He was to cross at Gavre and wait at Gavre. Goslinga declared he had it from the Duke’s own mouth that he should hurry on to Oudenarde. Lottum refused to budge. He said politely that the Deputy was right, but he could not depart from his instructions. Goslinga, exasperated, appealed to the other Deputies to give a formal command:

Nothing would shake these obstinate men. Orkney—our dashing Orkney—joined with Count Lottum in pressing Goslinga’s plan, but alas, the other two Deputies would not consent to give the necessary order, and without that they could not depart from their instructions. Then at last did Goslinga begin to realize that he had been fooled. We can see the scene in this cottage room: three or four of the most experienced soldiers in the army, trusted lieutenants in Marlborough’s near circle, and this officious civilian lecturing them on their duty while his two colleagues, sent for that express purpose, paralysed his authority and left him a laughing-stock, or would have done so had his mischief-making powers not inspired a more elaborate procedure. Here, then, thought Goslinga, was another of Marlborough’s tricks to prolong the war and line his pockets by depriving a Dutch Deputy “of an occasion so finely to serve Holland.” It was not till the afternoon, while they were still at loggerheads, that Marlborough’s aide-de-camp came with news that the Scheldt had been forced at all points with very little resistance and that Lottum was to march on Oudenarde.

We have dwelt upon this trifling incident because it illustrates the conditions under which Marlborough and his officers had to toil. The essence of his plan was to make sure at all costs of any bridgehead taken. Lottum led the flank column, and there were important French forces about Ghent. It may well be that with greater latitude Lottum could have done more that morning; but if every column commander had been accorded a similar discretion the clockwork precision of the operation might have been destroyed.

By the afternoon of the 27th the whole French army was chased from the fortifications of the Scheldt. Some fell back on Ghent and the rest on Tournai. The position of the Elector of Bavaria at Brussels became at once forlorn. Saving himself at the loss of all his artillery, and leaving eight hundred wounded behind him, he escaped to Mons. Meanwhile the strong post of Saint-Ghislain, which he had denuded of its garrison for the siege of Brussels, was captured by a raid of the governor of Ath, and many troops and much time and trouble were required to recover it for France. The moment the passage of the river was known to be secured Eugene hastened back to reinforce his scattered cordon around the citadel of Lille. The whole of this swift and fine operation marks the ascendancy which the Allies under Marlborough and Eugene had gained over the still numerically superior French armies. The fate of the citadel was now only a question of days. By this operation Marlborough had not only relieved Brussels, but had reopened the eastern line of supply to the besiegers of Lille and to the country in which his troops must winter. The morale of the French army had suffered a further shock. On December 9 the citadel of Lille capitulated. Boufflers marched out with honours of war, never more justly earned, and with the remnants of his garrison retired into France.

When the news of the loss of the Scheldt, of the failure before Brussels, and of the surrender of the citadel of Lille reached Louis XIV, he was so mortified that he incontinently ordered his armies to abandon the field and disperse into winter quarters. To protract the campaign further into the depth of winter no doubt meant a severe disorganization of all the recruiting and recuperative processes upon which the efficiency of his armies must depend in the new year which scowled upon France. It was believed at Versailles that Ghent and Bruges could stand prolonged sieges, and that the Allies would find it impossible to continue fighting incessantly. They too would have to break up, and by the late spring of 1709 the grim board might be set afresh. But this decision took little account of the forfeits which must be paid when one side ceases fighting and the other continues. Vendôme protested violently. The King remained obdurate. Berwick makes the pithy comment, “It is astounding that the King should have agreed to all the Duke of Vendôme’s extraordinary proposals during the campaign, and should then have persisted in rejecting the only reasonable one he had made.”^[576]

One final, vital stroke was required to complete this glorious, remorseless campaign. The French must be driven from Ghent and Bruges. With a piercing eye Goslinga discerned the obvious. “While we were in this camp [on the Dender] to cover the convoys, I said to the Duke one day that I feared very much that, if the enemy remained in possession of Ghent,” the opening of the next campaign would be impeded. “The Duke listened to what I said with attention; he said that he would ponder over it maturely and asked me to come back the next day to thrash it out anew.”^[577] When on the morrow at eight o’clock the Deputy repaired to the Duke’s quarters, he was received by Cadogan, who seemed very ready to be convinced in favour of the project. Thus fortified, Goslinga pressed the plan upon the Commander-in-Chief as soon as he emerged from his bedroom. If Marlborough was a good general, he was also a consummate actor. Like Cadogan, but more slowly, he yielded his mind gradually to Goslinga’s audacious plan; and finally he adopted it. Goslinga, thrilled, full of having given this important turn to strategy, hurried off to write enthusiastically to The Hague in its support, leaving Marlborough and his Quartermaster-General to exchange smiles and confidences which can readily be imagined. The historian Klopp, who adopts every word of Goslinga as if it were the Bible, writes, “Field-Deputy Goslinga suggested to Marlborough the idea of rounding off the work of this campaign by the recapture of Ghent and Bruges.”^[578] However, the reader will remember that on August 2 Marlborough had written to Godolphin: “If we can succeed in our undertakings we must not think of winter quarters till we have obliged him [Vendôme] to quit that country [Ghent and Bruges].”^[579] And on August 20, “When I wrote you that I must drive the French from Ghent and Bruges I had no other thought than that it was absolutely necessary for the common cause.”^[580] Molesworth, the Duke’s aide-de-camp, writing to his brother (December 3), says:

Having long held these intentions, it was no doubt most agreeable to Marlborough to see the officious Deputy going forward with the plan as if it were his own, and to make him its spontaneous advocate with the Dutch. No doubt it was a help for him to be able to say to the members of the Dutch Government or the States-General, “Goslinga’s plan is sound. We should be culpable if we neglected it.” How right was Goslinga when he described Marlborough as a man of “extreme dissimulation”! How glad must Marlborough have been to find this insufferable pest volunteering to pull the cart forward in the right direction! The incident illustrates Marlborough’s method of using the foibles, the vanities, the virtues, and the vices of those with whom he had to work to further his own designs. He made even enemies work for him and for the victory of the Allies without their knowing it. Let us, then, proceed to Goslinga’s master-stroke, the regaining of Ghent and Bruges.

Within an hour of Boufflers’s surrender at Lille Marlborough began his concentration against Ghent. The French garrison consisted of thirty-four battalions and nineteen squadrons well supplied. The population of eighty thousand dreaded the siege, declared they would observe neutrality, and begged Marlborough not to bombard the city. The Duke could give them no comfort. On the 11th he approached; but in view of the strength of the place and its garrison he decided that Eugene must aid and cover him. Accordingly on December 16-17 Eugene marched north to the neighbourhood of Grammont, and sent his infantry forward to the siege. On the 18th Ghent was invested. The weather was obliging. Hitherto the frost had been intense, but now a sudden thaw without any rain freed the waterways for the barges carrying the siege cannon. On the 24th the trenches were opened; on the 27th Fort Rouge, on the north, was captured, and by this time the batteries were planted. There was no reason why Ghent should not have stood a prolonged siege, but the disheartenment of the French armies produced a surprising collapse. To the indignation of the King, Count de la Motte on the 29th opened negotiations. In his justification before a French court-martial he pleaded that his supreme duty was to preserve his army. Marlborough’s judgment was thus expressed: “I believe Monsieur de Lamotte will not be able to give good reason for what he has done.”^[582] Following La Motte’s example and orders, Grimaldi evacuated Bruges, Plassendael, and Leffinghe. All the French troops withdrew along the coast upon Dunkirk. The very next day the weather broke completely; it poured, and Marlborough dispersed the allied armies to their winter quarters.

A result of the first importance was also achieved in the south. The land campaign in the Peninsula, as, indeed, in Dauphiné, was comparatively uneventful. The new Imperialist commander, Starhemberg, landed with four thousand reinforcements at Barcelona in April, and on the arrival of Stanhope and the English contingent took the field in the following month. The operations centred around the fortress of Tortosa, on the Ebro, now became one of the last Ally strongholds in Eastern Spain. Starhemberg was unable to prevent its fall on July 10. When his main body of some six thousand troops eventually arrived from Italy he attempted, in conjunction with Stanhope, its recapture. This effort miscarried dismally, and with it closed the military operations of the campaign. The armies settled down in winter quarters in almost the same positions as they had occupied at the opening of the year. The French had, however, lost nearly five thousand men in the fighting at Tortosa, and had been seriously weakened by the withdrawal of troops for Flanders after the battle of Oudenarde.

It was, however, at sea that the decisive event took place. The possession of Gibraltar enabled the Allies to prevent the junction of the Brest and Toulon fleets; but up till now heavy ships had been forced to sail to Lisbon every winter to refit. We recall Marlborough’s exhortation to Stanhope, “I conjure you . . . to take Port Mahon.”^[586] Earlier (June 1708) he had written:

The whole plan depended upon naval co-operation. Sir John Leake had succeeded the ill-fated Shovell in January 1708. During the summer he had been active. He had fed the army in the Peninsula, transported the Imperialist reinforcements, had fetched Charles III’s Wolfenbuttel bride, captured the island of Sardinia with its valuable corn supplies (August 1708), and now was free to attack Minorca. For this, however, troops were necessary. Stanhope provided seventeen hundred men, who were embarked at Barcelona. A rendezvous with Leake was arranged off Minorca, and the squadrons met on September 14. To Leake might have fallen the honour of the event. However, with the gale weather approaching he refused to hazard the fleet. Leaving Admiral Whittaker with seventeen ships to aid the land operations, he sailed for England. Stanhope was undaunted. His arrival off the island led to the surrender of the whole place except Port Mahon. This longed-for harbour was defended by the strong Fort Philip, garrisoned by a thousand men. Stanhope landed his troops and guns, and prepared for a regular siege. But on September 30, after a week of reconnoitring, the garrison surrendered to an offer of good terms. With the fall of this main defence the harbour was soon occupied, and thus, at a cost of less than fifty killed and wounded, the English fleet secured their coveted base in the Mediterranean. To Stanhope belongs the credit, and it certainly seems that the admirals were not so forward in the capture of this great naval prize as might have been expected. “I may in confidence,” wrote Stanhope somewhat bitterly to Sunderland, “tell your lordship that I have in all this affair met with ten times more difficulty in dealing with the sea [officers] than with the enemy.”

Henceforward the English fleet had a secure, unapproachable island base in the Mediterranean, and their command of the inland sea became perennial. The importance attached to the possession of Minorca by the soldiers, sailors, and statesmen of all parties in England became a continuing tradition which fifty years later, when the island was lost, explained the pitiless execution of Admiral Byng. To Marlborough in 1708 the capture of Port Mahon was the achievement of a major strategic aim decisive upon the future course of the war.

Thus ended, according to his “heart’s desire,” Marlborough’s grand campaign of 1708. Throughout the supreme command had rested unquestioned in his hands. He often deferred to Eugene’s advice, and the two commanders always presented themselves in full agreement. Marlborough’s decisions, supported by Eugene, were accepted invariably by the councils of war. The noble Prince not only served and aided, but inspired Marlborough in anxious days. But the responsibility and authority rested with the Duke, and five-sixths of the troops in the field were under his own command. Success was joyously shared between the two, but failure would have fallen upon Marlborough alone. Constantly ailing in health, reduced once to despair, gnawed by his political anxieties at home, harassed by every kind of pressure and appeal from Godolphin, Sarah, and the Whig leaders, conscious of his waning favour with the Queen, pursued by the inveterate malice of the Tory Party, he nevertheless continuously took great risks, and wished to take more.

The answer to the innumerable criticisms passed upon his operations must be their complete success. While always audacious, in every case he made the most careful plans based upon wonderfully accurate information. He had studied attentively the character of his chief opponent, Vendôme. He realized quickly the divergence of view among the French commanders, and played upon it. From the battle of Oudenarde onward he was sure that the morale of the French army was broken. Weighing all these factors and making his plans, he did not allow himself to be distracted by the closing of his communications or converging superior forces. He was unaffected by the terrible appearance of the war-map. Although baulked in his design of marching into France, he contrived to produce outstanding success by a second alternative. He persevered, undaunted by hazards, unsatisfied by victory, until every antagonist and almost every adherent was worn down by physical and mental strain, and he was left unchallenged master of the whole theatre of war. “I think,” he wrote to Sarah on December 10, “we may say without vanity that France will with terror remember this campaign for a long time.”

England had now been raised by Marlborough’s victories to the summit of the world. Many living men could remember the island as a paid dependant of France. The Constitution and the religion of the nation had repeatedly lain under mortal challenge. Only twenty years before, with Ireland in rebellion and Scotland separate and estranged, the English people, led by the aristocracy, had been reduced to the desperate remedy of bringing in a foreign ruler and foreign troops to protect them against betrayal by their own sovereign and invasion by Louis XIV. Even after the wars of William III, as it seemed but yesterday, the nation, disarmed by an insensate economy, had quaked to see the Grand Monarch occupying without the firing of a shot all the fortresses of the Spanish Netherlands, and adding, apparently without opposition, the mighty empire of Spain and the Indies to the already paramount and overweening power of France. Protestantism and Parliamentary institutions crouched behind the dykes of Holland or stood ill-guarded and downcast beyond the Strait of Dover. The discordant petty states of Germany could make no headway against the gleaming arms and all-embracing diplomacy of France. Not only European hegemony, but even the dominion of the whole world seemed about to fall to a glorified, triumphant, Catholic ruler, as intolerant as he was cultured, as cruel and ambitious as he was strong, and sole autocrat of twenty million Frenchmen.

One man and three battles had transformed all. The Grand Monarch was beaten to his knees. His armies would no longer face in the open field the men who had conquered at Blenheim, Ramillies, and Oudenarde, or the Commander who led them. The whole of the Netherlands, all their fortresses, had been regained, and now stood as the barrier of salvation for world causes dear to Dutch and English hearts. The three parts of the British Isles were united under one Queen and one Parliament. The French fleets had been driven from the seas. The Mediterranean had become an English lake. The treasures of the ocean, the wonders of the New World, seemed to be the appointed inheritance of the islanders.

An intense desire to take part in these splendid events inspired the nobility, the country gentlemen, and even the city merchants. There was a galaxy of talent at the disposal of the Crown. Not merely profit, though profit there was in plenty, but even more fame and the chance to attempt great deeds, allured with their magnetic spell ability and rank. Eloquence in Parliament, valour in the field or afloat, wealth, broad acres, ancient lineage, bore the eager competitors to the arena. Political intrigue, party faction, royal favour, prescribed the conditions of their strife for power. The Continent laboured to understand the English political system. The eyes of Europe were fixed upon the Court of Queen Anne. Every word, every whisper, every gesture, every combination or counter-combination of the leading figures of British public life, were eagerly reported. Above all, the minutest indications of the Queen’s mood and leanings were reported far and wide. The persons she saw, the bishops she made, the honours she bestowed, the jewels she chose to wear, the bedchamber women who presented them to her—all these were scrutinized by rulers of a score of states with as much attention as was paid to the march of a substantial corps from one theatre to another.

We have seen by what narrow margins, against what adverse chances, the Grand Alliance had three times been rescued by Marlborough’s war and policy from ignominious collapse. The external difficulties were now virtually at an end. With Eugene at his side, his military command was undisputed. The princes and sovereigns of the Grand Alliance had in general yielded themselves to his leadership. From The Hague, from Hanover, from Berlin, from Vienna, from Turin, from Barcelona, all roads led to his tent. The Russian excursion of Charles XII had removed that formidable irrelevancy from the scene. To dictate terms of peace to France, either upon her frontiers or in Paris itself, seemed a prospect near and sure. But now a new and fatal burden was bound upon those shoulders which had borne so much. The Queen’s heart, it was said, was changing. The Captain-General and his wife were losing—nay, had lost—the favour they had used to such effect. The Tories, the peace party, the Jacobite party, were gaining in royal favour. Henceforth the Court of Louis XIV pondered the question, If reasonable peace is denied, can France hold out till Marlborough falls? Thus every scrap of gossip about Queen Anne, about her relations with Sarah and Abigail, about Mr Harley and the back stairs, about Whig obtrusiveness and Godolphin’s helplessness, exercised its influence both upon the conduct of the war and every peace negotiation. Queen Anne was the axis upon which the fate of Europe turned: and Queen Anne had now become her own worst enemy.

As the meeting of Parliament approached the Whigs professed themselves highly discontented with the exertions which Godolphin, Marlborough, and even Sarah—who had broken herself in their interests—had made to bring them into office. Sunderland was deputed to inform the Duchess that unless Lord Somers received promotion, and unless Law Officers more agreeable to their party were appointed, they would withdraw their support. Sarah passed this on to Marlborough, besieging Lille, and did her best herself. When it was seen that she no longer had any influence with the Queen some of the Whig lords even stooped to make their court, with poor success, to Abigail. They realized that Marlborough alone still possessed exploitable credit with the Queen. They therefore sought to spur him to their service by renewing the attack upon his brother, which had been called off at the beginning of the year. Whether or not Admiral Churchill was vulnerable in his financial record, or in his naval administration, he was certainly obnoxious to them as a politician. The Admiral had during the year stimulated the Toryism of his chief, Prince George of Denmark, and given full vent to his own. He had embarrassed Godolphin and Marlborough by circulating the report that the Duke had given a regiment to a certain Colonel Jones at the instigation of Harley. He had cited the Secretary-at-War, Walpole, as his authority for this. Much mischief was made thereby. He meddled besides in the intrigues about Oxford patronage. Sarah became deeply incensed against him. In vehement letters she importuned her husband to free himself of a brother who had become an encumbrance. For a long time Marlborough resisted. He was attached to his brother George, through whom he controlled naval strategy. He yielded only to the arguments of Godolphin.

It was not till October that Marlborough was finally convinced that his brother must go. Then he wrote him a truly devastating letter.

Both Marlborough and Godolphin hoped that the sacrifice of the Admiral would placate the Whigs and spare the Queen the distress of a Parliamentary attack upon George of Denmark. All through this summer the Prince had lain grievously ill in the little house the Queen had occupied at Windsor. Here she and Abigail nursed him with every care. The poor Prince “had his astma, a spitting of blood, a lethargic, a hidropsie and something of a palsie.”^[592] The summer of 1708 was hot, and the Prince suffered much in the small house from the weather, from his maladies, and no doubt from the remedies of those days. The house was backed upon the park, and, according to Sarah, gave easy access to Harley, who was frequently admitted by Abigail to the Queen.

Who can wonder at Anne’s hatred of the Whigs, whose cruelty and greed of employment sought to hound her stricken husband out of place and reputation. Her sorrow as a wife, her wrath as Queen, were flames that fed each other. Heedless of this, and, indeed, of every decency, but strong in their sense of constitutional injustice, the Whig lords expanded their claims. Nothing would now content them but the removal of the Prince, the transference of Lord Pembroke to the Admiralty, the distribution of Pembroke’s existing offices to Somers and Wharton. Sunderland collected the Junto leaders at Althorp in October to concert their demands. In the Lords Haversham excelled himself: “Your disasters at sea have been so many a man scarce knows where to begin. Your ships have been taken by your enemies, as the Dutch have your herrings by shoals, upon your own coasts; nay, these are pregnant misfortunes, and big with innumerable mischiefs.” The Whigs believed this was their only way. They struck at Marlborough through his brother and at the Queen through her husband. Their calculations were proved correct, their methods efficacious. To spare her husband’s last days from pitiless public attack, Anne flung the hungry Whigs their offices. What she would not give to Marlborough’s wise and loyal counsel, to Godolphin’s entreaties, and to the obvious facts of the Parliamentary situation, she yielded to this peculiarly mean form of personal pressure. “The Queen,” wrote Godolphin to Marlborough on the day Anne surrendered (October 22/November 2),

The Junto were indignant to find that after the promise had been extorted its fulfilment was delayed. On October 28 they learned the cause. Death had discharged the Lord High Admiral from his office. “. . . Nature,” wrote Godolphin,

The crisis had, however, passed. The Whigs obtained their posts. The office of Lord High Admiral was put into commission under Pembroke. Wharton, from whom Anne had once so summarily demanded his staff on account of his evil character, went to Ireland as her Lord-Lieutenant; and Somers became Lord President. Thus in the teeth of the Queen, somewhat to the concern of the country, but in accord with the will of the House of Commons, a characteristically Whig party Administration was installed in power. The events of the next four years were to make this expedient the rule for the future. A memorable milestone in British constitutional history had been passed.

Admiral Churchill’s appointment lapsed with the death of the Prince. “He continues in town,” wrote one of Harley’s correspondents, “till the funeral is over, and then retires to Windsor with the intention not to appear this winter in Parliament.”^[595] Indeed, he never appeared in Parliament again. He retired to a villa which he had built himself at Windsor, and amused himself for the remaining eighteen months of his life with a remarkable aviary, which he bequeathed to the Duke of Ormonde and the Earl of Torrington. He does not seem to have amassed a large fortune; but he was able to leave twelve thousand pounds to his natural son, and the like sum to his nephew Brigadier Godfrey.^[596] He had been the mainspring of the Admiralty for seven war-time years, when the British fleets were stronger than all other navies combined, and when they were used more whole-heartedly in support of the main strategy than at any other period in our naval history.

Neither Sarah nor, indeed, the doctors had realized how rapid Prince George of Denmark’s end would be, but when she heard that his condition had become critical she wrote:

This letter grates upon the ear, and it is not surprising that when the next day Sarah, who had driven all night from Windsor, presented herself at Kensington, she was, as she records, received “very coolly, and like a stranger,” by the afflicted Queen. She returned, however, the next day and was present at the moment of the Prince’s death. Archdeacon Coxe, writing for the England of 1820, says:

Such rigmarole probably does justice to what occurred. Sarah was in a false position. She would have been universally condemned if she had abandoned her mistress and former beloved friend in her grief; yet her presence could only be an intrusion. One person alone in the whole world could be of any comfort to Anne. It was to Abigail she turned. She suffered herself to be led and advised by Sarah, whose duty it was; but she only wanted Abigail. Sarah directed affairs with her customary precision. The Queen must leave Kensington for St James’s in order that the funeral arrangements should be made. Anne, reluctant to quit her husband’s body, resisted feebly for a while and then submitted. The Duchess, putting aside the Queen’s requests for Abigail by saying, “Your Majesty may send for her at St James’s, when and how you please,” conducted her in her own coach to that palace.

No fault can be found with Sarah’s behaviour on this difficult occasion. It was correct, capable, and considerate; but on neither side was there a spark of loving companionship. All that was dead. Even its afterglow ended with the breath of the poor Prince. He had always been a good friend to Sarah and a staunch admirer of the Duke. Now he too was gone. Sarah in her memoirs wrote of her relations with the Queen in the succeeding weeks:

Sarah’s behaviour would lie under no reproach but for her subsequent writings upon these events. She thought fit to record that the Queen, in spite of her grief, “ate a very good dinner” on the day of her husband’s death. When Anne took the habit of sitting alone for long hours in her husband’s little workroom at St James’s Palace, she made a reflection which does only herself discredit. “But the true reason of her Majesty choosing this closet to sit in was that the backstairs belonging to it came from Mrs Masham’s lodgings, who by that means could secretly bring to her whom she pleased.”^[600] These aspersions, uninspiring as thoughts, unpleasant as statements, recoil upon their author when contrasted with one of Anne’s scribbled notes to Sarah:

When Archdeacon Coxe says of this that it “marks the Queen’s minute attention to all the details of the interment” he also seems to fall below the level of feelings which simple folk understand.

Low, low lay the Tories in the trough of misfortune after Harley’s fall. Harley’s ordeal, until Greg’s dying breath had exonerated him, had been shattering. That at least was over; but he had quitted office and the Court to find his party split into at least three sections, each abusing the other, and all laying the blame of their plight upon him. The Jacobite attempted invasion ruined Tory prospects at the polls. Mauled and diminished, they awaited the meeting of a Parliament where, for the first time during the reign, the Whigs would be masters. St John, seatless, buried himself in the country. Harley was returned; but to a scene how changed! For nearly a decade he had practically led the House of Commons, either from the Speaker’s Chair or as Secretary of State. All that time he had been its principal figure. Now, stripped of his official trappings, without a majority to support or even a party to cheer him, and lacking the power of dramatic and eloquent speech by which an individual position can be maintained, his prospects seemed at first forlorn.

But Harley’s political knowledge taught him that a healing process would soon begin in the Tory Opposition. Common misfortunes would beget a common partisanship. He felt sure the party would come back to him. He knew its great strength if united. Meanwhile, as was notorious—and notorious to his advantage—he was, through Abigail, in the closest contact with the Queen. Abigail signalled her loyalties and information in her own cryptic way.

Apart from his hopes in Court intrigues and party strife, Harley might at any time receive a valuable windfall from abroad. Oudenarde, indeed, had been a heavy blow, setting the town agog again with Marlborough’s fame. But as the autumn advanced it seemed almost impossible, if one took a map and studied the positions of the armies and Marlborough’s communications, to believe that he could capture Lille. Expert military opinion was predominantly adverse throughout Europe. Marlborough as he now stood with the Queen was in no condition to sustain so grievous a reverse as the abandonment of the siege. There were always, besides, the personal dangers of the trenches and the field.

Harley, out of office, still preserved his group of correspondents. One such, Erasmus Lewis, a Cambridge man with diplomatic experience, Harley’s private secretary in 1704, made a series of reports to his chief which reveal only too clearly their common point of view. “The business of our little world,” he wrote to Harley (September 28), “stands still in expectation of the great event in Flanders, and till that be decided all things are in suspense. . .”^[604]

Refreshed by these streams of malicious gossip, flowing in perfect detachment from national interest, Harley and the leaders of the Tory Opposition watched the heartshaking drama of the famous siege run its course, and awaited with equal eagerness bad news from the front and the meeting of Parliament. As this approached, St John from his country retreat gave signs of life and recovery.

Harley needed no prompting where Bromley was concerned. For some weeks he had held his written pledge. “I can now assure you,” Bromley had written (September 18), “of my own very sincere disposition to enter into measures with you and the gentleman you mention, for serving our common interest, and that I verily believe you will find the like in others.”^[609]

Thus, while the Queen and Abigail had been holding the fort against the Whigs and obdurately resisting the advice of her two great counsellors, Harley quietly and deftly rallied the Tories. The spectacle which greeted the new Parliament of a purely party Whig Administration monopolizing all the important offices, though certainly not the favour of the Crown, was all that was necessary to unite the “gentlemen of England” into a solid opposition. To whom could they look but Harley, who had suffered for resisting Whig pretensions, and whose relations with the Queen gave him the key to the spacious patronage of any new Administration?

The intense constitutional struggle recorded in the letters between the Queen and Marlborough had proceeded unknown to Parliament or the nation. It was fought out sternly in secret. To the outer world the Constitution seemed to work with perfect smoothness. The Queen was seen to extend her gracious favour increasingly to those statesmen who had the greatest influence with the new Parliament. The new Parliament extolled its happy relations with the Crown; and the Commons voted ever larger supplies for the prosecution of the war, even before the campaign of 1708 reached its long-drawn, glorious conclusion. Such was the world parade. But underneath how strangely different! The victorious General broken and begging to retire; the faithful Treasurer a blackmailed agent of the Junto; the world-revered Sovereign working by the backstairs with the publicly discredited leader of the Opposition against the Parliament which sustained her throne and the great Ministers who had made it safe and almost all-powerful!

We have now reached the culmination of the eighteenth-century world war, and also of this story. The foundations of Marlborough’s authority in England had been destroyed, and the national and European cause which he served was triumphant. His power had gone, but his work was done. We have witnessed a spectacle, so moving for the times in which we live, of a league of twenty-six signatory states successfully resisting and finally overcoming a mighty coherent military despotism. It was a war of the circumference against the centre. When we reflect upon the selfish aims, the jealousies and shortcomings of the Allies, upon their many natural divergent interests, upon the difficulties of procuring common and timely agreement upon any single necessary measure, upon the weariness moral and physical which drags down all prolonged human effort; when we remember that movement was limited to the speed of a marching soldier or a canal barge, and communication or correspondence to that of a coach, or at the best of a horseman, we cannot regard it as strange that Louis XIV should so long have sustained his motto, “Nec pluribus impar.” Lying in his central station with complete control of the greatest nation of the world in one of its most remarkable ebullitions, with the power to plan far in advance, to strike now in this quarter, now in that, and above all with the certainty of implicit obedience, it is little wonder how well and how long he fought. The marvel is that any force could have been found in that unequipped civilization of Europe to withstand, still less to subdue him. In Marlborough the ramshackle coalition had found, if not its soul, its means of effective expression, its organic unity, and its supreme sword. Thus the circle of quaking states and peoples, who had almost resigned themselves to an inevitable overlordship became a ring of fire and steel, which in its contraction wore down and strangled their terrible foe.

This result had in fact been achieved. Behind the lines of the French armies, beneath the glitter of Versailles, all was exhausted, all lay in ruin. The Grand Monarch still stood magnificent at bay; but his heart was broken. When he looked out upon his wasted realm, upon the depleted manhood of France, upon his pillaged treasury and half-tilled fields, upon his cowed armies and sunken fleet, despair and remorse swelled upon him in a dark flood, and peace at any price became his dearest, all-compelling wish.

Marlborough, Heinsius, Eugene, the Triumvirate of executive action, could not as yet see the dust and ashes which lay behind the fortresses, the rivers, and the mountain-chains of the French front. They saw that front was still unbroken; they were sure it was crumbling. One more campaign, one effort stronger than any yet made, and the prize of their long toils would be won. This was their conviction at the fall of Ghent and Bruges. They could not foresee the crowning calamity of the great frost which was to fall on France in the winter of 1708. Neither, on the other hand, were they or any of their generation conscious of the new strength which the French people could supply if a war of monarchical aggrandizement should be transformed into a war of national survival. They all three underrated both the present prostration and the latent final resources of France. None of these facts presented themselves to the breathless actors in this struggle in the clear light, shape, and proportion in which we now see them. They could not tell how soon or with what exertions they were going to win. But that they were winning, and had only to hold together and drive on, was their absolute conviction.

But when they looked behind them to their own countries they saw themselves at the last gasp. The Empire, including Austria and all Germany, could not put forty thousand men in the field, apart from the troops paid for by the Sea Powers. The Dutch were worn to the bone by the endless struggles of the Republic. Their Barrier was in their hands to take and hold. They longed for peace. All future war-effort depended upon Marlborough and England, and from this moment Marlborough and England were no longer one.

The Captain-General and the Lord Treasurer, Marlborough and Godolphin, had spent upon the seven campaigns all their political capital. The Queen was estranged. Instead of being their strength, she was henceforth their bane. Sarah and Godolphin were her aversion, Marlborough a splendid but oppressive fact. The Tories, banished from power, united by misfortune, nursed revenge. The Whigs had arrived. They had forced their way into what the Queen regarded as her own apartments. They had gained control of all the great offices and assets of State, including the services of Marlborough. They had the majorities of the Lords and Commons at their backs. They cared nothing for Sarah and Godolphin; for these were blunted tools which could be thrown aside. They knew they owed nothing to Marlborough. He constantly vowed that he would align himself with no party. In so far as he had used his influence in their behalf upon the Queen it had been in vain. He had not only had no part in their success, but had even been grievously offended by the actual methods by which they had succeeded in gaining their ends. They recognized him as their greatest possession. They were sure he was in their hands, or at least that without them his power was at an end. He knew this too. He was inflexibly resolved not to play the game of any party. From the bottom of his heart, and with forty years’ experience in court, camp, and council, he despised both Whigs and Tories with a cordiality which history has readily understood. Henceforward he regarded himself not as a leader, but as a functionary. He would serve the Government as a soldier or as a diplomatist. He would not be answerable for their relations with the Queen or with Parliament. He would lead such armies as they provided, and negotiate such treaties as they prescribed. In this humbler guise he might still procure the means to fight the final campaign and march to Paris.

I. MANUSCRIPT SOURCES

II. PRINTED SOURCES

III. REPORTS OF THE HISTORICAL MANUSCRIPTS COMMISSION

IV. PRINCIPAL WORKS ON JOHN, DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH, AND SARAH, DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH

V. SECONDARY AUTHORITIES

VI. ARTICLES

Abbeville, M.’s plan to seize, 450, 453, 454, 456;
  delay of attempt on, till Lille is won, M.’s letters on, 458
Act of Security, the, effect of, in Scotland, 35
Act of Settlement, the, Anne’s dream despite, 469
Act of Union, the, difficulties concerning, 216;
  M.’s support of, 216, 217;
  passage of, 217
Adige, the, fortifications along, 182, 184;
  holding of, by Vendôme, 182;
  line of, Eugene’s passage of, 187
Admiralty, the, rumours of graft at, 335
Ailesbury, Thomas Bruce, second Earl of, desire of, to go home, why ungranted by M., 43;
  intimate picture of M. given by, in 1703, 43 et seq.
Ailesbury, Countess of, 43, 44
Aire, fortress of, 157
Alayda, Don Juan de, flight of, 262
Albemarle, Arnold Joost van Keppel, first Earl of, and his wife, dinners with, 43, 45;
  rearguard march of, 399;
  munitions convoy brought by, 499
Albergotti, Chevalier d’, moves of, 388, 393
Alberoni, Cardinal, on the hour when Vendôme realized the allied crossing of the Scheldt, 409, 410
Alcantara, capture of, 173
Alcira, Galway’s retreat to, 261
Alègre, Lieutenant-General Marquis d’, negotiations conducted by, details of, and reception of, by M., 69 et seq.;
  letter to, from M. marking the extinguishing of his mission, 77;
  terms offered by, to Bavaria, reversal of, by M., 167
Alessandria, 190, 193;
  garrison of, reinforced, 195
Allied and German headquarters in the Great War, plain living at, 443-444
Almanza, Berwick’s victory at, 259-260, 273, 275, 277, 310, 359;
  Galway’s account of, 262-263;
  tactics of, M.’s opinion of, 265;
  exploitation of, Berwick called off from, 287;
  the Dutch chilled by, 298;
  Peterborough’s position as to, 306;
  Whig desire to avenge locally, 339;
  debates on, 348;
  scene over, in the Commons, 357
Almelo, Baron d’ (later Count Rechteren), Dutch envoy at Frankfort, M.’s meeting with, 39, 46, 438
Almenara, 177;
  battle of, Stanhope’s feat at, 340
Alost, M.’s troops at, 196;
  French forces at, 390;
  French advance from, 406
Alsace, the French in, 139;
  French troops from, 144;
  the Margrave driven out of, 270
Altranstädt, Charles XII at, 247;
  M. at, on a mission to him, 250;
  Peterborough’s meeting at, with Charles XII, 305
Altranstädt, Treaty of, 247, 248
Amsterdam, burghers of, eager for peace, 380
Anderlecht, allied camp at, 391
Anhalt-Dessau, Prince of, 49
Anne, Queen, relations of, with M., 20-21, 380, 463 et seq., their correspondence an epitome of English history, 464;
  estrangement of, from him, and its effect on the war, 240 (see also Letters, below, and under Marlborough);
  relations of, with the Whigs, 21 et seq., 73, 227, 331, 542 et seq.;
  relations of, with Duchess of M. and how destroyed, 26, 29-30, 90, 221, 222, 317 et seq., 476, 546, 547;
  the final rupture, 236, 463;
  on Duchess of M.’s Whig propaganda, 28;
  relations of, with Harley, 32, 33, 237, 311, 350, 355;
  her appeal to him for help, 312 and n.;
  her one flirtation, 21;
  and the Church of England, 23, 25, 469;
  lampoon on, 23;
  and Vienna mission of Sunderland, 27;
  and Lord Keepership, 28-29;
  points in which supported by Parliament, 31;
  rooted objection of, to visits from her Hanoverian relatives, 33, 35, 52-53, 468, 469, 470-471;
  present ‘incognito’ in Parliament, 34, 35, 343;
  feelings of, as to Pretender, 35, 442, 469;
  the Regency Bill welcomed by, 35;
  M. allowed by, to become an Imperial sovereign Prince, 47;
  pledges to Prussia made in her name by M., 51;
  permission of, for a landing in Catalonia, 59;
  steady support of, to Victor Amadeus, 64;
  Spanish honours paid to, 67;
  commission granted by, to M. for his Italian campaign, 83 and n.;
  plea to, for Stephens by Duchess of M. reluctantly acceded to, 91-92;
  place where news of Blenheim was brought to, 120 n.;
  M.’s dutiful messages to, after Ramillies, 135, 136;
  public thanksgiving by, suggested and held, 137, 142;
  M.’s gratitude to, 146;
  no claims made by, after Ramillies, 155;
  proposed exclusion of, from signing powers of States-General, 159;
  and M.’s Viceroyship, 162, 163;
  willing to enter into peace negotiations with Louis XIV, 169;
  and Cadogan, 200, 201;
  and her Ministers, 214, 215;
  relations of, with Godolphin, 216, 218, 222, 226, 236, 311, 315, 352, 371, 463, 473, 479, 482, 555;
  and the Act of Union, 217;
  objection of, to Sunderland’s appointment, 219;
  a compromise proposed by, 227-228;
  resentment of, at appointment, and efforts at vindication of her royal authority, 311 et seq.;
  wrath of, over an ill-written word in the Duchess of M.’s letter, 221, 222;
  rising eminence of, 225-226;
  resolves of, for a national Administration, 235;
  Queen’s Speech of, in December 1706, 238;
  Addresses in reply and large vote for Supply, 239;
  allowances promised by, to Swedish Ministers, 255 n.;
  sanction given by, to Palmes’ appointment at Toulon, 281;
  orders of, concerning prisoners of war, 298, 299;
  appreciation by, of M., 312, 318;
  and appointments of bishops, 315-316;
  and Abigail Hill, 316, 318 et seq., 356, 543, 546 et seq. (see also Masham, Mrs);
  M.’s advice to Godolphin on dealing with, 325-326;
  attack on the Admiralty resented by, 336;
  Queen’s Speech of, in 1707, long delay in acknowledging, 338, 345;
  and discourtesy of the Lords over this, 338;
  sole loyalty of, in 1707, 338;
  and proposed Hague Conference, 347;
  loneliness of, 353, 356;
  and resignations of M. and of Godolphin, 354-355;
  revenge planned by, 358;
  Jacobite wish to dethrone, 359;
  aid of, to Bank of England, 363;
  on her obligations to her defenders against the Scottish raid, 364;
  distress of, over Whig victory in 1708, 369 et seq.;
  disregard by, of M.’s lack of reserve in 1708, 380;
  asked to let troops for “descent” go to Ostend, and M.’s hopes of her refusal, 399, 400;
  and M.’s hopes that she will make use of victory of Oudenarde, 434, 467-468;
  interventions of, hampering the war and affecting the peace, 464;
  reasons of, for assuming the crown, 469;
  and public thanksgiving after Oudenarde, the contretemps at, with the Duchess of M., and its outcome, 475 et seq.;
  powers lurking behind, 478;
  and the Ministerial plate, 487;
  eyes of Europe fixed on, 539;
  aversion of, for Byng, 542;
  backstairs politics of, 553;
  mentioned, 77, 142, 153, 156, 161, 177, 180, 204, 282, 344, 345, 352, 434, 540
  Character and characteristics:
    obstinacy and patience, 30;
    tenacity and will-power, 219, 224, 353, 358
  Letters from:
    to Charles XII, 252;
    to the Duchess of Marlborough: showing change in her feeling as to the Whigs, 34;
    on the miswritten word, 222-223;
    on the Sunderland appointment, 222-223;
    on her friendship for Abigail Hill, 316-317;
    in defence of Abigail Hill, 319-320;
    on M.’s credit with her, and a request for silence as to Mrs Masham, 477-478;
    in resentment at the Duchess’s rudeness to her at St Paul’s, 477;
    about her husband’s funeral, 547;
    to her father, before assuming the crown and the reply, 468, 469;
    to Joseph I, requesting that Eugene should be sent to Spain, 342;
    betrayed by Greg, 349;
    to M.: on the post of Lord Keeper, 28;
    on royal marriage and discouraging any bringing of the house of Hanover into England, 52-53;
    of congratulations on Ramillies, 141;
    on the Sunderland appointment, 229-230;
    on Whig desires to have Somers in the Cabinet, 365-366;
    on conditions for peace negotiations, 367;
    complaining of Sunderland, 370;
    on his wish to retire, on her esteem for Godolphin and the bugbear of parties, 371;
    congratulating him after Oudenarde, 466;
    on his phrase “if she will make use of it,” 468;
    in reply to his advice about resentments and on the Whig intrigue, 470;
    in defence of her actions in 1708, 473-474;
    on his retiring, 479;
    on Godolphin’s wish to retire, on her position at the moment, and on Whig claims to all public offices, 480-481
  Letters to:
    from Charles III of Spain, on Peterborough at Barcelona, 64;
    from Godolphin, on his difficulties in 1706, 226;
    from M.: on supporting the Lord Treasurer, 25;
    begging her to consent to Sunderland’s appointment, 234-235;
    on his being forced to leave her service, 354;
    urging her to accept Somers, 366, 367;
    on probability of having to fight a battle, 379;
    after Oudenarde, with thanks for congratulations and advice to give up resentments, 467;
    sent by Webb, 518;
    from the Duchess of M., enclosing one from M., 233-234;
    on illness of George of Denmark, 545-546
Anti-Jacobite legislation in 1708, 361
Anti-Jacobite Tories, nicknames of, 26
Antibes, 282
Antwerp, 521;
  isolation and siege of, planned by M., 132, 137, 138;
  fortress of, capitulation of, without fighting, 145, 146, 148, 157, 213;
  French aim at, 382;
  plot to surrender, foiled by M., 388;
  garrison of, strengthened by M., 460;
  forces from, sent to Brussels, 522
Aragon, 263;
  Tessé removed into, 79
Ardennes, the, Berwick’s forced marches through, 446
Argyll, John Campbell, second Duke of, his regiment, sent against the Jacobite raid, 362 and n.;
  at the battle of Oudenarde, 411, 418-419, 420
Armentières, Vendôme at, 201;
  occupation of, by M., 455, 456;
  M.’s foraging near, 514-515
Arquennes, 302
Arras, suburbs of, burning of, by M., 455
Arsele, allied encampment at, 145
Artois, M.’s severities in, 455, 459
Assche, M.’s march to, 293, 395, 408
Asti, 193
Ath, fortress of, 157, 304;
  siege of (1706), 201, 202, 203;
  troops from, moved to Oudenarde, 398;
  the munitions convoy via, 460, 461;
  governor of, Saint-Ghislain captured by, 528
Aubach, Count d’, trial of, 45
Aubigni, —— d’, killed at Ramillies, 113
Augustus II of Saxony and Poland, and Frederick I, 51;
  conquered by Charles XII, 247 et seq., 154;
  Charles XII’s hatred of, 249;
  still ruling Elector of Saxony, 256;
  at his headquarters before Lille, 484;
  at Oudenburg, 514
Austerlitz, battle of, 150
Austria, house of, and the monarchy of Spain, 31
Autréglise, allied advance on, 106;
  and Ramillies sector reinforced, 108;
  Orkney’s attack on, why stopped, 120-121, 207;
  Blackadder at, 148
 
Badajos, siege of, 56
Baden, Prince Louis, Margrave of, M.’s hope to conciliate, 39-40;
  injury to his toe, 40, 152;
  M.’s meeting with, in 1706, and intentions concerning, 46;
  M.’s desire for his removal from the Rhine command, why not acceded to, 46, 47;
  on the Rhine, 76;
  driven back by Villars, 86, 87;
  Villars directed against, 95;
  and operations in Alsace, 139;
  letter to, from M. on Ramillies and on his opportunities on the Rhine, 141;
  the Schellenberg success ascribed to, 150;
  and the Lines of Stollhofen, 270-271;
  death of, 152;
  letter from, to M., 212-213;
  mentioned, 74, 87, 95
Badia, the Adige near, crossed by Eugene, 187
Baker, Admiral John, 361, 362
Bank of England, the, a run on, how met, 363
Barcelona, siege of, 59;
  fortifications of, 60, 61;
  assault and capture of, 62 et seq.;
  news of, receipt of, in London, 65;
  effects of, 66, 68;
  Montjuich fort at, 60;
  assault and taking of this, 61 et seq.;
  French efforts to recover, 79;
  second siege of, 80, 90;
  Peterborough’s conduct in regard to, 80-81;
  relief of, 172, 186, 213;
  mentioned, 263, 287, 535
Barrier fortresses, Dutch chief aim, 156, 157
Barrier Treaty, proposed, M.’s attitude to, 77 et seq.;
  negotiations on, 169
Battles, importance of in history, 433
Bavaria, devastation of, 41, 42;
  transfer of, to Charles III and compensation to its Margrave planned by Louis XIV, 71;
  general revolt likely in, 292;
  M.’s severities in, 455
Bavaria, Max Emmanuel, Elector or Electoral Prince of, Elector Palatine, M.’s visit to, 39;
  guilt of, effects of, on his country, 41, 42;
  letters exchanged with M. on a prospective boar hunt, 42-43, 166;
  and the trial of Count d’Aubach, 45;
  troops obtained from, 46;
  Mindelheim confiscated from, and bestowed on M., 48;
  this later restored to him, 49;
  Louis XIV’s method of disposal of, 71;
  with Villeroy at Ramillies and after, 108 et seq., 113, 122, 124, 133 et seq.;
  at Lille and Courtrai, 143;
  fresh forces placed under, 144, 158;
  M.’s attempt to detach him from France, how foiled, 166, 167-168;
  the French counter-proposals, 168;
  Louis XIV’s distrust of, 167-168;
  on the length of Vendôme’s front, 201;
  in Flanders, 241;
  caution advised by, 291;
  troops begged from, by M., 292;
  sent to command on the Upper Rhine, 374;
  relations of, with Berwick, 375, 382;
  dispositions made by, 384;
  not told of Eugene’s march, 385;
  plan of, for an attack on Brussels, M.’s knowledge of and method of countering, 522 et seq.;
  Brussels besieged by, 522 et seq.;
  summons of, to its governor and the reply, 524;
  loss by, of his artillery and escape of, to Mons, 528
Bavaria, Teresa, Electress of, treaty signed by, enforcement of, 40;
  and the garrison of Ingolstadt, 41
Bavarian brigade, at Ramillies, 104, 110, 111, 112
Bayreuth, Margrave of, successor in command to the Margrave of Baden, 270, 272;
  fatuity of, 292;
  driven back by Villars, 292;
  letter to, from M. on concentrating his forces, 293;
  M.’s wish to get rid of, 294
Beaulieu, castle of, on the Senne, M.’s headquarters at, 132;
  Brussels deputation received at, and dealt with by M., 133-134
Belgian coast, keeping the French off, 132
Belgian waterways, forts commanding, 145
Belgians, the, M. acceptable to, 160
Belgium, separate peace for, French precautions concerning, 43;
  in Clause V of the Treaty of the Grand Alliance, 69;
  M.’s conquest of, 130 et seq.;
  its deliverance from thraldom of Louis XIV, 132-133;
  the three cities commanding, 139;
  sieges in, 145;
  English cloth trade with, 148;
  Dutch rule unpopular in, 154, 374, 380, 399 (see also Low Countries and Spanish Netherlands);
  governorship of, said to be M.’s obsession by Goslinga, 296, 452;
  pro-French conspiracy in, 388
Bergheyck, Count, pro-French conspiracies of, 388
Berlin, M. and Sunderland’s swift journey to, the situation at the moment, 50-51
Berri, Charles, Duc de, at Oudenarde, 416, 427
Berwick, James FitzJames, Duke of, Marshal of France, capture by, of Nice, 75;
  withdrawal to Burgos, 173;
  failure to fight or pursue, 174;
  entry of troops of, into Madrid, 174;
  in Spain, 241-242;
  operations of, 258;
  battle forced on, and victory of, at Almanza, 259 et seq.;
  ordered to succour of Toulon, 287;
  and first Jacobite raid, 359-360;
  sent from Dauphiné to the Rhine, 374-375;
  and Margrave of Bayreuth, 374, 382;
  reinforcements from, to Burgundy, 382-383;
  hastening of, to Flanders, 385;
  on Ghent’s special importance, 395;
  army of, Vendôme’s intended communication with, 402, 403;
  distance of, from the decisive scene, but advancing, 403;
  wide separation of, from Burgundy after Oudenarde, 433;
  at Lille, 446, 448;
  hastening to Mons on hearing of Oudenarde, garrisons reinforced by, 446;
  position of, on day of Oudenarde, 446;
  deceived as to great convoy, 460;
  detained, by Louis XIV at Douai, 451, 457;
  M.’s move to hamper, 455;
  reply of, to M.’s severities, 456;
  resistance of, 456;
  and garrison of Lille, 483;
  reinforcements of, 487;
  and French grand army at Lille, 489;
  at Grammont, 491;
  refusal of, to serve under Vendôme, 491;
  concurrence of, in Vendôme’s view in September, 492;
  averse to battle, 496;
  on balance between battle and loss of Lille, 496;
  and siege of Lille, 497;
  on effect of an attack by M. and Eugene, 499;
  Vendôme compelled from Oudenburg by, 514;
  ascendancy of, over Burgundy, 521;
  keen detection by, of Vendôme’s faults, 521;
  return of, to the Rhine Command, 522;
  on Vendôme’s scheme to starve out the allied army, 522;
  comment by, on Louis XIV’s refusal of Vendôme’s reasonable plan, 529;
  mentioned, 436, 490, 492
Besenval de Bronstatt, Jean Victor de, mission of, to Charles XII, 249, 255
Bethlehem, heights of, M.’s camp on, 132
Bevere, castle of, 427
Bevere, cavalry above, 410;
  Lumley’s cavalry sent from, to reinforce Eugene, 423-424
Biron, Lieutenant-General, at Oudenarde, advance of, 406;
  clash with Rantzau, 407;
  surprise of, 408;
  ordered to attack, 409;
  order cancelled, 410;
  left unsupported, 411;
  squadrons of, in open plain, 413;
  as prisoner, on Eugene as commanding by courtesy of M., 439;
  on M.’s question about the “Prince of Wales,” 441-442;
  impressions of, on the allied camp, 442
Bishop, Private Matthew, on M.’s care for his troops, 443;
  at Oudenarde, 445;
  on the levelling of the lines of Warneton and Comines, 447
Bishops, the, on the Church as not in danger, 36
Blackadder, Major John, at Blenheim, Ramillies, and Oudenarde, pious remarks of, 148-149, 445
Blackball, Dr Offspring, appointed Bishop of Exeter, 315
Blast, bomb-ketch, off Ostend, 147
Blathwayt, William, “remove” of, 328
Blaye, 85
Blenheim or Hochstadt, battle of, 35;
  Tory depreciation of, 19;
  a sea victory coupled with, 21;
  national pride in, 23;
  fame lasting, advantages disappearing, 37, 86;
  Bavarian military resistance after, and repugnance to the treaty, 40-41;
  devastation before, hatred roused by, of the Allies, 41-42;
  effect of, on the policy of Louis XIV, 69;
  French losses at, as explained by Chamillart, 93-94;
  reconnaissance before, by M. and Prince Eugene, 99;
  French artillery superiority at, 105-106;
  allied advance at, impression made by, 106;
  news of, brought to Anne, 120 n.;
  a parallel with Ramillies, 123;
  Vienna saved by, 130;
  credit for, given to Prince Eugene, 150;
  Blackadder at, 445;
  M.’s cavalry at, 494;
  mentioned, 39, 44, 167, 242, 253, 271, 455, 462, 538
Blenheim battlefield, traversed by French raiders, 292
Blenheim Palace, 203-204;
  plans and architect of, 45;
  M.’s interest in, 90, 138, 204, 325, 327;
  ice-house for, M. on, 325, 327
Bolingbroke, first Viscount—see St John, Henry
Bonaparte, Joseph, 251
Boser Couter, high ground of, in Overkirk’s possession, 426
Bothmar, Major-General, sent to watch French in Pays de Waes, 390-391
Bouchain, fortress of, 157
Boufflers, Marshal de, defender of Lille, 483, 488;
  cannon of, moved into the fortress, 489, 516;
  a sortie by, 494;
  anxieties of, 502;
  reduction of his ammunition, 505;
  offer of, to surrender the town, 519;
  withdrawal of, to the citadel, 519;
  capitulation of, 529;
  at Tournai, 533
Boyer, Abel, on number killed and made prisoner at Ramillies, 131 n.
Boyle, Mr Secretary Henry, 72;
  promotion of, from Chancellorship of the Exchequer, 350, 356
  Letters to, from M.:
    on not paying allowances to Count Piper and others, 255;
    on the enemy’s move and his own on July 5, 1708, 390-391;
    on the Abbeville scheme, 458
Brabant, M.’s plans concerning, frustrated by Dutch commanders, 20, 37;
  fortress zone of, “a whole campaign” in, prospect of, before M., 91;
  Villeroy sent to confront M. in, 95;
  cleared of the French, 145, 148;
  towns of, isolation of, 196;
  covered by M., 201, 266;
  union in, of M.’s army with that of Eugene, 387
Brabant, Estates of, desertion of, to cause of Charles III of Spain, 132, 133, 137, 134;
  mentioned, 266, 490
Brabant, Lines of, forced by M., d’Alègre then captured, 69, 96, 258;
  levelled by M., 93, 98;
  traversed by allied troops en route for Ramillies, 103
Braine l’Alleud, 381
Brandenburg, 30
Brandenburgers, the, in the battle of Turin, 192
Bredow’s brigade, charge of, at Mars-la-Tour, Natzmer’s charge compared with, 426
Brenner Pass, the, 181
Brest and Toulon fleets, junction of, prevented, 534
Briançon, ——, M.’s words to, on Toulon as a main English objective, 56;
  on Godolphin’s application of “Divide and govern,” 333;
  and betrayed plans for taking Toulon, 349, 378
Bribery, eighteenth-century, 70, 71, 72, 254 et seq., 289
Bridges, ——, 326
Brighton, French cruisers raiding off, 334
Brill, the, 360
Bringfield, Colonel, killed at Ramillies while holding M.’s horse, 120;
  M.’s concern for his family, 134, 135, 136;
  Godolphin’s reassurance concerning this, 142;
  playing-card illustrating the incident, 120 and n.
British naturalization of Protestant descendants of the Electress Sophia, Bill for, umbrage at, allayed by M., 53
Brittany, 458
Bromley, William, M.P., a ‘tacker,’ proposed as Speaker, 30;
  M.’s opinion of, 465;
  Harley exhorted by St John to gain, 551;
  letter from, to Harley, placing his pledge in Harley’s hands, 552
Bruges, French abandonment of, 137;
  fall of, to the Allies, 148;
  loss of, 373, 395;
  recapture of, by the Allies, 374;
  French aim at, 380;
  fortress of, 503;
  Vendôme’s retreat to, 514;
  capture of, Goslinga’s views on, 530;
  evacuation of, by Grimaldi, 532;
  mentioned, 137, 138, 555
Bruges Port, 362
Brussels, authorities of, desertion of, to cause of Charles III of Spain, 132, 133;
  M.’s summons to, to surrender, 132;
  submission of, to M., 133, 136;
  M.’s public entry into, and garrison installed by, 133;
  M.’s scheme concerning, 140;
  M.’s return to, from Prussia, bad news at, 256 et seq.;
  M.’s retiral on, 268;
  M. on the reason for this, 268;
  severance of communications with, 373;
  M.’s siege-train from, convoy of, 373;
  French diversion against, 374;
  relief of, by M. and Eugene, 374;
  M.’s army gathered south of, 381;
  feeling in, M.’s anxiety about, 388;
  allied camp near, 391;
  meeting at, of Eugene and his mother, 398;
  road transport from, to Ghent, 450-451;
  Eugene at, 447, 448;
  the great convoy at, transport of, to Werwicq, 459 et seq.;
  garrison of, strengthened by M., 460;
  M.’s determination not to lose, 485, 486;
  M.’s communications with, cut;
  his one resource, 502;
  M.’s reinforcement of, before the Elector of Bavaria’s siege, 522;
  M.’s feint and its success, 523-524;
  relief of, by M.’s crossing of the Scheldt, 528, 529;
  mentioned, 154, 157, 196, 201, 266, 297, 381, 521
Bruyninx, Hamel, 211
Buckingham, John Sheffield, Duke of, early relations of, with Queen Anne, and resignation by, of the Privy Seal, 21, 34, 35;
  heartless speech of, 34;
  and Harley, 350
Bülow, General von, 329;
  letter to, from M., on hopes of victory, 100
Burgos, Berwick and Philip V at, 173;
  joined by Castilian nobility at, 174
Burgundy, Duchess of, née Marie Adelaide of Savoy-Piedmont, 75 and n.
Burgundy, Louis, Duke of, in nominal command of the French forces, with leave (and later orders) to venture battle, 366, 379, 457, 489;
  and a proposed march to Brussels, 381;
  reinforced by Berwick, 383;
  flank march of, towards Ghent, 388;
  possible losses of, discussed, 394;
  an offensive battle not thought of by, 402;
  move by, amounting to refusal of battle, 411;
  at Oudenarde, reconnaissance sent out by, 415;
  attack on Groenewald ordered by, and repulsed, 416;
  at the mill of Royegem, 416, 427-428;
  Vendôme’s order to, why not executed, 418;
  flight of, to left of the main battle, 429;
  Vendôme’s fury with, 430, 431;
  behind the Bruges canal widely separated from Berwick, 433;
  ordered to give battle to relieve Lille, 485;
  at Grammont, 491;
  at Orchies, 492;
  attack deprecated by, 492, 494;
  and siege of Lille, conflicting views as affecting, 496, 497;
  advice asked for, from Louis XIV, 496;
  falling back by, to Saulchoi, 500;
  Boufflers’s message to, how conveyed, 505-506
Burnet, Gilbert, Bishop of Salisbury, on last illness of Prince George of Denmark, 543
Buys, William de, Pensionary of Amsterdam, and proposed Guiscard “descent” on France, 85;
  Dutch views made known by, to M., 454
Byng, Admiral Sir George, reinforcements landed by, in Spain, and re-embarked, 261, 263;
  letter to, from Galway, on his defeat at Almanza and loss of artillery, 263 and n.;
  Dunkirk blockaded by, 361;
  in the Firth of Forth, 362;
  royal aversion to, 542
Byng, Admiral John, Leake reinforced by, 81;
  loss of Minorca as cause of his execution, 536
 
Cadiz expedition, failure of, in 1702, 57
Cadogan, William, first Earl, election of, 24;
  before and at Ramillies, 102-103, 104, 115;
  scouting ride by, 102-103;
  sent to order Orkney’s withdrawal, 115, 121, 207;
  M.’s defence of, 208;
  sent to besiege Antwerp, 138;
  its surrender received by, 145;
  capture and release of, by Vendôme, 200;
  at Ronquières, 268;
  sent to watch Dunkirk in 1708, 360;
  at Bruges, 362;
  arrival of, with Eugene at Assche, 396;
  pioneering by, 399;
  Lessines occupied by, 400;
  at the battle of Oudenarde, greatest day in the career of, 405 et seq., 412;
  storming by, of Eyne, 412, 414;
  hedges lined by, 415;
  outnumbered and hard pressed, 416;
  attack by, from Groenewald, 426;
  final effort of, 429;
  M.’s post-Oudenarde plans concurred in by, 436;
  aspersion on, by Goslinga, 437;
  at Brussels preparing for the “descent,” 459;
  sent to meet the convoy from Ostend, 508;
  at Wynendael, not engaged, 510;
  wrongly credited with the victory, 511-512;
  report of, on Wynendael, 512;
  and the second convoy, 515;
  letters to, from M., on pay in lieu of bread ration, 514;
  and Goslinga’s advice as to Ghent, 530;
  mentioned, 526, 527
Cæsar and other great masters of war, simplicity of, in the field, 443
Calcinato, battle of, a French success, 86, 94, 181, 186;
  Eugene’s rallying of his forces after, 182
Cambron, M. at, 234
Cameronians, the, at Ramillies, 207;
  at Malplaquet, 209
Camisards, the, reanimation of, proposed, 85
Caraman, Count Pierre-Paul de Riquet, charge by, at Elixem, 551 n.
Cardonnel, Adam de, and M.’s post-Ramillies correspondence, 140;
  letter from, to Prior, 328;
  mentioned, 77, 100, 206, 400, 448
Carpi, 190
Cassano, Vendôme beaten at, by Prince Eugene, 38;
  Prussian losses in, 50
Castiglione, battle near, 194
Catalonia, and the Catalans, favourable to Charles III, 59, 60, 66;
  Charles III’s march from, 172;
  mentioned, 64, 265
Cederheilm, ——, allowance promised to, by Anne, 255 n.
Cevennes, the, proposed arousing of, 85
Chamillart, Michel de, French War Minister, views of Louis XIV encouraged by, 93, 94;
  sent to the French camp to enforce Louis XIV’s will, 497;
  at the French camp, retreat advised by, and endorsed by all but Vendôme, 500;
  and his son-in-law, La Feuillade, 185, 186;
  spies of, 349;
  order of, to Berwick, on enemy moves to Somme or Authie rivers, 457
  Letters from:
    to La Feuillade, 186;
    replying to Villeroy’s letter to Louis XIV, 143-144
  Letters to:
    from M., on sending to England all prisoners of war on leave, 299;
    from Marsin, on his expectation of death, 194;
    from Vendôme: on Marsin, 183-184;
    asking to be relieved of responsibility, 496;
    on the prospects in Flanders, 198
Chanclos, ——, governor of Ath, thrown into Oudenarde, 398;
  later governor of Oudenarde, house of, M.’s council of war in, proposals concurred in by all but Goslinga and Geldermalsen, 434 et seq.;
  Lottum shown the ground at Gavre by, 526
Charente, river, 85, 180
Charlemont, William, Viscount, at the siege of Barcelona, 62
Charleroi, proposed surrender of, 167;
  Vendôme’s reinforcements from, 304;
  mentioned, 305, 400
Charles I, of England, 355
Charles II, of England, brother-in-law of Victor Amadeus of Savoy, 75 n.
Charles III, of Spain (Archduke Charles of Austria), in Lisbon, 55;
  at the Lisbon Council, views of, 58-59;
  and the siege of Barcelona, 60, 61, 64, 65, 66;
  high opinion of, in London, 65;
  dislike of, for Peterborough, 66, 172, 178, 257;
  and pro-posed partition of Spain, 71, 168;
  in the second siege of Barcelona, 79, 80, 81, 160;
  cause of, adopted in the Netherlands after Ramillies, 132, 133, 134;
  Brussels and Brabant declaring for, 137;
  and his rights over the Spanish Netherlands, 152 et seq.;
  and M.’s appointment as Viceroy of the Netherlands, 159 et seq.;
  circuitous march of, to Madrid, 172-173;
  delay of, at Barcelona, 172, 174;
  German supporters of, Godolphin on conduct of, 178;
  M. endorsing this view, 179;
  appeals of, for reinforcements, 180;
  entry of, into Madrid, 181, 213;
  Spanish attitude to, 214;
  garrisoning forts proposed and carried out by, 258;
  and news of Almanza, 263;
  distrust of, for Galway, 265;
  the war in Spain pressed by, 339, 340;
  succour for, M. on, 344;
  Stanhope’s monthly payments to, 376;
  bride of, fetched by Leake, 535;
  mentioned, 178, 264
  Letters from:
    to M.: on the defeat at Almanza, 263-264;
    on his lack of war material, and on Peterborough, 66;
    to Queen Anne, on Peterborough at Barcelona, 64;
    to Wratislaw, on the war in Spain, 340 and n.
  Letter from a counsellor of, to the Emperor, on Peterborough, 65
Charles VI (Charles III of Spain), Emperor, and M.’s principality of Mindelheim, 50
Charles XII, of Sweden, successes of, 50, 247 et seq.;
  as champion of Lutheranism, 249;
  M.’s mission to, details of, 250 et seq., 266;
  letter to, from Queen Anne, 252;
  at Leipzig with the two Saxon kings, 256;
  secret alliance of, with Louis XIV and consequent pressure brought by, on Victor Amadeus, as to Toulon, 279-280, 291;
  and the attack on Toulon, 279, 291, 309;
  Peterborough’s exhortations to, 305-306;
  allied correspondence with, conducted by M., 309;
  final ruin of, 310;
  views on, of M. and of Eugene, 310;
  Russian excursion of, 540
Charlottenburg, M.’s visit to, in 1707, 256
Cheladet, ——, 431
Cherasco, siege of, 189
Chester, see of, Anne’s appointment to, 314-315
Chetwynd, J., English Minister at the Court of Savoy, 285, 288;
  letters from, to M., on the position of affairs, 276;
  on the Toulon affair, 308;
  on Eugene’s attitude to the attack on Toulon, 284;
  on delays before its start, 285;
  on the probable failure at Toulon, 308;
  mentioned, 285, 288
Chieri, 193
Chobon hamlet, the Maison du Roi near, 429
Church of England, the, Drake’s Memorial on, 23;
  M.’s indignation at this, 205;
  in danger, Tory cry of, 19, 23, 31, 35;
  rebuttal of this, 36;
  Anne’s anxiety for, 28;
  her loyalty to, 469;
  Stephens’ memorial on, disparaging to M., 91, 100, 205;
  and the Union, 216
Church of England party, hope from, St John on, 551
Churchill, Lieutenant-General Charles (brother), and the forcing of the Dyle, 130;
  Brussels taken possession of by, 134;
  latter days of, 200 and n.;
  sent against Dendermonde, 201
Churchill, Admiral George (brother), prosecution of, 327, 328;
  reasons for, 334, 335;
  support to, of Prince George of Denmark, 336;
  attack on, in Parliament, outcome of, 347;
  and the Jacobite raid of 1708, 361;
  attacks on, renewed, and their object, 540;
  M.’s attachment to, 541;
  letter to, from M., desiring him to resign, 542-543;
  later years of, 545
Churchill, Lady Mary (daughter), a suitor of, 57
Cifuentes, Count, Miquelet leader, joined by Peterborough, 81
Ciudad Rodrigo, capture of, 173
Clement XI, Pope, Jacobite raid of 1708 blessed by, 359
Clérambault, Philippe, Marquis de, conduct of, at Blenheim, 94
Coblenz, Eugene’s march from, 385
Cockpit Circle, the, plans of, in 1705, 22;
  relations of, with the Queen, 32;
  loyalties of, destroyed, 236
Collen, Ferdinand van, Dutch field Deputy, 88
Cologne regiment at Ramillies, 113
Comines, French lines at, 388;
  Lottum sent to level, 447;
  Goslinga on, 452
Commercial treaty with Spain secured by bribery, 255
Coningsby, Thomas, Earl, and the Whig millions, 550
Conscription Bill of 1708, difficulties over, in Parliament, 350, 351
Continental war, the, Tory attitude to, in 1705, 19
Corneille, Count, praise of, by M., 513;
  a pension for, suggested by M., 518
Corswaren, M.’s concentration at, before Ramillies, 102
“Court holy water,” 43
Courtrai, Villeroy’s withdrawal to, 134;
  M. at, 196;
  M.’s plan as to, 232;
  French flight to, after Oudenarde, 432
Cowper, William, first Earl, and the post of Lord Keeper, Anne’s objections overruled, 28-29, 35;
  and Harley’s “clear wine,” 72-73
Coxe, Archdeacon William, on M.’s principality of Mindelheim, 49;
  on the Duchess of M.’s behaviour at the death of Prince George of Denmark, 546
Craggs, James, 491, 542
Cranstoun, Colonel, of the Cameronians, on M.’s rescue at Ramillies, 118-119;
  letter of, in the Press criticizing M. at Ramillies, 207;
  M.’s abortive manœuvre criticized by, 304;
  M.’s conduct to, 208;
  promotion of, and death of, 209
Crown, the, prime factor in actual politics in early eighteenth century, 25;
  authority of, restricted, 357, 358
 
Daily Courant, the, 204
Damme, capture of, 138
Dangeau, Marquis de, letter to, from Villeroy, about his son, 142
Danish troops hired by the Allies, 74, 98;
  arrears of pay and consequent slow advance of, 75, 76;
  M.’s summons to, before Ramillies, 98, 99, 100;
  cavalry at Ramillies, 104 and n., 109;
  charge by, 116, 117, 153
Danube, the, M.’s famous march to, 39;
  M.’s journey down, in 1706, 40, 46
Dartmouth, William Legge, first Earl of, on Abigail Masham, 323
Das Minas, Marquis, Portuguese general, at Lisbon, 58;
  sloth of, 173;
  and the march to Madrid, 258;
  at Almanza, 260, 263, 264
Daun, Count, defender of Turin, 185, 278;
  sally by, 193
Dauphiné, restriction of operations in, 376, 378
Davenant, Henry, English agent at Frankfort, M.’s meeting with, 39, 46
Dawes, Dr, appointed Bishop of Chester, 315
Deane, Private J. M., record by, of the chase of the Pretender, 362, 363;
  on the campaign of 1708, 373;
  on M.’s caution before Oudenarde and on the long marches and inequality of the opposing forces, 404-405;
  on the dawn start for Oudenarde, 405;
  at Oudenarde, 445
Defoe, Daniel, on Rooke, 21;
  and the Review, 204;
  Harley warned by, 349
Dender, the, crossings of, by the French and by the English, 132, 388, 393, 405, 461;
  French retreat from, 143;
  M.’s strategy including, 381;
  bridges over, broken down by the French, 390;
  M.’s detachments sent towards, 390
Dendermonde, M.’s efforts to gain, 138, 139, 145;
  isolation of, 196;
  siege of, M. on, 201 et seq.;
  Bothmar ordered to cross at, 390
Denia, 59, 263
Des Roques, Colonel, on the deaths of engineers at the siege of Lille, 497;
  on bombardments of Lille, 499
Deule, the, 483;
  Lower, 199, 201
Devonshire, William Cavendish, second Duke of, 364, 366
Deynse, 139
Diepenbeck, the, M.’s cannon protected by, 410;
  Grimaldi checked by, 415;
  line of, held by M., 426
Diepenbeck village, the French driven back to, by M., 423
Diet of the Holy Roman Empire at Innsbruck, M.’s princely rank established by, 49
Dilkes, Rear-Admiral Sir Thomas, lobbing shells into Toulon, 288
Dispatches (Murray), 76;
  M.’s letters after Ramillies in, 139-140
Dissenters, the, 25;
  power won by, 35
Dixmude area, seizure of, by M., 515
Dohna, Christopher, Count de, retreat of, from Almanza, 261, 262;
  capitulation of, 264
Donegal, Arthur, third Earl of, death of, in defence of Fort Montjuich, 80
Dopff, General, at Ramillies, 104;
  and after, 392;
  concurrence of, in M.’s plans after Oudenarde, 436;
  Goslinga’s spite against, 437
Dora Riparia, the, crossed by Eugene, 192
Douai, fortress of, 157, 198, 519;
  Berwick’s concentration on, 446;
  Berwick held at, by Louis XIV, 451;
  French heavy cannon brought from, 492, 495
Douai-Lille road, explosions along, result of, 506
Doullens, harried by M., 455
Drake, Dr James, Memorial of the Church of England by, 23;
  M.’s indignation at, 205;
  attacks of, on M. and Godolphin in his Mercurius Politicus, 205-206;
  other writings by, 205-206
Dublin, Archbishop of, letter to, from Swift, on the complication of parties, 332
Dunkirk, siege of, 147, 155;
  value of, in M.’s eyes, 155, demilitarization of, urged, 155;
  a nest of privateers, 155;
  English blockade of, 361;
  water defences controlled from, 436;
  coast near, French withdrawal to, 532;
  mentioned, 147, 157, 196, 359, 360
Dunkirk squadron, M.’s call for, 138
Duremberg, capture of, 86
Durlach, German flight to, 272
Dusseldorf, 45, 160
Dutch, the, M.’s advice to, on rejecting French peace overtures, 31;
  aims of, as to a fortress-barrier, 69, 71;
  share of, in the Continental war, 76;
  support of, for the Protestant Succession, English reason for courting, 77 et seq.;
  M.’s knowledge of their claims and their effects, 77 et seq.;
  satisfied in Louis XIV’s tempting offers, 71, 77;
  share of, in the victory of Ramillies, 153;
  views of, on Belgium after Ramillies, 153;
  Barrier claims insisted on, 163, 244;
  results of this in 1707, 310;
  M.’s opinion of this, 163, 164;
  claims and concessions of, as to the Spanish Netherlands, 154;
  prejudice of, against the Hapsburg claims, 154;
  war aims of, restricted and local, 155, 156, 159;
  jealousy and mistrust of England, 155, 157, 159;
  gains of, after Ramillies, question of their value to the Republic, 157;
  M.’s care not to arouse this, 161;
  distrust of, for M., causes of, 170;
  “unaccountable” in 1706, 214. See also Holland; States-General
Dutch Barrier, Burgundy’s wish to threaten, 380;
  gained, consequent longing for peace, 533
Dutch cavalry at Ramillies, 106, 113, 114, 153;
  charge of, driven in, and rallied by M., 115-116
Dutch commanders, M.’s Brabant plans frustrated by, 20
Dutch field Deputies attached to M., 44-45, 88-89, 133;
  M.’s crossing of the Scheldt and, 527, 528. See also under their names
Dutch forces at Oudenarde, 419, 420
Dutch garrisons, calling out of, to join field armies, 146
Dutch Guards, at Ramillies, 109, 110;
  at Taviers, 153
Dutch infantry at the Dyle, 130
Dutch peace, a premature, danger of, in 1706, M. on, 231
Dutch rule, Belgian cities exasperated by, 310, 374
Dyke, the, 156
Dyle, the, 47, 270;
  French assemblings on, and crossing of, 98, 99;
  French retreat intended across, 125;
  forcing of, by M.’s forces, 130, 139, 140;
  untenable by the French, 131;
  French retreat from, 143;
  M.’s withdrawal behind, 381
 
Eename, Cadogan’s bridges at, over the Scheldt, 406;
  allied cavalry near, 408
Eighteenth-century world war, the, culmination of, 553 et seq.
Elector Palatine—see Bavaria, Elector of
Elixem, battle of, Bavarian cavalry routed at, 42;
  allied charge at, 124, 424, 494, 551 n.
England, General Election of May 1705 in, political changes due to, effect of, on M. and his fortunes, 19 et seq.;
  other results, 30, 33 et seq.;
  exertions of, as member of the Grand Alliance, 37, 83;
  false security in, in 1706, 72;
  and the war in 1706, 76;
  rise of, after Ramillies, etc., 235, 538;
  ungovernable but by Parliament, 235;
  later, war-weariness in, 238;
  situation of, in November 1707, 338;
  public opinion in, on Eugene’s commanding in Spain, 341;
  General Election of 1708 in, Whig majority returned by, 364, 366, 368, 479;
  disarmament of, after the wars of William III, effect of, 538;
  in M.’s day, talent available, 539;
  surface and depths of changes in administration, 553
English Army, first impression on Eugene of, 396
English Cabinet, the, incensed against Peterborough, 306;
  convinced by M., in August 1708, 454, 457
English Channel, French raids in, on shipping, 334
English Parliamentary circles, and the war in the Peninsula, 67
English Press, beginnings of, importance of, 204 et seq.;
  scurrilous attacks in, M.’s attitude to, 205 et seq.
Ennetières, M.’s infantry at, 494;
  trenches begun at, 494;
  and extended to Fretin, 494
Enz valley, undefended by Bayreuth, 292
Erle, Lieutenant-General Thomas, 520;
  and M.’s proposed “descent” on the Belgian or French coast, 378, 400;
  descent by, on Abbeville planned, 450, 453, 454, 458;
  and munitions convoy from Ostend, 503;
  at Ostend, 507;
  communication restored by, 508;
  reinforcement of, and skill shown by, 508;
  further reinforcements under General Webb to meet La Motte’s advance, 508;
  flotilla collected by, 515
Eugene of Savoy, Prince, victory at Blenheim attributed to, by the Tories, 19, 150;
  victory of, at Cassano, 38, 50;
  M. besought by, to come to Vienna, 38;
  needs of army of, 38;
  M.’s endeavour to reinforce, 39;
  and La Colonie, 41;
  a loan for, raised by M., 47, 72, 83, 186;
  M.’s hope of again fighting beside, 83-84;
  how nullified, 86;
  allied forces re-organized by, in 1706, 86;
  reinforcements for, authorized by Holland, 88, 90;
  at Blenheim, 123;
  M.’s sacrifice on behalf of, 171;
  operations under, in Italy in 1706, 182 et seq.;
  reinforcements received by, 182 and n.;
  passage by, of the Adige, 187;
  battle strength of, 190;
  and relief and battle of Turin, 190, 192;
  his horse shot under him, 192;
  and the pay of his Germans, 239;
  proposed invasion of France by, from the south, 242;
  and the siege of Toulon, 247, 273;
  his attitude concerning this, 277 et seq., 284, 285, 288, 290, 299, 308, 457;
  attempted diversion by, of Shovell to Spain, 279;
  view of, on Charles XII and his army, 310;
  and M.’s plans for 1708, 339;
  proposed sending of, to Spain, M.’s views on, 340-341, 342 et seq.;
  refusal to allow by the Emperor, 346, 375;
  demands of, for troops, 341;
  on the campaign of 1708, 373;
  and M., known as “the Princes” and bowed to, 375;
  first proposals of, for the main allied effort, 377;
  visit of, to the Elector at Hanover, 378-379;
  personal appearance of, 396;
  on road-repairs before the allied army could advance, 405;
  before and during the battle of Oudenarde, 406;
  at Eyne, 415;
  placed in command of the whole right battle front, troops under, 420;
  M.’s support to, repaying the debt of Blenheim, 420-421;
  reinforcements sent to, by M., 423-424;
  cavalry charge launched by, 424-426;
  French parallel to this, in 1870, 426;
  genius of, 428;
  on the allied reserves, 431;
  credited with the victory of Oudenarde, by M.’s detractors, 437;
  Goslinga’s remarks on, 437;
  magnificence of, in camp, 442;
  at Brussels, 447, 448;
  the convoys covered by, 451, 460;
  M.’s great plan for invasion of France not approved by, 454, 457;
  and the siege of Lille, 462, 485, 486, 491;
  the attack begun by, and a wily plan of, 488;
  and the burghers, 488;
  bombardment by, 492;
  entrenching proposed by, but first declined by M., 493;
  sortie made during his absence, 494;
  attack by, on the counterscarp, 495, 497;
  other assaults by, 498;
  wound received by, 504, 505;
  recovery and declaration of, on success and its condition, 507;
  the siege resumed by, 513;
  and the last days of Overkirk, 517;
  and the capitulation of Boufflers, 519;
  move of, on Hauterive, 526;
  back at the citadel of Lille, 529;
  at Grammont for siege of Ghent, 531;
  share of, in M.’s campaign of 1708 summed up, 536;
  mentioned, 76, 151, 184, 218, 554
  Letters from:
    to Joseph I: on his easy advance in 1706, 187;
    exposure contained in, 279;
    on the English admirals’ tenacity, 286;
    on the failure at Toulon, 288;
    on M.’s depression, 396-397;
    to M.: after Turin, 203;
    on the march to Toulon, 282;
    on Vendôme, 199;
    to Wratislaw, on the attack on Toulon, 285
  Letters to:
    from M.: on the battle of Ramillies in full detail, 140;
    showing him as accepting M.’s orders, 384
Eutin, Danish seizure of, 75
Examiner, The, Prior’s attacks in, on M., 328
Exeter, see of, Anne’s appointment to, 315
Eyne, 411, 418;
  Biron at, 406;
  Cadogan’s arrival at, 407;
  allied advance on, 408;
  windmill of, a vantage-point, 408;
  hedgerows lined with enemy infantry, 410
 
Fagel, General, at the siege of Lille, 493, 498
Fairborne, Admiral Sir Stafford, Ostend blockaded by, 147
Fénelon, Abbé, 374, 428
Fenwick trial, the, 43;
  and Peterborough’s malice, 57
Ferrara, 190
Feuquières, General le Marquis de, on the transport of M.’s siege-train, 462
Finale, occupied by Marsin, 190
Flanders, campaign in, of 1705, effect of, on M.’s reputation, 37;
  La Colonie in, 41;
  Elector of Bavaria in, 42;
  largely cleared of French forces, 145;
  won by the Allies, 148;
  perils of, Louis XIV concerned over, 151;
  towns in, held by Louis XIV, 184;
  French armies in, dispersion of, 196;
  deadlock in, 273;
  French army in, held by M., 291;
  and Spain as scenes for campaigns, 343;
  French forces in, in 1708, and their commanders, 374
Flying Post, The, 204
Forbes, Sir James, and the Whig millions, 550
Forbin, Admiral Claude de, and the Jacobite raid, 359, 361;
  in the Firth of Forth, 362, 363
Fort Louis, blockade of, abandonment of, 86;
  earthworks round, 270
Fort Philip, Port Mahon, fall of, 535
Fortress zone, French in, 145;
  M.’s passage through, obstructions to, 151
Fortresses won and unwon by the Dutch in 1706, 157
Foulz, marshy ground at, allied advance through, 106
France under Louis XIV, peace overtures of, to the Dutch, rejection advised by M., 31;
  power of, revival of, 37;
  proposed “descent” on, under Guiscard, with Huguenot troops, 84 et seq.;
  diversion of, 180-181;
  a later proposal for the same favoured by M., 378 (see also under Abbeville and Erle);
  limits proper for, M. on, 155;
  Dutch view that she was humbled enough in 1706, 157;
  suppression of, upon the seas, 213;
  double invasion of, aimed at by M., 339;
  pathway into, opened, 447;
  invasion of, by the whole allied army, M.’s design for, not approved by Eugene, 453-454;
  as the inexhaustible enemy of the Grand Alliance, 478;
  great frost of 1708 in, 555;
  internal resources of, underrated by the triumvirate of executive action, 555
Franconia, the Circle of, 273;
  Villars’s exactions from, 292
Frankfort, persons to be met at, by M., 39;
  meeting of, 46
Franquenay, Dutch advance on, 106;
  French occupation of, 108, 109;
  Dutch storming of, 109-110
Fraustadt, battle of, 247
Frederick I, of Prussia, and M.’s principality of Mindelheim, 49;
  irritation of, political danger from, 50;
  offers made to, by Louis XIV, 51;
  M.’s visit to (1706), upshot of, 51-52;
  (1707) after the mission to Charles XII, 256;
  proposed marriage with a princess of Denmark, 52;
  desertion of, feared by M., 74;
  troops held back by, 76, 87, 139, 147, 152;
  position of, after a battle, M.’s allusion to, in a letter to Raby, 100;
  simplicity of, in the field, 443
  Letters to:
    from Grumbkow, on M.’s depression at Assche, and his illness there, 396, 397;
    from M.: on the ruin of his Italian plan, 88;
    on the absence of Prussian troops from Ramillies, 139;
    from Natzmer, on M. and Eugene at Oudenarde, 439
Frederick IV, of Denmark, 89
Frederick Augustus, Elector of Saxony—see Augustus II
French armies, in Spain, 1706-7, 67;
  gatherings of, in 1706, 76;
  disposition of, in 1706, 95 et seq.;
  number of, before and after Ramillies, 131 and n.;
  re-creation of, M. on, 144;
  movements of, in 1706, M.’s Italian and other plans destroyed by, 86;
  dispositions of, in June 1706, 146;
  defeat of, at Ramillies, unwillingness after, 147;
  concentration of, in Flanders after Ramillies, 151;
  and allied armies, relative positions of, in June 1708, 381;
  three plans of, in 1708, 382;
  forced march of, and position of, in July 1708, 392-393, 406;
  that adopted in July, 393;
  at Oudenarde, 406 et seq.;
  rearguard action after, 433;
  shock of, effect of, on morale, 433, 486, 537;
  straits of, for food, 515;
  M.’s chasing of, from the line of the Scheldt, 528
French claims, shrinkage of, 168
French coast, “descent” on, English Cabinet keenness on, 146, 378
French coastal fortresses, M.’s plan to render impotent, 453
French commanders, troubles of, due to divided authority, 375;
  unaware of M.’s arrival at Lessines, 402;
  and battle of Oudenarde, 404;
  courses open to, reasons for hesitant behaviour, 402-403 (see also under names);
  differences of opinion at headquarters, 521, 524;
  M.’s utilization of this, 537
French counter-proposals to the Elector, left unanswered by M., 168-169
French Court, views at, on the allied siege of Lille, 484
French cruisers, trading fleets raided by, 334
French domination, M.’s endeavour to overthrow as a whole, 155, 156
French dragoons, dismounted, at Ramillies, 110, 111, 112
French espionage, efficiency of, 349
French fortresses, evacuation of, by their governors, 532
French frontier fortresses, M.’s proposed piercing of, 436
French gains in Flanders and Spain under Louis XIV, loss of, to the allied arms, 538-539
French grenadiers, forgotten in the treaty with Bavaria, and the resistance of Ingolstadt, 40-41
French Guards at Ramillies, 108
French shipping captured off Ostend, 148
French support for Pretender, 359 et seq., 366
French troops in Spain, condition of (1708), 534
French water defences, 436
 
Gallas, Count, Imperial Ambassador to London, 342;
  in London, letter to, from Joseph, on supporting the Archduke Charles, 68
Galway, Henri de Massue de Ruvigny, first Earl of, 178;
  character of, 55-56, 265;
  English connexions of, military doings and adventures of, 56;
  in command of the allied invasion of Spain, 55-56;
  M.’s defence of, when censured, 56;
  at the Lisbon council, 58, 59;
  supersession by, of Peterborough desired, 66, 68;
  march of, to Madrid, 172, 173, 177;
  appointment of, to the supreme command in Spain, 178, 257;
  clamour of, for more troops, 180;
  support to, of Sunderland, 257;
  and Stanhope, march on Madrid proposed by, 258;
  defeat of, at Almanza, and his own wound, 259, 260, 261, 263;
  retreat and rally of, 264-265;
  letters concerning, from M. to his wife, to Godolphin, and to Sunderland, 265;
  Peterborough’s denunciation of, 306;
  attack on, by Haversham, 343;
  mentioned, 66, 79, 179
  Letters from:
    to Byng, on his defeat at Almanza and loss of artillery, 263 and n.;
    to Stanhope, on his defeat at Almanza, 262-263
Garda, Lake, Prussian troops near, 38;
  fighting near, 181, 186, 190, 194
Gassy, Comte de, troops of, 144
Gavre, Scheldt crossing at, M.’s designs on, 134, 137;
  French army at, 402;
  proposed crossing of, by French, 402, 403, 406;
  Vendôme’s camp at, 490;
  M.’s march to, 52$;
  crossing of, by Lottum, 526-527;
  the halt at, Goslinga’s ire at, 527;
  move from, to Oudenarde, 528
Geet stream, the, 99;
  M.’s aim on, 100;
  and Mehaigne head-streams, M.’s intention to advance between, 102
Geldermalsen, ——, Dutch field Deputy, M.’s meeting with, 39;
  again with M.’s army, 295;
  Goslinga’s opinion of, 437;
  mentioned, 157-158, 296, 301, 436
Gembloux, Vendôme’s camp at, 291;
  M.’s proposed attack on, 300
Genappe, reached by M., and abandoned by Vendôme, 301;
  and Braine l’Alleud, Vendôme between, 381
Genoa, 176;
  Jews of, borrowings from, by Peterborough, 176;
  Shovell buying munitions at, 277
‘Gentlemen of England,’ M.’s desire for the praise of, 19
George Lewis, Elector of Hanover (later George I), heir to the English throne, and the Haversham motion, 52;
  reliance of, on the Whigs, 52;
  convinced by M. of his true interests, as identical with Anne’s, 54;
  possible substitute for M. at the front, 313;
  and Prince Eugene, 341;
  made Imperial Generalissimo on the Rhine, attitude of, to Eugene’s coming north, 376-377;
  visit to, of M. and Eugene, 379;
  notified of the union of M.’s and Eugene’s forces, 387;
  Anne’s attitude to, and to his son, 471
George, Electoral Prince of Hanover, later George II, at Oudenarde, 413, 466, 468;
  his horse shot under him, 413;
  Whig proposal to invite to England, 468
George, Prince of Denmark, marriage desired by, for a niece, 52;
  head of the English Navy, 354;
  and Admiral Churchill, 336;
  and trade defence at sea, 347;
  answer of, to the Committee of the House of Lords, 347-348;
  entreaties to Anne to yield, 355;
  last illness of, at Windsor, 469, 475, 543;
  Toryism of, stimulated by Admiral Churchill, 541;
  aversion of, for the Whigs, 542;
  Whig demands for his removal from office, 543;
  death of, 544, 545, 546;
  funeral of, 546;
  Anne’s anxiety concerning this, 547;
  a good friend to the Marlboroughs, 547;
  mentioned, 222, 513
German princes, M.’s Moselle campaign frustrated by, 20;
  men from, for Prince Eugene, 39;
  slow performance by, of promises, 76;
  letters to, from M., on his ruined plans, 88;
  stiffened by the victory of Ramillies, 152;
  conduct of, in 1706, 214;
  parlous plight of, in 1708, 538
German troops of the Sea Powers, M.’s menace as to withdrawal of, 245
Germanic armies, remnants of, under the Margrave, 152
Germany, safety of, to what due, 271;
  Villars’s invasion of, 273, 292;
  no rally made against this, 310
Ghent, M.’s aims on, in 1706, 132;
  Villeroy’s plan to stay at, 133;
  abandonment of this, 137;
  loss of, by the Allies, 373, 395, 400, 407;
  recapture of, by the Allies, 374;
  French aim at, in 1708, 380;
  Burgundy’s flank march towards, 388;
  surrender of, 390;
  French forces between, and the Allies, 393;
  “key of rivers and waterways of Flanders,” 395;
  French retreat on, and beyond, after Oudenarde, 431, 432, 433, 436;
  Vendôme’s determination to keep, 448;
  M.’s efforts to oust him, 455;
  M.’s intention to attack and besiege, 449, 450;
  his plan to drive out the French from, 529, 530;
  his concentration against, and investment of, 531;
  surrender of, by La Motte, 532;
  mentioned, 157, 362, 490, 528
Ghent road, Biron astride of, 406;
  allied cavalry beyond, 428
Ghislenghien, M.’s halt at, 401, 402
Gibraltar, English capture of, 55;
  Darmstadt’s share in this and in its defence, 58, 59;
  Louis XIV’s efforts to recover, 55, 79;
  mentioned, 81, 534
Godfrey, Brigadier, Admiral Churchill’s legacy to, 545
Godolphin, Sidney, first Earl of, Lord Treasurer, liaison of, with the Whigs, 21, 34;
  Anne besought by M. to support, 25;
  difficulties of, with the Parliament of 1705, 27;
  and the Sunderland mission, 27;
  Whig pressure on, as affecting Harley (q.v.), 31-32;
  desire of, for M. to return, 38;
  and detailed report from Charles III on siege of Barcelona, 65;
  Whig partners in Government desired by, 73;
  whole aim of, 73 and privateers of Dunkirk, 155 and proposed Viceroyship for M. 162;
  Dutch treaty ‘preliminaries’ approved by, 169;
  on Peterborough’s letters of May 1706, 177 newspaper attacks on, 205;
  on despising paper animosities, 210 characteristic patience of, 210 Stuart memories of, a link with the Queen, 216;
  Tory hunting of, 216;
  Whig assaults on, 216, 218, 219;
  strained relations of, with the Queen, 216, 218, 222, 226, 236, 311, 315;
  persistence of, remote outcome of, 218;
  difficulties of, over Sunderland appointment, 218 et seq.;
  M.’s firm friendship for, 218, 225, 227 233, 237, 457;
  the word “notion” in Sarah’s letter explained by, 222;
  Harley as rival to, and foe of, 237;
  disapprobation by, of Peterborough, 257;
  on the Imperial armies, 279;
  sacrifice of, determined on, 313;
  and Anne’s choice of bishops, 317;
  Duchess of M.’s relations with, 317;
  M. his Pole Star, 332;
  strength of, nature of, 333;
  position of, in 1707, 338;
  at Newmarket, 348;
  and M., Harley’s expulsion considered by, 350;
  Anne’s intention to dismiss made known to M., 352;
  resignation of, 354;
  Anne on her esteem for him, 371;
  told by M. of his “great design,” 457;
  Anne’s later opinion of, 463, 555;
  Anne on her reliance on him, 473;
  Anne and Harley unprepared to accept his resignation, 479;
  wish of, to retire, 480, 482;
  and the run on the Bank, 363;
  aware of Anne’s dream of a fraternal successor, 469;
  gossip about, effects of, 540;
  embarrassed by a report of Admiral Churchill, 541;
  submission of, to the Whigs, 550, 553;
  mentioned, 30, 32, 33, 34, 45, 72, 90, 231, 311, 365, 479
  Letters from:
    to Harley, on his (Harley’s) dismissal, 353;
    to M.: on the victory of Ramillies, Bingfield’s widow, the public thanksgiving, and on his great difficulties, 142;
    on the jealousy of the States-General, 158;
    on Peterborough’s mission to Victor Amadeus, 176;
    on appointing Galway to the supreme command in Spain, 178;
    criticizing Peterborough, 178;
    on Whig persecution, 300;
    on his anxieties on M.’s affairs, 520-521;
    on Admiral Churchill and Prince George of Denmark, 541, 542;
    on Anne’s yielding to the Whigs, 544;
    to Queen Anne, on his difficulties in 1706, 226
  Letters to:
    from Harley: on party government, 331;
    on his (Harley’s) dismissal, 353;
    from M.: on the ‘tackers’ and his wish to retire, 20-21;
    on the new Parliament of 1705 and its Whig complexion, 24;
    of sympathy and support, 27;
    on the probable Dutch attitude after the Barrier Treaty, 78;
    after Ramillies, telling of the victory, 135-136;
    on his action at Brussels and on the prospects of the campaign, 136;
    on the siege of Huy and other plans, on Villeroy’s accession of strength, on the Margrave, and on his own lack of cannon, 137, 138-139;
    on the re-creation of the French field army, 144;
    on his joy in his recent success, 146;
    on sending the fleet and on the state of mind of the French soldiery, 147;
    on the sieges of Ostend and Dunkirk, 147;
    on England’s disinterest in Continental gains, 156;
    on affairs in the Netherlands after Ramillies, 156, 157-158, 158-159;
    on investing Menin, Dutch views of too much having been done, and the spirit of his troops, 157-158, 158-159;
    on the action of the States-General, excluding Queen Anne, 159;
    on his Viceroyship, Dutch objections, and his renunciation, 161-162, 163-164, 165-166;
    on Peterborough’s mission to Victor Amadeus, 177;
    on a post for Cadogan, 200-201;
    on the capture of Dendermonde, 202;
    on the political position in 1706, 216-217;
    against his desired retirement, 226, 227;
    on the Whig temper and G.’s retirement, 231;
    on his mission to Charles XII, 253-254;
    on Galway’s position after Almanza, 265;
    on his reason for falling back on Brussels, 269;
    on Palmes’ mission to Victor Amadeus and Eugene, 281;
    on his hopes as to Toulon, 300;
    on Peterborough’s stay at Soignies, 307;
    on how to deal with Queen Anne, 325-326, 326;
    on speaking to Harley and on an allowance for St John, 326;
    on Admiral Churchill’s affairs, 328;
    on Prince Eugene’s going to Spain, 341;
    on his advice to Anne about Somers, 367;
    on his visit to the Elector of Hanover, 379;
    on German delays, etc., 383, 385;
    on his recent illness, on the field Deputies’ request for the Isle of Wight “descent” troops and his own desire that they should not be sent, 399;
    on his march to Lessines and on the investment of Oudenarde, 399-400;
    on the victory of Oudenarde, 433-434;
    on the lessening of the French army by Oudenarde, 444;
    on Vendôme at Ghent, and on his need of cannon, 448-449, 450;
    on his “great design,” 454;
    on his cannon, his raids, and Vendôme’s tenacity, 458-459;
    on destiny, 458;
    on his dispositions for the siege of Lille, 484-485;
    and on the siege itself, 490;
    on the Fleet, and on the disappointed hopes of a battle, 494 et seq.;
    on the French position on September 13, 498;
    on the ill-conduct of the engineers, and the probable French refusal of battle, 501;
    on Eugene’s wound, attacks on the city, inundations, ill-conduct of engineers, and plans for convoy of munitions from Ostend, 507, 507-508;
    on the battle of Wynendael and on Webb’s promotion, 512, 513, 517, 518;
    on the death of Overkirk and on part of his English pension for his son, 518;
    on driving Vendôme out of Ghent and Bruges, 530;
    on the fall of Ghent and the end of the campaign of 1708, 533-534;
    from Sunderland, on M.’s going to Vienna, 38
Goes, Count, Imperial Ambassador at The Hague, mission of, in the Netherlands, 152 et seq.;
  conversation of, with M., on Hapsburg claims in the Netherlands, 154-155;
  tactless announcement by, of M.’s Viceroyship to the States-General, 162-163
Goito, capture of, 194
Goldsmiths’ Company, run by, on the Bank, 365
Gortz, Baron, 254 n.
Goslinga, Sicco van, Dutch field Deputy, characteristics of, 88-89;
  unsound military opinions of, 104 n., 105;
  invited by M. to share his cloak at Meldert, 129;
  at Beaulieu with M., 133;
  insinuations against M. and criticism of his tactics, 160, 268, 269, 295-296, 300-301, 304, 373, 381, 391, 392, 393, 405, 407, 452, 459;
  plan of, for carrying on the campaign in 1708, 436-437;
  spiteful comments of, on all who differed from him, 437;
  account by, of the battle of Oudenarde, 437, 438 et seq.;
  on proposed attack on Vendôme as prompted by the field Deputies, 499;
  on last days of Overkirk, 517;
  on M.’s crossing of the Scheldt and his own doings, 526 et seq.;
  advice of, to M. concerning Ghent, 529-530
Gosselies, French move to, 268, 302
Goudrin, Marquis de, on the superb quality of French troops at Ramillies, 104
Grametz, M. at, 203, 227
Gramont or Grammont, Berwick compelled to, 490;
  juncture of the French Marshals at, 491;
  Eugene at, 531
Grand Alliance, the, and the need of supplies, 27;
  extension of its objects, 31;
  ebb of its fortunes, 37, 38, 69 et seq., 76;
  Bavarian hatred of, grounds for, 41;
  Prussian troops hired by Louis XIV, offers to secure withdrawal of, 51;
  repair of, effected by M. in tour in 1705, 51 et seq.;
  winter quarters of its troops, a dispute on, settled by M., 54;
  campaign of, in 1706, preliminaries arranged by M., 54;
  Lisbon meeting of the leaders of, 58-59;
  goal chosen by, 59;
  political menaces to, in 1706, aggravated by physical conditions, 74-75;
  turning again to chaos, 74, 75;
  greatness of its cause still holding good, 75;
  assets of, 75-76;
  main campaign of, in 1706, opening of, good news at, 81;
  Belgium conquered by, at Ramillies, 133;
  chiefs and princes of, M.’s letters to, after Ramillies, 139 et seq.;
  effects on, of the victory of Ramillies, 152;
  Dutch wish to restrict its wars and M.’s plans for their extension, 156;
  provinces held by, in Spain, 172;
  leaders of, meeting of, at Guadalajara, and retreat to Valencia, 174;
  cheered by relief of Turin, 181 et seq.;
  behaviour of its members, 214;
  varying fortunes, of, 214;
  disasters of, in 1707, 241 et seq., 310;
  treaty of, 270;
  position before, in 1707, 273;
  refusal of, to accept M.’s scheme for the invasion of France, a cardinal point in the war, 456-457;
  M.’s three rescues of, 539;
  princes of, yielding to M.’s leadership, 539;
  struggles and victory of, 553;
  effect on the war of Anne’s estrangement from M., 555
Grand Army (French), havoc wrought in, by Oudenarde, 462;
  the “débris of,” 446
Great Britain, first Parliament of, first meeting of, 337-338
Greg, William, treachery of, 348 et seq.;
  attempts to bribe, 356, 357;
  Harley exonerated by, and his fate, 357, 368, 540
Griffin, Lord, and M., 363
Grimaldi, General, with Burgundy on and after his flank march, 388, 390;
  at Oudenarde, advance and retreat of, 415;
  fortresses evacuated by, 532
Groenewald, the struggle for, 415 et seq., 420, 423, 424
Grumbkow, Brigadier, as Colonel, 139;
  letters from, to Frederick I, on M.’s depression and illness at Assche, 396 and n., 397
Guadalajara, allied leaders’ meeting at, 174
Guards, 1st (Grenadier Guards), at Ramillies, 120;
  resentment of, at M.’s order to withdraw, 121, 207;
  in England in 1708, 360;
  and the Jacobite raid, 362;
  in Flanders, 373;
  at Oudenarde, 404
Guelderland, offer of, to Prussia by Louis XIV, 51, 71
Guenin, ——, French agent in London, on the Act of Union, 217
Guernsey, M.’s brother as Governor of, 200 n.
Guildhall, the, Ramillies standards hung in, 240
Guipuzcoa, destined for Philip V, 168
Guiscard, Marquis, a “descent” by, with Huguenot forces on France, prepared for, 84 et seq.;
  M.’s approval of, 90;
  diversion of the “descent” and its effect on him, 257-258, 378;
  attempt of, to assassinate Harley, 86
Guise, M.’s molestation of, 453
Gwynne, Sir Rowland, an indiscretion of, 54
 
Habeas Corpus Act, suspension of, 361
Hagenau, French capture of, 86, 94;
  sacrificed by Louis XIV, 151
Hague, The, M. at, at various times, 22, 79, 145, 154 and n., 533, 534;
  French diplomacy’s best chances at, 156;
  meeting at, of M., Eugene, and Heinsius, 375;
  mentioned, 40, 83, 92
Hague Conference, a, suggested by Joseph I, 346;
  M. agreeable to, 347
Haine-Saint-Pierre, 303
Hal, M.’s advance to, 266, 381
Halifax, George Savile, Viscount, 72;
  and the Court of Hanover, 54;
  and the Dutch Barrier-Succession Treaty, 78, 169;
  letter from, to Somers on the Barrier Treaty, 78;
  usage by, of M., 329;
  accusations by, of Admiral Churchill, 335, 336;
  in the debate on Peterborough’s conduct, 343;
  letter to, from M. on the composition of the allied army, 454
Hamilton, Colonel, 176
Hanover, Court of, Anne’s relations with, 53, 470-471;
  M.’s visit to, in 1705, success of, 53-54;
  underlying irritation at, Whig efforts to soothe, 54;
  visit to, of M. and Eugene, 378-379
Hanover, factions in, support of, secured for the royal house, 52
Hanover family, the, Tory proposal to invite to England, 33;
  this later adopted by the Whigs, 468;
  Anne made aware of this, by Haversham, her objection stated, 470;
  court paid to, by Anne’s enemies, 549. See also George Lewis, Elector of Hanover;
  George, Electoral Prince of Hanover;
  Sophia, Electress of Hanover
Hanoverian troops, advanced, 133, 147;
  posting of, 196;
  at Oudenarde, 422
Harcourt, Sir Simon, Attorney-General, 312;
  told by the Queen to notify Harley of his loss of office, 352;
  out of office, 356
Hare, Rev. Dr Francis, M.’s chaplain, later Bishop of Chichester, on M.’s illness and recovery at Assche, 398-399;
  on droves of French prisoners after Oudenarde, 433
Harlebeck, M.’s camp at, 163, 164, 165
Harley, Abigail, 322 n.
Harley, Robert, later first Earl of Oxford, relations of, with the Whigs circa 1705, 21, 32-33;
  Tory followers of, 26;
  Seymour tripped up by, 30, 33;
  Toryism of, a national Coalition Government not objected to by, 32-33;
  relations of, with the Queen, 32, 33, 237, 311, 350, 355;
  her appeal to him for help, 312 and n.;
  Harley-Godolphin differences, the, 33;
  dinner-party of, chaff at, 72-73;
  and the War of the Spanish Succession, 73;
  character of, 73;
  Guiscard’s attempt to assassinate, 86;
  enthusiasm of, on Ramillies, 142;
  trimming attitude of, in 1706, 236-237;
  effective appeal by, to the Lords, 239;
  wish of, to try Peterborough, and M.’s warning against the plan, 306-307;
  Abigail Hill’s relationship with, 319 (see also Masham, Abigail);
  schemes of, failure of, 332, 333;
  later maturing of these, 338;
  a great embarrassment to, 348 et seq.;
  reprehensible carelessness of, over his postal matters, and result, 349 et seq.;
  fall of, contributing causes, 350;
  at bay, 350 et seq.;
  attempt of, to overthrow the Government, 351;
  difficulties in Committee on conscription, 351;
  hopes of, in June 1708 promptly dashed, 352 et seq.;
  informed of his dismissal, and his defence, 352-353;
  dismissal of, announced, 356;
  resignation of, 355-356;
  Ministries rearranged after his dismissal, 356;
  Whig attack upon, 356;
  the one ‘crime’ of, 357;
  and St John, ill-usage by, of M., causes of, 357;
  re-election of, in 1708, 368;
  plans of, upset of, 369;
  Anne’s balancing of, against M., 463;
  influence of, on the Queen, her own reference to, 473;
  uncertain prospects of, 479;
  and the official plate, 487;
  gossip about, effects of, 540;
  position of the Tory Party after his fall, 548;
  hopes of, from foreign affairs, 549;
  exhorted by St John to gain Bromley, 551;
  this already done, vide letter to him from Bromley, 552;
  mentioned, 33, 320, 464, 465, 541
  Letters from:
    to Godolphin: on party government, 331;
    on his (Harley’s) dismissal, 353;
    to M. in self-justification, 330-331
  Letters to:
    from Godolphin, on his (Harley’s) dismissal, 353;
    from E. Lewis, on a tale that M. would bring over one or another of Anne’s Hanoverian relations, 469 n.;
    on the public thanksgiving after Oudenarde, 476;
    in disparagement of M. as a general, 550;
    from M.: on hopes of a battle, 99;
    on representation of his operations in the Press, 206;
    on Cranstoun’s letter on Ramillies, and on the Observator, 207, 208, 209, 210;
    on concentration of allied troops, 293;
    on number available for reinforcements, 294;
    on the lack of a good German general, 294;
    on a proposed general exchange of prisoners of war, 299;
    from Mrs Masham: on an encounter with the Duchess of M., 322-323;
    on the state of the Queen after her husband’s death, and on the Duchess of M., 548-549;
    from Robinson, on bribes for Swedish notables, 255, n. 2
Hauterive, Eugene’s move on, 526
Haversham, Lord, mouthpiece of the ‘Tackers,’ 26;
  motion by, to invite the Electress Sophia to live in England, 33;
  effect produced by this in Hanover, 52;
  attack by, on Galway, 343;
  the Whig intrigue exposed by, to Queen Anne, 470;
  mentioned, 485
Hedges, Sir Charles, and Peterborough’s remonstrance, 179;
  dismissal of, 235;
  letters to, from M. on the siege of Barcelona, 64;
  mentioned, 221, 223, 227
Heinsius, Pensionary, and d’Alègre’s peace terms, 72;
  d’Alègre made prisoner of war by, 76-77;
  the Guiscard “descent” approved by, 86;
  and M.’s proposed Viceroyship, his objections and M.’s renunciation, 162-163;
  M.’s efforts to convince of his cautiousness, 269-270;
  M.’s efforts to secure a free hand from, 295;
  M.’s struggle with, over giving battle, 297;
  meeting of, with M. and Eugene, 375;
  mentioned, 155, 554
  Letter from, to M. (referred to), concerning the Viceroyalty, 163, 164, 165
  Letters to:
    from M.: on the proposed “descent” on France under Guiscard, 85;
    on French plans in 1706, 95;
    on the gaining of Dendermonde, etc., 139;
    on settling plans for the “descent” and on plans for the campaign, 145;
    on the matter of the Viceroyship, 163;
    on Eugene’s success at Turin, 203;
    on Charles XII and care in writing to him, 249-250;
    offering to wait on Charles XII, 250;
    on proposed operations in June 1707, 297;
    from Portland, on the liaison between M., Godolphin, and the Whigs, 21
Helchin, M.’s headquarters at, 165, 196 203, 216, 462;
  M.’s departure from, 491
Henry IV, of France, 181
Herfelingen, M.’s halt at, and Eugene’s arrival at, 399, 400
Herlegem, seizure of, by Cadogan, 416;
  the front from, to Schaerken, 418;
  Cadogan driven from, 420;
  the French driven from, 423, 424;
  view from, 427
Hermeline, ——, allowance promised to, by Anne, 255 n.
Hesse, Prince of, with Prince Eugene, 1706, 190;
  defeat of, 194
Hesse-Cassel, Prince of, share of, in escorting the convoy from Brussels, 460;
  active as one of M.’s generals, 484;
  at the siege of Lille, 504;
  report of, to the States-General on the Luxembourg incident and on the victory at Wynendael, 510-511, 512
Hesse-Darmstadt, Field-Marshal Prince George of, and the defence of Gibraltar, 58;
  proposals of, at the Lisbon Council, 59;
  wounds and death of, 62, 65
Hessian troops, with Prince Eugene, 190;
  at Oudenarde, 422
Heurne, occupation of, by Biron, 406, 411;
  M. and Eugene at, 413, 440
Hill, Abigail—see Masham, Abigail
Hill, Colonel, 322
Hill, Richard, Envoy Extraordinary to Savoy, 59
Histoire de Charles XII (Voltaire), 254
Hochstet (Hochstädt)—see Blenheim
Hoffmann, Johann Philipp von, Imperial Minister resident in London, 347;
  on Peterborough’s character, 57;
  on English vexation at Eugene’s not going to Spain, 346
Holland, M.’s visit to (1705), 54;
  demand in, for peace negotiations, 380
Holy Roman Empire, plight of, in 1706, 37 et seq.;
  M.’s fortune used as guarantee for army pay of, 47;
  conditions in, at the beginning of 1706, 76;
  Hungarian revolt in—see Hungarian revolt;
  military decay and legal greed of, 214;
  collapse of, 279;
  policy of, in 1707, 310;
  dearth of soldiers in, 555
Hondorff, Baron de, 203
Hooke, Nathaniel, Harley’s agent, 359
Hop, Jacob, Dutch Treasurer, letter to, from M., on hopes of victory, 100;
  and Belgian taxation, 154;
  on the offer of the Viceroyalty to M. and certainty of Dutch disapproval, 161-162
House of Commons, action of, to meet the Jacobite raid and carry on the war, 361;
  will of, overriding that of the Queen, 545
House of Lords, and the Queen’s Speech of 1707, 338
Household troops in England, 360
Houses, buying rather than building, M.’s opinion on, 386
Huguenot refugees, regiments of, formed for Guiscard’s “descent” on France, 85
Huguenots, Galway’s Deputy-Generalship of, 55-56
Hungarian revolt under Rakoczy (q.v.), 37, 47, 155;
  and Sunderland’s mission of mediation, 27;
  efforts to quell, 152;
  M.’s hint on, to Goes, 155;
  mediation of the Sea Powers, 210 et seq.;
  the truce, 210-211;
  Rakoczy’s letter to M., 211;
  the Emperor’s decision, 212;
  Sunderland’s view on, 215;
  new phase of, 294;
  difficulties of, and weakening of, to final defeat, 295
Huy, siege of, 297, 380, 381, 383
Huysse, meeting at, of the princes with Vendôme, 430-431
 
Ingoldsby’s regiments, losses of, at the assault on Menin, 197
Ingolstadt, blockade of, continued resistance of, how animated, 40-41
Inundations and aquatic warfare, 374, 503
Inverness, 363
Ireland, Gal way in, 56;
  the rebellion in, 538;
  Wharton made Lord-Lieutenant of, 545
Isle of Wight, Guiscard’s Huguenot troops massed at, for the “descent,” 85;
  Erle’s troops massed in, 378;
  Dutch request for these troops, and M.’s hope that et will not be granted, 399;
  Erle’s descent from, proposed, 453
Italy, the war in, French conquest imminent in 1706, 38;
  M.’s concern over, 39;
  capital importance of, 75;
  allied troops in, in 1706, 83;
  campaign in, with Prince Eugene planned by M. and authorized by the Queen, 83 and n., 84;
  Vendôme recalled from, to command in France, 144;
  disaster to French arms in, 151;
  fighting held up in, 152;
  French army in, retreat of, 193 et seq.;
  the war abandoned by France, 194, 195, 213;
  the separate peace with, 246, 273
Italy, Eastern, order of battle in, May 12, 1706, 183 n.
Italy, Northern, Louis XIV’s grip on maintained, 71
 
Jacobite raid (1708), French support to, 359 et seq.;
  effect of, on the polls, 548
Jacobite restoration, death-knell of, 216
Jacobitism of M. and the English army, 442
James II, M.’s desertion of, 336;
  exile of, 355;
  shipwreck of, recalled, 363;
  Anne’s letter to, before assuming the crown, and the reply of Mary of Modena, 468;
  rebellion against, 538
James Edward Stuart, the Old Pretender, Anne’s feelings concerning, 35, 217, 469;
  and the Jacobite attempt in 1708, 359 et seq.;
  French support to, 359, 366;
  at Oudenarde, 416, 427, 446;
  and M.’s inquiry about, 442
Jandrinol, allied troops deploying at, 105
Janus, —— de, letters to, from M., of warning, 272;
  on Villars’s forces and reserves, 294
Japanese field orders, anticipated by M. as to praising a defeated enemy, 149
Jena, battle of, 91
Jenet, Captain, death of, 418
Jones, Colonel, an embarrassing report concerning, 541
Joseph I, Emperor, Sunderland’s mission to, of mediation, 27;
  and his difficulties in 1706, 37 et seq.;
  M. besought by, to come to Vienna, 38, 39;
  M.’s principality confirmed by, 48, 167;
  M. assured of his assent to a treaty with Prussia, 51-52;
  offers from, of support to his brother, in Spain, 68;
  and the assertion of Austrian judicial rights in the Netherlands, 152, 154;
  M. appointed by, Viceroy of the Netherlands, 159, 160, 163;
  and the Hungarian rebellion (q.v.), 211, 212;
  deposition of, a condition of the offered French alliance with Rakoczy, 294-295;
  Sunderland’s support to, 215;
  resistance of, to the just claims of Victor Amadeus, 244, 246;
  agreement of, with Louis XIV to close down the Italian front, 246, 273;
  ultimatum to, on the siege of Toulon, 246;
  Charles XII’s intentions concerning, 254;
  M.’s advice to, as to Charles XII, 309;
  and Eugene’s suggested command in Spain, 341, 342;
  his refusal to permit this, 346, 375;
  and the war, 344, 345;
  a Hague conference suggested by, 346-347;
  mentioned, 40, 159, 161, 203, 341
  Letters to:
    from a counsellor of Charles III, on Peterborough, 65;
    from Prince Eugene: on the French army’s retreat in Italy, 187;
    on the tenacity of the English admirals, 286;
    on M.’s depression, 396-397;
    on the Toulon affair, 288;
    from M.: on his ruined plans, 88;
    after Ramillies, 140;
    from Queen Anne, asking that Eugene should be sent to Spain, 342
“Joyeuse Entrée, La,” charter of, restoration of, by M., 133
Judoigne, M.’s intended search near, for Villeroy, 102;
  French march from, to Ramillies, 104;
  Villeroy’s retreat to, from Ramillies, 123, 125 et seq.
Junto, the, Lords of, before and after the election of 1705, 22, 25, 34;
  tactics of, in 1705 and after, 26, 27 et alibi;
  and Sunderland’s appointment, 215;
  Godolphin’s submission to, 550
 
Kaiserswerth, siege-fighting at, 198
Kane, Colonel, at Oudenarde, 445
Kerkhoff, Scheldt crossing at, M.’s march to, 525
King’s Dragoon Guards at Ramillies, 126
King’s Regiment (Liverpool), sent to meet the Jacobite raid, 362 n.
Kitchener of Khartoum, Earl, on how one has to wage war, 484
Klopp, Onno, account by, of the battle of Ramillies, basis of, 104 n.;
  cited, passim
 
La Bassée, occupation of, by M., 455, 456;
  M.’s foraging parties in, 515
La Colonie, Jean-Martin de, Colonel of French Grenadiers, and the resistance of Ingolstadt, 40-41;
  after position of, 41;
  at Ramillies, account by, of the French in that battle, 104, 110, 111-112;
  retreat of, to Namur, 127-128
La Feuillade, Louis d’Aubusson, Comte de, successes of, 38;
  and the siege of Turin, 182, 185, 191-192, 194;
  letter to, from Chamillart, 186;
  character of, according to Saint-Simon, 185;
  wife of, 185;
  Orleans’ lack of authority over, 192;
  mentioned, 188, 189
La Motte, Count de, cavalry under, 266;
  Bruges entered by, 388;
  sent to seize M.’s convoy from Ostend, beaten off by Webb at the battle of Wynendael, 508, 509-510;
  M.’s letter on, to Webb, 512;
  surrender of, at Ghent, 532, 533
Lamberty, G. de, on Charles XII and the attack on Toulon, 279;
  on a scandal about M. and a bribe from Victor Amadeus, 289
Landau, fortress of, 270;
  siege of (1705), 41;
  garrison of, 86;
  siege and recapture of, planned, 87;
  but not attempted, 152;
  a diversion with its garrison suggested by M., 293
Landen, Albemarle at, 45;
  battle of, 56
Lapland coast, French raids off, on English shipping, 334
Lauter, the, line of, devoured, 86;
  French successes on, sacrificed, 152
Lavalière, Duke of, gift of, to M., 44
Leake, Admiral Sir John, second-in-command to Shovell, 58;
  distrust of, for Peterborough, 66;
  disregard by, of Peterborough’s orders, and the relief of Barcelona, 81;
  activities of, in 1708, departure of, 535
Léau, fortress of, siege of, why determined by Louis XIV, 96
Lecheraine, Count, 160
Lediard, Thomas, story by, of the siege of Lille, 487-488
Lee and Jackson, Generals, self-effacement of, M.’s action a parallel to, 91
Leffinghe, occupation of, by Erle, canal bridged there, 508;
  threatened by Vendôme, 514, 516;
  key to the aquatic warfare near Lille, 516;
  garrison of, relief of, 520;
  evacuation of, by Grimaldi, 532
Légal, General, troops brought by, to Berwick, 174
Leghorn, 277
Leipzig, Charles XII near, 247;
  important conversations at, 256
Lens, occupation of, by M., 455, 456
Leopard, the, boarding by, 363
Leopold I, Emperor, M. created a sovereign Imperial Prince by, his attitude concerning this, 47 et seq.;
  promise of, to the Margrave, 270
Lessines, M.’s march to, 399, 400, 401, 403, 404;
  French intention to occupy, 400;
  occupied instead by Cadogan, 400-401;
  M.’s advance from, 408
Lewis, Erasmus, letters from, to Harley: on a tale that M. would bring over one or other of Anne’s Hanoverian relatives, 469 n.;
  on the public thanksgiving for Oudenarde, 476;
  in disparagement of M. as a general, 550
Lichtenstein, Prince of, grievances of, 177;
  loss of Charles III’s favour by, 258
Liége, M.’s design on, 297
Lille, city and citadel of, 157;
  name of, origin of, 483;
  Villeroy at, 143;
  French approach to, 403;
  garrison of, reinforced by Berwick, 446;
  Berwick himself at, 446, 448;
  M.’s reasons for not marching directly on, 452, 453;
  capture of, essential to M.’s great design, 454
Lille, siege of, 373, 456;
  preparations for, 458 et seq.;
  the investment complete, 373, 462;
  bombardments and assaults during, 374;
  garrison reinforced by Berwick in person, 446, 448;
  its strength in 1708, 483;
  attack delivered from the north, 488;
  gates, chapel, and mill at, scenes of carnage, 488;
  the besiegers’ earthworks round, 488-489;
  object of the bombardments, 489, 492;
  attack under Eugene on the counterscarp, 495, 497;
  allied losses at, 497-498;
  anxiety on, at the French Court, 500;
  retreat of the French army to Tournai from, 500;
  protraction of, and continued bombardment, 502;
  powder carried into, by Luxembourg, 506, 511;
  besiegers’ rejoicings over arrival of munitions, 513;
  pay of M.’s troops in lieu of reduced bread ration, 514;
  aquatic warfare during, 516;
  surrender of the town, and withdrawal of Boufflers to the citadel, 374, 518-519;
  losses on both sides, 519;
  the citadel still held, 520;
  final capitulation of, 374, 529;
  expert opinion on M.’s chances of success in, 550;
  mentioned, 201, 402, 436
Lille-Douai road, proposed battle astride, 492
Limburg, bestowal of, on Holland in Louis XIV’s peace proposals, 71
Limburg dispute, the, a renewal of, 153
Limone, 182
Lincolnshire Regiment, sent to meet the Jacobite raid, 362 n.
Lionne, Comtesse de, letter to, from M. on her husband’s leave as prisoner of war, 299
Lions, Gulf of, Shovell’s vision from, 274
Lisbon, meeting at, of leaders of the Allies (1705), 58;
  plans formulated at, 59;
  the Guiscard “descent” diverted to, 181, 258;
  allied fleet refitting at, 534
Lombardy, Vendôme in, 182;
  possession of, aimed at, by Joseph I, 244
Lombeek, allied advance troops at, 391;
  the mill of, 392
London, money interests of, and the war, 23;
  enthusiasm in, over the capture of Barcelona, 65;
  support of, to a Whig loan, 350;
  panic in, at Jacobite raid, 363
London Gazette, the, 204, 206
London River, ships of, lost, 334
Lord-Lieutenancies, Whigs appointed to, 22
Lorraine, Duke of, consolation for, in Louis XIV’s peace proposals, 71
Loseke, Colonel, death of, 413
Lottum, Count, sent to the support of Tilly, 302;
  at Oudenarde, reinforcing Argyll, 419;
  M. at his front, 420;
  with reinforcements, 420-421;
  withdrawal of, manœuvre of, 421-422;
  the French lines at Warneton and Comines levelled by, 447;
  crossing of the Scheldt by, at Gavre, 526;
  the ordered halt there, Goslinga’s wrath at, 527-528;
  ordered to march on Oudenarde, 528
Louis, Prince—see Baden, the Margrave of
Louis XIV, offers of, to Prussia, object of, 51;
  efforts of, to recover Gibraltar, 55, 79;
  changed policy of, after Blenheim, 69;
  offers of, to the Dutch, 69;
  details laid before M., 70-71;
  M.’s attitude thereto, 71-72;
  M.’s message of ceremony to, 70;
  bribe offered by, to M., 70, 71, 72;
  determined effort of, in Spain in 1766, 79-80;
  withdrawal of, 82;
  initiative urged by, on Villeroy, 93, 94;
  dispositions of his forces by, in 1706, 96;
  yoke of, on Belgium removed by Ramillies, 133;
  forces of, withdrawn from Italy, 139;
  belated knowledge of, as to Ramillies, 142;
  Chamillart sent for news, 142-143;
  Villeroy removed from his command by, courtesy shown in so doing, 144;
  new army of, 144, 151-152;
  diplomacy of, and peace proposals, 156, 157;
  suspicions of, of the Elector of Bavaria, 167-168;
  Anne willing to negotiate peace with, in 1706, 169;
  hopes held by, of the Italian campaign, 181;
  these hopes upset by the relief of Turin, 184 et seq.;
  more new armies formed by, distribution and commanders of, 241-242;
  a French peace still sought by, and M.’s opposition, 242;
  agreement made with Joseph;
  to close the Italian front, 246, 273;
  Besenval sent by, to Charles XII, 249;
  bribe offered by, to Count Piper, 255;
  secret treaty of, with Charles XII, effects of, on the Toulon affair, 279;
  and the attack on Toulon, 279, 286-287, 291;
  troops sent to, 300;
  hangings desired by, given to M. by Victor Amadeus, 289;
  battle forbidden by, to Vendôme, 292;
  constant interference by, with his generals, 291, 375, 380, 457;
  an official alliance offered by, to Rakoczy, the impossible conditions in, 294-295;
  and the first Jacobite raid on England, 359;
  resolve of, to gain the mastery in Flanders in 1708, 374;
  announcement by, of a coming general engagement, a preliminary approved by, 381;
  the one thing forbidden by, in war happening at Oudenarde, 428;
  the defeat of Oudenarde minimized to, 444;
  M.’s hope to force him to overrule Vendôme’s decision as to Ghent, 448;
  and his ravaged provinces, 455;
  plight of, in 1708, 456;
  the Duke of Burgundy ordered to venture battle by, 457;
  Berwick kept at Douai by, 457;
  and the siege of Lille, 483;
  a battle ordered to relieve this, 485-486, 489, 493, 497;
  war-weariness of, 485-486;
  Burgundy and Berwick sent by, to Grammont, 491;
  prescription of, on powder for Lille citadel, 502, 505;
  enhanced efforts of, after the fall of Lille, 521;
  mortification of, at the loss of the Scheldt, of the citadel of Lille, and the unsuccess at Brussels, 529;
  menace of, to England, 538;
  apogee and downfall of, 538;
  power of, to resist the Grand Alliance finally broken, 554;
  mentioned, 37, 149, 168, 183, 184, 199, 202, 240, 459, 495, 496
  Letters from:
    to Villeroy, on preparations to receive first shock of English troops, 107;
    after Ramillies, 144
  Letters to:
    from Villeroy, after Ramillies, 143;
    from Vendôme, on the siege of Lille, 496
Louvain, M.’s first objective in 1706, 92;
  Villeroy’s line of retreat to, menaced, 108;
  Villeroy and the Elector at, 130;
  traverse of, by M., 132;
  surrender of, 136;
  allied occupation of, 140;
  French menace to, 381;
  mentioned, 98, 139, 157, 164, 301
Low Countries, Vauban’s fortifications in, 60;
  English military expenditure in (1706), 67;
  French strategy in, M.’s expectations as to, 95, 96. See also Belgium;
  Flanders;
  Spanish Netherlands
Lübeck, Danish incursion into, 76
Lumley, General Henry, at Ramillies, 120;
  cavalry operations under, 126, 127;
  M.’s instructions to, in March 1708, 360;
  at Oudenarde, cavalry under, at Bevere, sent to reinforce Eugene, 423-424
Luneberger troops, advance of, 133
Luserna valley, the, 186
Luxembourg, fortress of, proposed surrender of, 167, 168
Luxembourg, Major-General the Chevalier de, dramatic enterprise of, success of, 506, 511
Lys, river, fortresses along, Villeroy’s bid to hold, 143;
  M.’s crossing of, 145;
  M.’s proposal to cross, in 1708 and thence threaten the French frontier and fortresses, 434-436;
  mentioned, 197, 199, 201
Lys-Scheldt water communication paralysed by Vendôme’s presence at Ghent, 436, 456
 
Madrid, a proposed march on, 59, 258;
  delays in this, 172, 173;
  Peterborough’s designs on, 81;
  entered by Galway, 173;
  Charles III proclaimed King in, 174;
  entry into, of Charles III, 181
Maestricht, 87, 384, 483
Maffei, General Alessandro, at Ramillies, 123 and n.;
  misfortune of, 125;
Maffei, Count Annibale, letter to, from M. after the failure at Toulon, 308;
  mentioned, 122 n., 175, 282
Maintenon, Madame de, 144, 168
Mainz, 87
“Maison du Roi,” the, disposition of, in 1706, 95;
  at Ramillies, prowess of, against the Dutch cavalry, 115, 153;
  M. in danger from, 117-118;
  destruction of, 117, 122, 123, 141;
  survivors of, at Louvain, 131;
  M.’s high praise of, 149;
  overthrow of, felt by Louis XIV, 151;
  at Oudenarde and Natzmer’s remnants, 425;
  Overkirk not stopped by, 426;
  panic in, 429;
  retreat of, 431-432
Malaga, Rooke’s victory off, 21
Malines, summoned to surrender, 132;
  M.’s garrison in, 133;
  submission of, 136
Malplaquet, battle of, 78;
  Cranstoun killed at, 209
Mansell, ——, out of office, 356
Mantua, garrison of, reinforced, 194
Marie Louise of Savoy-Piedmont, wife of Philip V of Spain, 75 and n.
Marlborough, John Churchill, first Duke of:
  Appearance, manner, etc.: greying hair, 225;
    Charles XII’s opinion on, 252;
    an appreciation of, by the Electress Sophia, 54
  Biographical, political, and general references: fortunes of, effect on, of the General Election of 1705, 19;
    on “the base ingratitude” of his countrymen, 21;
    liaison of, with the Whigs, Portland on, 21;
    influence with, of his wife, 26;
    and the old Earl of Ailesbury, 43 et seq.;
    interest of, in the building of Blenheim Palace, 45, 90, 138, 204, 32, 327;
    a sovereign Prince of the Empire in virtue of Mindelheim (q.v.), 47 et seq.;
    interest of, in its income, 49;
    his position in this respect emphasized by Frederick I, 87;
    offers his principality to the Elector, 167, 171;
    back in London, 54;
    the Whigs cultivated by, 72;
    at a notable dinner-party, chaff passed at, 72-73;
    ideals of, English affairs conforming to, in 1706, 73;
    Whig partners in Government desired by, 73;
    Champion in all opinions, 76;
    and his wife, efforts of, on behalf of an unwise divine, 91-92, 100;
    wish of, to retire, 324-325, 371, 465, 474-475, 533;
    health at various times, headaches and illness of, 135, 136, 300, 372, 393, 395, 396, 397, 398, 399, 448, 449, 457, 465, 498, 526, 534, 536;
    letter-writing, holograph, instances of, 138-140;
    disapprobation by, of Peterborough, 180, 257;
    use made by, of the Press, 206;
    and the Union, 216, 217;
    firm friendship of, for Godolphin, 218, 225, 227, 233;
    political worries while at war, 225, 536, 540;
    political malice against, in 1707, 310 et seq.;
    Harley’s uncertainty as to, 312;
    St John’s indebtedness and disloyalty to, 313-314, 326;
    Harley’s readiness to sacrifice, 314 et seq.;
    support by, of a Whig for an Oxford professorship, effect of, on Anne, 315;
    on Abigail Hill as grateful, 319;
    aware of the breach between his wife and the Queen, his consequent attitude, 321-322;
    worries of, over the prosecution of his brother, Admiral George, 327, 328-329, 335-336;
    on his loyal service to the Queen, 329-330;
    return of, public splendours of, subterraneous insecurity, 239-240;
    Godolphin’s pole star, 332;
    personal habits of, in days of greatness, 338-339;
    return of, to England, November 1707, conditions encountered by, 338;
    most memorable Parliamentary performance of, 342, 343, 344-345;
    holiday of, in the country, 348;
    Harley’s expulsion considered by, 350;
    isolation of, 352;
    and Godolphin, both said to be dismissed, effects of this, 355;
    wise choice by, of young Ministers, 356;
    explanation of his ill-usage by Harley and St John, 357;
    position of, at home in 1708, 537, 553;
    attack on his sailor brother renewed and his decision to call for his resignation, 540-541, 542;
    refusal of, to align with any party, 556;
    powerless without the Whigs, 556;
    contempt of, for both parties, 556
  Character and characteristics: his one sensitive spot, 19;
    courtesy to opponents and to prisoners of war, 42, 43, 149;
    a master of policy, 44;
    appreciation of the value of money, abstemiousness, economy, and frugality, 44, 49, 300, 386, 442, 443, 484;
    depression before action, 89, 92, 93, 101, 225, 232, 392, 394, 396, 397;
    calm, 100, 154;
    confidence in action, 99, 124;
    non-resentment of disparagement, 91-92, 208;
    sense of duty, 95;
    keeping himself fit, 99;
    beloved by his troops, 118;
    cautiousness, 132;
    religion, 137;
    loyalty to Queen Anne, 137, 321;
    patience, 154, 210;
    patriotic self-sacrifice, 160-161, 163, 164, 166, 170, 171;
    large-minded generosity, 171, 314, 328, 396;
    sensitive to criticism of his military conduct, 205, 206;
    practical sagacity, 251;
    sombre fatalism after his wife’s breach with the Queen, 321;
    artful yet benevolent, 342;
    dissimulation, 342, 347, 531;
    military qualities, 424;
    level-headedness, 467;
    fortitude and tenacity, 482;
    pleasure of, in perquisites, 487;
    power of seeing things from the enemy’s point of view, 490
  Diplomatic occupations and influence, 37;
    advice to the Dutch to reject French peace overtures, 31;
    implored to go to Vienna, 38-39;
    authority sought and plans made, 38 et seq.;
    journey of, to Vienna, 45 et seq.;
    financial doings of, at Vienna, 47;
    tour of, in 1705, 51 et seq.;
    the Grand Alliance saved by, 54;
    visit of, to Prussia and engagements made by, their outcome and the King’s gift, 51-52;
    visit of, to Hanover, perturbation at, allayed by, and instructions from the Queen, 52-53;
    a gift to, of a coach and six, 53;
    a talk with the Elector and its results, 54;
    reasons of, for tolerating the Spanish venture, 67-68;
    bribe offered to, by Louis XIV, 70, 71, 72;
    attitude of, to Louis XIV’s peace proposals, 71-72;
    extent of labours seen in volume of dispatches, 76;
    agreements made by, threatening to crumble, 76 et seq.;
    views of, on the Dutch claims and their repercussions, 77 et seq.;
    Goslinga invited by, to share his cloak at Meldert, 129;
    action of, in Belgium after Ramillies unsupported, 133;
    conversation of, with Count Goes, on the Hapsburg claims in the Netherlands, 154-155;
    simple, sober ruthlessness of, 155;
    abstention from gaining towns in Belgium for England, 156;
    intrigue of, with the Elector of Bavaria, 166 et seq.;
    and the French counter-proposals, 169;
    adverse to the Dutch Barrier-Succession Treaty, 169;
    opposition of, to a French peace, 242;
    alarm of, at Charles XII’s attitude, 249;
    mission of, to Charles XII, 254 et seq., 266;
    first meeting of, with Count Piper, 250-251;
    lavish gifts of money (not reckoned as bribes), 254 et seq.;
    no proposals made by, to Charles XII, 254;
    on his choice out of the four kings he met, 256;
    on the battle of Almanza, 265;
    aims of, countered by Peterborough, 305;
    and the visit to Soignies of Peterborough, 306-307;
    correspondence with Charles XII conducted by, 309;
    one of his most notable successes, 309-310;
    diplomatic efforts of, in 1708, 345;
    failure of these, 346;
    regarded by Anne as Minister as well as General, 470;
    use of other men’s weak points and virtues, 531
  Relations of, with Queen Anne, 312, 473;
    loss of the Queen’s favour and fall of, 395, 475, 536, 540 et seq., 555;
    political repercussions of this, 548 et seq., his wish to retire made known to the Queen, 201;
    her appreciation of him, 318;
    threat used to her by him, 353;
    his feeling for her, 354, 464, 474, 501 et passim;
    informed by her of the dismissal of Harley, 356;
    his prestige as affecting her, 358;
    as a sure guide, 463;
    his lack of illusions regarding her, 465;
    sentiment uniting with the Queen, 469;
    resignation of, Anne and Harley unprepared to face, 479;
    an assured defender of the throne, 479;
    decision of, not to write to her for the present, 491;
    appeal to her for promotion for Webb after Wynendael, 513, 517;
    his hope that she will have a public thanksgiving in 1708, 534
  Letters exchanged with Godolphin and with his wife—see under Marlborough, Duchess of;
    Godolphin
  Letters from: to d’Alègre, 77;
    to Queen Anne: on protecting the Lord Treasurer, 25;
    on the Sunderland appointment, 231;
    urging compliance as to Somers, 366;
    on the coming Whig majority, 366;
    on the probability of having to fight a battle, 379;
    the histrionic note in, 380;
    on his treatment by her, reproaches concerning Sunderland, and explaining the critical phrase which had ruffled her, 471-472;
    on his wish to retire and his reasons, and on Godolphin’s wish to retire, 481-482;
    sent by Webb, 518;
    to the Elector of Bavaria: on his inability to withdraw patrols, 42;
    tone of, a measure of the situation, 43;
    of courteous thanks, 166;
    to Boyle, on the Abbeville plan, 458;
    to Bulow, 100;
    to Cadogan: on extreme care of the cannon during their transport, 459-460;
    on paying troops for rationless days, 514-515;
    to Chamillart, on returning all prisoners of war on leave, 299;
    to Chetwynd: on supply of ammunition, 276;
    on the attack on Toulon, 278;
    to his brother, Admiral Churchill, demanding his resignation, 342-543;
    to Prince Eugene: with details of the battle of Ramillies, 140;
    asking Eugene’s view of Vendôme, 198-199;
    on the Imperial demands as to Naples, 245;
    showing M. as giving orders to him, 384;
    to Frederick I: on the tone of his letters to M., 87;
    on his ruined plans, 88;
    to Halifax, on the composition of the allied army, 454;
    to Harley: before Ramillies, 99;
    on Cranstoun’s letter on Ramillies and on the Observator, 207, 208;
    on his representation of his operations in the Press, 206, 209, 210;
    on concentration of allied troops, 293;
    on the need of a good general with the German Rhine army, and on reinforcements available for the Rhine army, 294;
    on a proposed general exchange of war prisoners, 299;
    to Hedges, on Anne’s support to Savoy and on the capture of Barcelona, 64;
    to Heinsius: on the proposed “descent” on France under Guiscard, 85;
    on French measures in 1706, 95;
    on the gaining of Dendermonde, etc., 139;
    on settling plans for the “descent” and for the campaign, 145;
    on his proposed Viceroyship, 163-164, 165;
    on Charles XII, and care in writing to him, 249-250;
    offering to wait on Charles XII, 250;
    on the desirability of a battle and on proposed siege of Liege, 297 (see also States-General, letters and reports to);
    to Hop, before Ramillies, 100;
    to de Janus, on Villars’s forces and reserves in June 1707, 294;
    to Joseph I: on his ruined plans, 88;
    after Oudenarde, 140;
    to the Countess de Lionne, on her husband’s leave, 299;
    to Maffei: after the Toulon failure, 308;
    on the investment of Lille and on the arrival of the siege-train, 462;
    to the Margrave: after Ramillies, 141;
    on concentrating his forces, 293;
    to Admiral Norris, on the attack on Toulon, 275;
    to Noyelles, on the Naples expedition, 275;
    to Peterborough: on his relief of Barcelona and expected march to Madrid, 172;
    inviting a visit from him, 306;
    to the Marquis du Plessis-Châtillon-Nonant, on his leave, 298;
    to Rehbinder, after the Toulon failure, 308;
    to Count Sinzendorff: on the entry into France, 276;
    of reproach, 294;
    to Slingelandt, on avoiding a hasty peace, 169;
    to Stanhope, on the fleet’s wintering in the Mediterranean and the taking of Port Mahon, 447;
    to the States-General—see under States-General;
    to Sunderland: after the Toulon failure, and on expectation of battle in 1708, 308-309;
    during siege of Lille, on the inundations and arrival of the convoy, 516;
    to the various rulers along the Rhine, 54;
    on his ruined plans, 88;
    to Webb, in praise after Wynendael, 512;
    to Wratislaw: on the war in Italy, 39;
    melancholy of, 89;
    on hopes of a victory, 100;
    on provision for a Prussian officer’s widow, 101;
    supporting the claims of Victor Amadeus, 245;
    on the Italian plan, 276;
    on sending a good general and removing Bayreuth, 293-294;
    on humouring Victor Amadeus, etc., 289, 290;
    on Eugene’s going to Spain, 341, 345, 346
  Letters to: from Queen Anne: on a marriage for the King of Prussia, and on discouraging any bringing of the Hanoverian family to England, 52-53;
    on the Sunderland appointment, 229-230;
    announcing Godolphin’s impending dismissal, 352;
    on Whig desire to have Somers in the Cabinet, 365-366;
    complaining of Sunderland, 370;
    on his wish to retire, etc., 371;
    of congratulations after Oudenarde, 466;
    from Chetwynd, on affairs before the attack on Toulon, 284;
    from Charles III: on his destitute state and danger, 66;
    on the defeat at Almanza, 263-264;
    from Prince Eugene, on his march to Toulon, 282;
    from Frederick I of Prussia, and M.’s comment on their tone, 87-88;
    from Harley, in self-justification, 330-331;
    from the Margrave, on his treatment by the Emperor, 212-213;
    from Peterborough, 57;
    on affairs in Spain, 177-178;
    comments thereon by him and by Godolphin, 178-179;
    from Rakoczy, 211;
    from St John, on Guiscard, 85;
    from Wratislaw, on “risking” Imperial army, 279
  Letters to and from Wratislaw, on M.’s principality, 47, 48;
    to and from Wartenberg, 87-88, 101
  Military references:
    Blenheim disparaged in 1705, 19, 149;
    reputation of, enhancement of, 37;
    the Italian campaign his prime object in 1706, 39;
    use of English sea power in the Mediterranean due to, 56;
    defence by, of Galway, 56;
    taking the field in 1706, 79;
    issue of hand-mills to his troops, signification of this, 83;
    commission granted to, by Anne for his Italian campaign, 83 and n.;
    “great design” of, for a march into Italy in 1706, 83;
    Dutch terms for support of this, 84;
    proposed “descent” into France under Guiscard, 84 et seq.;
    events destructive of the scheme, 86;
    the Dutch offer and its condition accepted by, 88;
    most brilliant campaign of, beginnings of, 89;
    accused by Goslinga of prolonging the war, 89, 452;
    enemies of, murmurs of, 90;
    and Eugene, unparalleled comradeship of, 91;
    jealousy unfelt by either, 438, 442;
    departure of, for headquarters, 92;
    desire of, for a battle with the French, 93;
    Chamillart’s depreciatory comments on, 93;
    said by the French to be less keen on the war than previously, 94;
    French strategy in 1706 as anticipated by, 94-95;
    Villeroy detailed to confront, in Brabant, 96;
    intrigues of, one as to Namur discovered, 96;
    Secret Service of, 97, 100, 272, 278, 301, 360, 522;
    change of plans on the French crossing of the Dyle, 98;
    knowledge of, as to the Ramillies position, 98-99;
    hopes of, before Ramillies, 99;
    letters written before Ramillies, 99, 100-101;
    at Ramillies, his artillery there, 102, 105-106, 110, 111;
    cavalry of, disposition of, 105;
    other dispositions adopted by, 105;
    Villeroy deceived, 105;
    advance after cannonade, 106;
    position of, in second part of the battle, 113;
    assurance of success felt by, 114;
    transfer of all his cavalry to his left wing, 114;
    on his superiority in cavalry, 114-115;
    orders of, to Orkney to withdraw, and charges led by, in person, 116, 117;
    unhorsed and remounted, 117 et seq.;
    illustrations of the event, 120 and n.;
    transference by, of infantry from right wing to centre, 121-122;
    his central conception of the battle, 122;
    the final attack delayed by, as at Blenheim, 123-124;
    allied cavalry re-formed by, and advancing, 124;
    in pursuit, delayed at Meldert, 128;
    a share of his cloak offered to Goslinga, 129;
    conquest of the Netherlands effected by, 130, 218;
    Ramillies his battle alone, 150;
    dominating objectives of, after Ramillies, 132;
    stern discipline exercised by, after Ramillies, 133;
    entry of, into Brussels, 133;
    number of troops of, in May 1706, 134;
    on his lack of cannon, 137, 139;
    congratulations to, after Ramillies, 141-142;
    delayed by need of water communication, 145;
    with the army, siege artillery drawing near, 146, 147;
    French admiration of, and fears of, 149;
    on his lack of cannon again, 158;
    Dutch view of his position as Deputy Captain-General of Holland, 153;
    his acceptance of this view and declining to be Viceroy of the Netherlands, 159 et seq.;
    efforts of, to overthrow French dominance as a whole, 155;
    Dutch offensive urged by, in 1702, 156;
    renewed hampering of, by the Dutch, effects of, on the Grand Alliance, 157;
    success of, too great for his future plans, 157;
    Dutch distrust of, causes and results of, 170;
    news received by, of affairs in Spain, 176 et seq.;
    on distrust of Peterborough, 178;
    and the tardy German reinforcements (q.v.), 181;
    reinforcements received by, 196;
    present at the assault on Menin, 197;
    name of, veneration of, in Flanders, 198;
    impression of, on Vendôme, 199;
    quid pro quo for the release of Cadogan, 200;
    and the siege of Dendermonde, 201-202;
    affection of, for Prince Eugene, 203, 247;
    and Cranstoun’s promotion, 208-209;
    author of conquests and victories, 210;
    plan of, for holding France via the Netherlands, 242;
    strategy of, for 1707, basis of, 243;
    Toulon his central aim in 1706-7, 244;
    menace of, to the Empire should it not do justice to Victor Amadeus, 244;
    his reason for charging in person, 253;
    army under, at Anderlecht, anxious for battle but debarred by the Dutch, 266;
    avoidance by, of a French trap, 267;
    wish of, to mislead Vendôme, 268;
    anticipation by, of a sudden stroke by Villars, 272;
    reliance of, on Eugene, disappointed, 277, 288;
    efforts of, to stem Villars’s advance, 292-293;
    on the lack of a good general with the Rhine army, 294;
    at Meldert, worries of, 295 et seq. (see also under Goslinga);
    repeated efforts for freedom of action, fruitless, 295, 297-298, 300-301, 302, 304-305;
    Goslinga’s accusations against, 300;
    army in August 1707, biggest yet commanded by, 301;
    abortive manœuvre of, in August 1707, 301 et seq.;
    criticisms on this, 304;
    move of, to Soignies, 303-304;
    a possible substitute for, as Captain-General, 313;
    strategy of, huge losses envisaged in, 334;
    and the campaign of 1708, 339;
    his determination to make it in Flanders, his one concession, 340-341, 343;
    Cadogan ordered by, to Flanders, 360;
    major episodes in, 373-374;
    novel and suggestive features of, 373;
    inner policy of, in 1707-8, the key of, 342;
    conversations of, with the Imperial Ambassador on sending Eugene to Spain, 345;
    troubles of, with Dutch field Deputies, French parallel to, 375;
    known as one of “the Princes,” 375;
    meeting of, with Eugene and Heinsius and discussion of the general strategy of the year, 375, 377-378;
    gift to, from Victor Amadeus, 376;
    feint by, on the Moselle, the French deceived by, 377-378;
    Vendôme’s plans apprehended by, 380-381;
    the French army contained by, 382;
    retreat of, from Hal, 381;
    reviews by, while delayed, 384-385;
    and the counter-Dutch conspiracies in Belgium, 388;
    movement towards Brussels, 390;
    reconnaissances by, 392;
    march of, on Assche, 393, 396;
    and the possible attack on Albergotti, 393-394;
    trials of, before the battle of Oudenarde, 395;
    joy of, on arrival of Eugene and Cadogan, 396;
    plans made by, with Eugene on seeking battle to be fought by M.’s army alone, 398;
    arrival of, at Lessines, 401;
    rapid advance of, 403, 411;
    battle scented by the army, 404;
    caution of, before Oudenarde, 404-405;
    at the battle of Oudenarde, advance at a gallop to the Scheldt, 406;
    orders to the army to press on received with enthusiasm, 407;
    cavalry at, 407;
    artillery at, 410 and n.;
    further advance, 411;
    move of, with the Prussian horse to the protection of Cadogan, 417;
    anxiety of, and of Eugene, 419;
    and Overkirk’s entry into the field, 420;
    the direction of the battle assumed by, 422;
    Eugene given command of the right battle-front and supported by M., 420;
    repaying the debt of Blenheim, 421;
    infantry of, advancing, cavalry waiting near Groenewald, 428;
    genius of, seen, 428;
    and Eugene united, French commanders widely separated, 433;
    proposals of, after Oudenarde, largely concurred in, the two dissentients, 434, 436;
    Lord Stair sent by, to take the news of Oudenarde to London, 433, 434;
    detractors of, in England, victory of Oudenarde attributed by, to Eugene, 437;
    on his own and Eugene’s laurels, 438;
    after Oudenarde, inquiry by, about “the Prince of Wales,” 442;
    habit of dining with the various commanders, 442, 444;
    care of, for his troops, 443;
    camp of, at Werwicq, 447, 455;
    lack of cannon deplored by, 448, 449;
    horses needed, 449, 450, 459;
    use of canal transport for munitions and stores, 450;
    greatest strategic design of, imparted to Eugene, but not approved by him, 453-454;
    how impeded, 456, 457, 458;
    efforts to get Vendôme out of Ghent, 455;
    severities of, in the exposed French provinces, 455;
    move of, to Helchin, 462;
    and siege of Lille, confidence of, in success if only the French will give battle, 491;
    concentration effected by, 493;
    dispositions of, in hope of a defensive battle near Lille, 493-494;
    cavalry as employed by (see also under Oudenarde;
    Ramillies), 492-493;
    reluctance of, to entrench, 495, 496;
    deaths of the engineers and departure of their workmen, 497;
    decisive battle courted by, in spite of heavy odds, 498;
    replenishments of ammunition received by, 498-499;
    and Eugene, an offensive favoured by, but banned by the field Deputies, 499;
    English engineers, “ill-conduct of,” M.’s vexation at, 501, 504, 507-508;
    isolation of, with Eugene, 502;
    double strain on, due to Eugene’s head injury, 504-505, 507;
    communications with Ostend restored, but menaced by La Motte and protected by Webb, 508-509;
    battle en route, 509 et seq.;
    and the further bombardment at close quarters, 516;
    Tory anger with, over the miscrediting of Wynendael to Cadogan, 511-512;
    justice instantly done by, to Webb, and concern shown for his promotion, 512, 517, 518;
    army of, straits of, for food, 514, 515;
    dispositions of, on October 7, 1708, division of his army and march on Vendôme, 514;
    hopes of, for battle with Vendôme foiled by French retreat, 514;
    constant wish of, for battle, 521;
    said to be moving into winter quarters, 524;
    and Eugene, the French line on the Scheldt forced by, 52, et seq.;
    and Goslinga’s importunities concerning the crossing of the Scheldt, 526 et seq.;
    and Eugene, ascendancy gained by, over the French forces, 529;
    and the capture of Ghent, 531-532;
    public thanksgiving for successes, hoped for, 534;
    great campaign of, of 1708, ended “according to his heart’s desire,” 534, 536;
    criticisms on this silenced by his success, 537;
    importance attached by, to the capture of Port Mahon, 536;
    position of, in winter 1708, 538;
    command of, undisputed, 539;
    disparagement of, as a general by Erasmus Lewis, 550;
    position of, dangers of, in the field and at home, 550, 551, 553;
    soul of the Grand Alliance, 554;
    with Heinsius and Eugene, anticipations of, in 1708, 554-555;
    aspect of, to himself in 1708 as soldier and diplomat, never politician, 556
Marlborough, Sarah, Duchess of (née Jennings), Whig politics and propaganda of, 21, 26, 28, 29, 30, 317;
  estrangement of, from Queen Anne, causes and consequences of, 29-30, 90, 223, 234, 312, 316-317, 318, 319, 321, 324, 540;
  the final rupture, 236, 463, 555;
  gossip about this, effects of, 540;
  M.’s views on this, 321, 329;
  and M.’s honour from Leopold I, 47;
  on Anne’s aversion to her Hanoverian relations, 53;
  portrait of Queen Anne sent by, to the Electress Sophia, 53-54;
  relations of, with Peterborough, 57-58;
  not aware of M.’s forthcoming battle, 101;
  enlisted in Sunderland’s favour, 219;
  tactlessness of her advocacy, 220 et seq.;
  information given by, to Voltaire, 254;
  and Anne’s choice of Bishops, 315;
  on the climax of her relations with Abigail Hill, 323-324;
  wish of, for a great London house, M.’s view on the matter, 385-386;
  and Anne’s dream as to her successor, 469;
  and the public thanksgiving after Oudenarde, the two contretemps connected with, 475 et seq.;
  powers behind, 478;
  Sunderland’s information to, as to Whig promotions, 540;
  on Harley’s visits to the Queen at Windsor, 543;
  conduct of, at the death of Prince George of Denmark, 545 et seq.;
  spiteful aspersion by, on the Queen, 547;
  mentioned, 205, 523 n.
  Character and characteristics of:
    a scent for genius, two manifestations of, 57-58;
    tactlessness, 220, 223, 224, 312, 319, 321;
    candour and blunt common sense, 478
  Letters from:
    to Queen Anne: on the Sunderland appointment, 220 et seq.;
    enclosing one from M., 233-234;
    on the mortification put on her by the Queen, 476;
    to explain what she said at St Paul’s, 477;
    on the illness of Prince George of Denmark, 545-546;
    to M.: on the conflicting Whig and Tory policies, 19
  Letters to:
    from Queen Anne: showing change in her feelings to the Whigs, 34;
    on letting Stephens be spared the pillory, 91-92;
    on the miswritten word, 222-223;
    on the Sunderland appointment, 222-223;
    a chiding for her over-friendship for Abigail Hill, 316-317;
    in defence of Abigail Hill, 319-320;
    in resentment at the Duchess’s rudeness to her at St Paul’s, 477;
    on M.’s credit with her and a request for silence as to Abigail Hill, 477-478;
    about Prince George’s funeral, 547;
    from M.: on the Tories as his foes, 19-20;
    on his notion of a good Parliament, 22;
    on his children, his house, and the coming Ramillies campaign, 89-90;
    on the matter of Stephens, 92, 100;
    on his victory at Ramillies, on the death of Bringfield and help for his family, 134-135;
    on his headache after Ramillies, on thanksgivings for the victory, and on the surrender of Brussels, 136-137;
    on towns submitting and prospects of peace, and on the building of Blenheim Palace, 137-138;
    on her correspondence with Peterborough, 180;
    on the capture of Cadogan, 199-200;
    on his love for Prince Eugene, 203;
    on Blenheim Palace and on hopes of a speedy meeting, 203-204;
    on scandalous pamphlets, 210;
    on the Sunderland appointment, 224, 225;
    on the Whig temper, etc., 231;
    on coming home, on his devotion to the Queen, and on his inability to serve her without Godolphin, 232;
    on affairs in October 1706, 233;
    on Spanish distrust of Galway and his position in general, 265;
    on the desirability of having a battle, 297;
    on Peterborough’s stay and long conversations, and a warning, 307;
    on Shrewsbury, 324-325;
    on his age and longing for retirement, 324-325, 474-475;
    on advice to Godolphin, 326;
    on Harley and Godolphin, 327;
    on his approaching the Queen with advice, 328-329;
    on Prior, and on the prosecution of his brother George, 327;
    in despondency, 329;
    during the 1708 campaign, 383;
    to give courage to her, 385;
    on Marlborough House, 386;
    on his victory at Oudenarde, 434;
    on French obstinacy over Ghent, 448;
    on his tenderness for the Queen, 464;
    after Oudenarde, the critical sentence in it, the Queen nettled by, 467;
    on his support of the Whigs but freedom of action as to the Queen, 471;
    on Mrs Masham and the Queen, 472-473, 474;
    on the Queen’s reply to his advice, and on his loyal devotion to her, 474;
    on the silence of the Queen, 478-479;
    on Mrs Masham, how best to act concerning, 479;
    on the siege of Lille and a probable battle, 485, 500-501;
    on his dispositions, 486;
    on Dutch insolence, the Queen’s unwisdom, and the Ministerial plate, 486-487;
    on Vendôme’s plans, 489-490;
    forecasting enemy actions, 490-491;
    on the sieges and fall of Ghent and Bruges, 532-533;
    on the terror inspired in the French by his campaign of 1708, 537;
    of annoyance concerning Admiral Churchill, 541;
    from Peterborough, 57;
    on Spain and its disagreeables, M.’s comment on, 179-180
Marlborough House, M.’s opinions on, 386
Marque, stream, crossing of, by Eugene, 461;
  M.’s observation behind, 500
Marsin, Ferdinand, Marshal de, M. on the effect on, of his own change of plan, 90;
  expected return of, M.’s determination to attack, 92;
  posted to aid either French army, 95;
  at Blenheim, 106;
  juncture of, with Villeroy, 138, 140;
  troops brought by, 144;
  Vendôme’s opinion of, 183-184;
  and the siege of Turin, 188 et seq.;
  dejection felt by, 190. 191;
  wounded in the battle of Turin, capture and death of, 193, 203;
  letter from, to Chamillart on his expectation of death, 194
Mars-la-Tour, Bredow’s brigade at, charge of, a parallel to Natzmer’s at Oudenarde, 426
Mary of Modena, letter of, on the raid of 1708 and its true object, 359;
  reply of, to Anne’s letter to her father on assuming the crown, 468-469
Masham, Colonel, marriage of, to Abigail Hill, 320, 322
Masham, Abigail (née Hill), befriended by the Duchess of M. and introduced as dresser to Anne, 316;
  gradual gain of influence over the Queen and successful ousting of her first patroness, 318 et seq.;
  relationship of, with the Duchess of M., 316, 319;
  relationship of, with Harley, 319, 472;
  relations of, with Harley, 318-319, 338, 350;
  relations of, with the Queen, 356, 543, 546, 547, 548-549;
  marriage of, concealment of, 320, 322;
  wrath at this of the Duchess of M., 320-321;
  varying accounts of, 322, 323;
  climax in her relations with the Duchess of M., 323-324;
  the Duchess finally ousted by, 463, 464, 465, 475 et seq.;
  a falsehood furthered by, against M., 469;
  M.’s comments on, 319, 472-473, 474, 479;
  gossip about, effects of, 540;
  Whig court to, 540
  Letters from:
    to Harley: on an encounter with the Duchess of M., 322-323;
    on Anne’s state on the death of her husband, and on the Duchess of M., 548-549
Matignon, Marshal, Biron forbidden by, to advance, 410;
  after Oudenarde, 431
Maubeuge, 157, 305
Maximilian Emmanuel, Elector Palatine—see Bavaria, Elector of
May, Isle of, Firth of Forth, Forbin at, 362
Medavi, General, 190;
  victory of, and disposal of his forces, 194-195
Mediterranean expedition, distracted counsels in, 58 et seq.
Mediterranean Sea, the, English command of, M.’s aim at, 56, 334;
  Shovell’s aim to secure, 274;
  secured, 290, 536, 539;
  wintering in, of the fleet, necessity of, M. on, 361, 535
Meldert, M.’s autumn headquarters at, 98, 265, 291, 299;
  M.’s night at, after Ramillies, 128-129;
  M.’s dispatches from, and correspondence, the mass of, 294
Memorial of the Church of England, The (Drake), on Anne’s alleged desertion of the Church, 23;
  M.’s indignation at, 205
Menin, fortress of, 139, 400;
  investment of, planned by M., 157, 158;
  “key town,” menaced by M., 196;
  M. present at siege and fall of, 197-198;
  losses at, in M.’s day and in the Great War, 198;
  French designs on, 393;
  M.’s siege-train safely arrived at, 462, 511
Merchant shipping losses in 1706-7, 334
Mercurius Politicus, a high Tory newspaper, 204, 205;
  abuse in, of M. and of Godolphin, 206
Merdorp, French hussars at, 102
Meredith, Brigadier, 43
Methuen, Sir Paul, English Ambassador to Lisbon, 55;
  and the King of Portugal, 173;
  letter from, to Sunderland, on Almanza and after, 264
Meuse, the, 156, 381
Meyerfeld, General, 248
Milan, garrison of, reinforced, 195
Milan, Treaty of, disloyalty of, 246, 247;
  Berwick released by, from Italy, 258
Milanese, the, 195
Mincio, the, the Imperial forces driven over, 181, 182;
  lines of, Vendôme’s view of, 187;
  compromised, 189
Mindelheim, principality of, grant of, to M., restoration of, to the Elector of Bavaria, 48-49;
  M.’s own offer of, to the Elector, 167, 171
Ministers receiving gifts from foreign Powers during negotiations, eighteenth-century attitude to, 255
Minorca, capture of, by Whittaker, 535;
  loss of, and Byng’s execution, 536
Miquelets (Catalan rebels), the, 60;
  at the siege of Barcelona, 64, 81;
  a captain of, appeal of, to Galway, 262
Moder, the, line of, loss of, 86
Molesworth, Captain, horse of, given over to M. at Ramillies, 118, 119, 120 n. 1;
  on M.’s plans, winter 1708, 523, 526;
  letter from, to his brother on the reduction of Ghent and Bruges, 530
Monaco, 282
Moncalieri, heights of, peasants holding, 193, 194
Mons, fortress of, proposed surrender of, 167, 168;
  Vendôme’s forces near, 266, 301, 303;
  M.’s proposed feint for, 269;
  French trap at, for M., 268;
  French army around, in 1708, 374, 380;
  escape to, of the Elector of Bavaria, 528;
  mentioned, 157, 451, 460, 490
Mons-en-Pévêle, French armies at, 492
Mont Saint-André plateau at Ramillies, M.’s intention to occupy, 102
Montelegre, 262
Mooregem, reached and passed by Overkirk, 422-423
Moravia, 295
Mordaunt, Lord, suitor of Lady Mary Churchill, daring of, at the Schellenberg, 57
Moselle area, French troops withdrawn from, 151
Moselle campaign, planned by M., 242;
  frustration of, by the German princes, 20, 46
Moselle, the, allied feint on, 377;
  the French deceived by, 378;
  Berwick’s ridicule of, 382
Muhlacker, the Margrave of Bayreuth’s retreat to, 292
Mullem and the Ghent road, French battery in action between, 413-414;
  renewed attack from, ordered by Vendôme, 416
Murat, Joachim, lesson taught to, by Napoleon I, 251
Murcia, Berwick’s magazines in, attack on, by Galway, hostility of the population, 258-259
Murray, Major-General, M. saved by, at Ramillies, 118, 119;
  stationed to aid threatened garrisons, 388;
  M.’s instructions to, on July 5, 1708, 390;
  Brussels reinforced by, 522
 
Namur, surrender of, M.’s intrigue concerning, 97;
  La Colonie’s retreat to, 128;
  French cannon dragged to, from Ramillies, 132;
  d’Alègre’s proposed surrender of, 167, 168;
  Vendôme’s reinforcements from, 304;
  Berwick’s advance guard at, 402;
  price paid for, by William III, 519;
  mentioned, 400
Naples, 185
Naples, kingdom of, Imperial designs on, 244, 245, 246;
  and expedition to, 271, 275, 276, 278;
  Peterborough’s encouragement to this, 305
Napoleon I, 214;
  and Davout, 91;
  a lesson from, to intruders, 251;
  cited, 253;
  and the lesson of Trafalgar, 274;
  reviews by, 384;
  M. his possible exemplar in this, 385;
  simplicity of, in the field, 443
‘National’ or coalition rule, Harley’s aim at, 332
Natzmer, General, commanding Prussian horse, on M.’s depression at Assche, 397;
  on Cadogan’s Scheldt bridge, and the wish to advance faster, 406;
  at Eyne, 412;
  at the battle of Oudenarde, over the Scheldt, Cadogan’s joy and Eugene’s comment, 415;
  posted in the open, beyond Heurne, 413;
  placed under Eugene, 420;
  charge by, cost of, and personal escape from, 424-425, 428;
  letter from, to Frederick I on M. and Eugene at Oudenarde, 439
Netherlands, the—see Holland;
  Low Countries;
  Spanish Netherlands
Newcastle, John Holles, Duke of, made Lord Privy Seal, 21;
  and the Bank of England, 363;
  Whig claims supported by, 364;
  M. on the unwisdom of refusing, 366
Newmarket, Godolphin’s house at, 226
Nice, capture of, 75;
  mentioned, 185, 278, 284
Nieuport, fortress at, 145, 157;
  M.’s plan to attack, 139, 146;
  Overkirk driven from, by the opening of the sluices, 147;
  Dutch suspicion of English design to keep, 155;
  French garrison of, 196;
  French coastal communications near, open, 436;
  sluices under French control from, 503;
  Vendôme’s plan to hold, 521-522;
  canal cut by the French, 507;
  reinforced by Vendôme, 513
Nieuport-Ostend area, inundations in, drained by Erle, 508
Nimwegen, the days of, 156;
  Peace of, 196
Ninove, 460;
  French crossing of the Dender at, 390, 391, 394
Nivelle (Nivelles), M. at, in 1706, 166;
  M.’s reason for not advancing on, in 1707, 268, 269;
  Vendôme at, 381
Noailles, Anne-Jules, Duke of, Marshal of France, in Roussillon, 241
Nördlingen, the Margrave of Bayreuth driven back on, 292
Norken stream, the, Burgundy’s deployment behind, 411;
  Swiss flight across, 412;
  crossed by the French, 416, 430
Normandy, 457
Norris, Admiral Sir John, 274;
  letter to, from M. on the attack on Toulon, 275
North’s regiment, Lord, sent against the Jacobite raid, 362 and n.
Nottingham, d’Alègre sent to, 77
Nottingham, Daniel Finch, second Earl of, a leader of the “Tackers,” 26, 29, 33, 35;
  on the war in Spain, 343
Noyelles to Fretin, M.’s entrenchments between, 494
Noyelles, General Count, and Charles XII, 258
 
Observator, the, 204;
  attacks on M. in, 207, 209-210;
  his desire for protection, 209;
  Cranstoun’s letter in, 207, 208;
  M. also praised in, 209-210
Occasional Conformity Bill, ‘tack’ of, to Supply, M.’s breach with the Tories decided by, 20;
  Bromley a supporter of, 30;
  not yet passed (1705), 35;
  St John’s action as to, 314
Oder, the, Swedish withdrawal beyond, 309
Offus, near Ramillies, the allied advance viewed from, 106;
  and Autréglise, allied advance on, the French High Command at, 108;
  French cavalry flight from, 122;
  Orkney’s unwilling withdrawal from, 114, 115, 121, 207
Oglio, the, lines along, 189
Okolicsany, Paul, a Lutheran leader, murder of, 295
“Onod, the bloody diet of,” and the collapse of Hungarian unity, 29;
Orange, John William, Prince of, at Oudenarde, 426, 429-430;
  masking of Lille fortress by, 462;
  a narrow escape of, before Lille, 488
Orchies, French armies at, 492, 500
Orford, Edward Russell, Earl of, lunching with Queen Anne, 22
Orkney, George Hamilton, first Earl of and Ailesbury, 44;
  at Ramillies’ ordered to retire behind Foulz, 114 and the resentment of his troops, 122, 207;
  advance under heavy fire, 120;
  on the firing at Ramillies, and fall of Bringfield, 120;
  on the battle of Ramillies, 127, 128;
  M.’s feint with, 122;
  at the Dyle, 130;
  at the siege of Menin, 197;
  and Goslinga at the Gavre, 527;
  his battalion sent against the Jacobite raid, 362 and n.
Orleans, Charlotte Elizabeth, Duchess of, 189
Orleans, Philip II, Duke of, nominal chief of the French army in Italy, 184;
  arrival of, in Italy, 188;
  and pride in his command, 189;
  military ideas of, how stultified, 190, 191, 192;
  wounded in the battle of Turin, 193;
  in Spain, 242, 259
Ormonde, Duke of, Admiral Churchill’s aviary bequeathed to, 545
Oropeza, Count and Countess, bribes accepted by, 255
Ostend, fortress at, 145;
  M.’s plans to attack, 137, 138, 139, 146;
  siege and surrender of, 147-148, 157, 196;
  allied gains from, 148;
  Dutch suspicions concerning, 155;
  Dutch demand for, refused, 169-170;
  M.’s troops massed at, to go against the Jacobite raid, 360;
  English communication with, cut off, 395;
  M.’s munitions at, convoying of, to Lille, 503;
  isolation of, by inundations caused near, by the French, 507, 514, 518;
  threat to, by Vendôme, 514;
  the second munition convoy from, passage of, 515;
  M.’s communications with, completely cut, 520
Ostend-Lille communications, fortresses commanding, 503
Oudenarde, M.’s aims on, 132, 139;
  capture of, 138;
  French designs on, 393;
  defences of, fully manned, 398;
  investment of, 399, 400;
  French defences at, 502;
  rendezvous for M.’s forces after crossing the Scheldt, 526, 527, 528
Oudenarde, battle of, 373;
  M.’s depression before, 89;
  a twentieth-century parallel to, 404, 429;
  results of, 404, 433, 446, 462, 486, 537, 538;
  opposing forces at, relative strength of, 405;
  a battle of the rank and file, hand-to-hand fighting in, 407, 419;
  English artillery in, 410 and n.;
  breakdown of bridges during, causing Overkirk’s delay, 422, 427;
  musketry firing during, 423;
  French prisoners taken at, and after, 432, 444;
  French attempts to minimize the defeat, 444;
  news of, brought to London by Stair, 433, 434, 465;
  Goslinga’s account of, 437, 438 et seq.;
  the diarists at, 44;
  allied casualties at, 44;
  the allied army resting on the field at, 446;
  M.’s scouting squadrons at, 460, 461;
  English satisfaction over, 465-466, 467;
  public thanksgiving for, 475-476;
  victory of, blow of, to Harley, 549
Oudenarde, campaign of, absence of redcoats from, 68
Oudenarde, fortress of, 157;
  bridges inside, 406;
  garrison of, reinforced, 390;
  siege of, raised, 402;
  M. and the French prisoners at, 433
Oudenburg, La Motte’s rebuff at, 509-510;
  Vendôme at, 513;
  M.’s hopes for battle with him, 514
Overkirk, Veldt-Marshal, 268;
  a review by, 45;
  at Ramillies, 104, 124;
  cavalry attack of, 113-114, 115;
  cavalry re-formed by, with M., 124;
  and the siege of Ostend, 147-148;
  troops of, at Anderlecht, taken over by M., 265-266;
  M.’s instructions to, in regard to the Jacobite raid, 360;
  illness of M. in his tent, 398-399;
  at Oudenarde, crossing the bridges, 419, 420;
  delayed by their breakdown, 422;
  part of his forces at Mooregem, 422;
  others sent to strengthen M.’s left, 422-423;
  attack by, 422-423;
  great operation by, 426;
  Goslinga on, 440-441;
  Goslinga’s description of, 437;
  death of, 516-517;
  M. on, 518
Oxenstiern, Count, and Ailesbury, 44
Oxford, Regius Professorship of Divinity at, Anne’s appointment to, 315;
  Admiral Churchill’s meddling with, 541
Oycke, hill of, Overkirk’s troops on, and advance from, towards Royegem, 426;
  Cadogan’s charge from, 429
 
Pakington, Sir John, election banner of, 22-23
Palatine, the Elector—see Bavaria, Elector of
Palatine troops in M.’s army, posting of, 196;
  slowness of, 383 and n.
Pallavicini, Baron, exchanged for Cadogan, 200 and n.
Palmes, Brigadier, official visit of, to Victor Amadeus and Prince Eugene, 281
Paris, Eugene supposed to wish to raid, 454;
  the march on, M.’s view on, 489
Paris Gazette, Oudenarde minimized by, to the world, 444
Parker, Captain Robert, on his regiment’s losses at Menin, 198;
  at Oudenarde, 445
Parliament, a good, M. on his own idea of, 22;
  in 1705, choice of Speaker, 30;
  the Queen’s Speech, on the war and the Union and laying aside party strife, 30-31;
  M. thanked by (1706), 72;
  under Whig control (1708), 464
Parliamentary institutions, position of, in 1688, 538
Parma, the great Duke of, 146
Parnell, Colonel, aspersions cast by, on Peterborough, 80
Parties in 1708, complication of, Swift on, 332
Party government, Anne’s objection to, 235
Party system, infancy of, and impotence, 331;
  Harley’s opposition to, 331
Pascal, Colonel, governor of Brussels, and the siege of November 1708, 523;
  reply of, to the Elector’s summons to surrender, 524
Patkul, Johann Reinhold, Charles XII’s vengeance on, 248-249, 254
Patriot king, St John’s idea of, 332
Pavia, garrison of, reinforced, 195
Pays de Waes, Bothmar sent to protect, 391;
  harrying of, by Vendôme, 456
Pedro II of Spain, 55
Pembroke, Thomas Herbert, eighth Earl of, Anne’s refusal to dismiss, 365;
  the Lord High Admiral’s office in commission under, 544-545
Péronne, M.’s camp at, 491
Perwis, French move to, 297
Petegem, the guard at, 462
Peter the Great, and Frederick I, 51;
  Charles XII’s successes against, 247;
  hatred for, of Charles XII, 249;
  Charles XII’s intention to dethrone, 254
Peterborough, Charles Mordaunt, first Earl of Monmouth and third Earl of, Commander-in-Chief in the Spanish campaign of 1705-6, 57 et seq.;
  character of, 57, 58, 65;
  and the relief of Barcelona, 59 et seq.;
  shifting objectives of, 61;
  gallantry of, at the storming of the Montjuich, 62;
  general dislike felt for, 65, 66;
  supersession of, desired, 65, 68;
  in Valencia with his troops, 59, 66, 79, 172, 173;
  and the renewed French activity in Spain, 79;
  treachery of, 80-81;
  march of, to Madrid, 172, 173;
  dislike of, felt by Charles III, 66, 172, 178;
  departure of, hailed by his colleagues, mission of, to Victor Amadeus, Godolphin’s warning, and the events of the journey, 175-176;
  false expectations raised by, as to Naples, turned down by M., 245;
  disapprobation of, by M. and by Godolphin, and hostility to, of Sunderland, 257;
  departure of, from Spain, effect of, 257;
  supersession of, 257;
  proposals of, in February 1707, 258;
  recall of, 258;
  dismissal of, homeward journey after, method of, with foreign rulers, 305;
  indignation felt with him, 306;
  long visit of, to M. and M.’s comments thereon, 307;
  questions to be put to, in Parliament, 307;
  M.’s letter of recommendation given to, 307-308;
  conduct of, debate on, in the House of Lords, 342 et seq.
  Letters from:
    to the Duchess of M., on Spain and its disagreeables, 178-180;
    M.’s comment on his letters, 180;
    to Godolphin, on Shovell, 274-275;
    to M.: on his need of reinforcements, 66-67;
    on affairs in Spain, 177;
    comments on, of M. and of Godolphin, 178;
    to Stanhope, in wrath, 65;
    to Victor Amadeus, treacherous character of, 80-81
Pforzheim, Enz crossing at, exposed, 292
Philip V, plans for, of Louis XIV, 71;
  wife of, 75 and n.;
  Tessé’s force joined by, 79;
  and a proposed partition of Spain, 168;
  departure of, from Spain, 172;
  joining Berwick, 173;
  Spanish attitude to, 214
Philippeville, fortress of, 157
Philippsburg, fortress of, 270;
  garrison of, M.’s suggestion on, 293
Piacenza, 190
Pianezza, seized by Eugene, 192
Picardy, M.’s severities in, 455, 457, 459, 521
Piedmont, 182;
  reached by Eugene, 190;
  fortresses of, fall of, 195
Pignerol, 194, 288
Pillars of Hercules, the, 60
Piper, Count, first meeting of, with M., 250-251, 255;
  bribe-taking by, 254, 255;
  M.’s correspondence with, 309
Pitt, William (later Earl of Chatham), gift to, from the Duchess of M., 58
Plassendael, evacuation of, 552
Plessis-Châtillon-Nonant, Marquis du, letter to, from M., refusing extension of leave, 298
Po, the, 182, 187, 190;
  crossed by Eugene, 192, 194
Pont-à-Tressin, 506
Pontacks, a financial Whig dinner at, 550
Port Mahon, M.’s exhortation to take, 447, 534-535;
  fall of, 535, 536
Portland, Hans William Bentinck, first Earl of, letter from, to Heinsius, on the liaison between M., Godolphin, and the Whigs, 21
Portsmouth (town), 85
Portugal, failure of allied invasion from, 55;
  no forces to oppose this, 172;
  English alliance with, preferred to war in the Netherlands, 243-244;
  incursions from, into Spain, 214;
  entry into the war preceded by bribery, 255
Portuguese, the, at Almanza, 260, 261
Post Boy, The, Jacobite newspaper, 204
Postman, the, 204;
  M.’s use of, 206
Potter, Dr John, Oxford professorship of, 315
Pottes, M.’s bridgehead near, 451;
  Eugene’s crossing of, with the convoy, 461, 462
Prendergast, Sir Thomas, sent to Oudenarde, 390
Presbyterians, power gained by, 35
Press attacks on M., his wife, and Godolphin, 205 et seq.
Press-gang, the, 350-351
Primoli, ——, M.’s confidence to, on his plans for 1708, 342
“Princes, the,” authority of, recognition of, 375
Prior, Matthew, poet, M.’s reference to, 327;
  suspected and dismissed but pensioned by M., later malevolence of, 327-328;
  letter to, from Cardonnel, 328
Protestant Succession, the, a Tory proposal to secure, 33;
  rejection of this, by the Whigs, 34;
  and their Regency Bill in substitution, 35;
  a Dutch guarantee of, desired, 77;
  Whig view on this, 78;
  guarantees of, 77, 364
Protestantism, protection of, Dutch views on, 156;
  plight of, before M.’s victories, 538
Prussia, rooted antagonism in, to France, 50;
  situation of, in 1706, 50-51;
  conduct of, in 1706, 214
Prussian troops with Prince Eugene, condition of, 38, 39;
  withdrawal of, menace of, 51;
  offers by Louis XIV to secure, 51;
  renewed supply of, 52;
  and other allied forces in Italy, in 1706, 83;
  slow advance of, 87, 97, 133, 147, 377, 380, 382;
  advance of, quickened, 152;
  in M.’s army, posting of, 196
  Prussian troops at Oudenarde:
    charge by, 413;
    the horse deployed by M., for Cadogan’s protection, 415;
    others lining the hedges, 415;
    fighting at Groenewald, 416, 417;
    placed under Eugene’s command, 420;
    great cavalry charge under Natzmer, 424-425
Prusso-Swedish alliance, a temptation in 1706, 50
Public opinion, Harley’s use of, 238
Pultawa, battle of, 250, 255, 310
Puységur, Lieutenant-General, Biron warned by, not to advance, 410;
  Burgundy warned by, 418;
  defeat at Oudenarde announced by, to Vendôme, 431
Pye, Lady, 322 n., 549
 
“Queen’s Servants,” the, 22, 26
Queensberry, James Douglas, second Duke of, Godolphin’s promise to drop, 550
 
Raby, Thomas Wentworth, Baron, English Ambassador at Vienna in 1706, 87;
  letter to, from M., on hopes of a victory and on the position of the Prussian king, 100
Rakoczy, Franz, leader of the Hungarian revolt, 37, 210 et seq.;
  armistice encroached on by, 47;
  letter from, to M., 211;
  and the offered French alliance, its one impossible condition, 294-295
Ramillies, battle of, 68;
  defects of the position, ground well known to M., 98-99;
  allied artillery at, no, 123;
  M.’s forces at, and intentions for, 102;
  Cadogan’s scouting march, 102;
  the French at, 104;
  M.’s personal reconnaissance and companions, 104;
  Goslinga’s inanities, 104 n., 105;
  the supposed obstacle of the marsh, which was no real obstruction, 105, 106, 108;
  the allied advance at, 106;
  cavalry tactics at, 106;
  the great cavalry attack, 109 et seq., 115;
  M.’s certainty of success, 114;
  French centre at, allied infantry advance on, 106;
  the Maison du Roi at, 106, 111, 113, 114;
  first phase, 108 et seq.;
  allied gain of Franquenay and Taviers, 109-110;
  French counter-attack, rout of, by allied cavalry, 110-111;
  the Old Campaigner’s account of, 111-112;
  main fronts both in action, 113;
  area in, of the largest cavalry battle recorded, 116;
  M.’s cavalry at, 494;
  personal share in, taken by M., 116;
  two charges led by, his imminent danger from being unhorsed, 117-118;
  M.’s life saved by Colonel Molesworth, 119, 523;
  Orkney’s successful advance arrested, and M.’s infantry manœuvre, 121-122, 123-124;
  third phase, 123 et seq.;
  marked pause during, 124;
  Maffei’s account of being made prisoner during, 126;
  the Geet crossed by Lumley, 126;
  the French army broken at, collapse of, rout and merciless pursuit, 127-128, 130, 134, 145;
  M.’s army after, confusion in, 128;
  the Netherlands conquered by, 130 et seq.;
  French artillery captured at, but forgotten and rescued by the French from Namur, 130, 132;
  prisoners taken at, by the Allies, 131 and n.;
  vast direct results of, 130, 151 et seq., 235;
  M.’s talk of peace after, 136, 137, 138, 145;
  M.’s own victory, and most glorious episode, 150, 171;
  public thanksgiving after, 142;
  and effect on Dutch attitude to M., 170;
  M.’s treatment of French prisoners after, 298;
  and the critics, 207;
  secret of, obviousness of, 208;
  Blackadder at, 445;
  mentioned, 186, 200, 203, 213, 238, 239, 241, 271, 298, 395, 538
Ramillies village, pivot of the French retreat, 123
Ramillies-Offus front, reserve for, formed by M., 122
Rantzau, General, and his son’s journey with M., 40;
  brush of, with Biron’s foragers, 407;
  two charges by, 412-413;
  at Oudenarde, the Swiss cut down by, 413;
  position of, at 5 p.m., 417
Rastadt, palace at, of the Margrave, his death at, 152, 213;
  beauties of, 271-272;
  Villars’s headquarters in, 272
Ratisbon, 40, 46
Rechteren, Count, 387, 438
Recruiting, and the Conscription Bill, 351
Regency Bill, the, 468;
  welcomed by the Queen, 35;
  shown to the Court of Hanover by M., 53
Reggio, 190
Régiment du Roi, fate of, at Ramillies, 126-127
Regiments sent to England from Flanders in 1708, 362
Rehbinder, General, letter to, from M. after the Toulon failure, 308;
  sent to Spain, 376
Renswoude, Baron de, Dutch field Deputy, 88
Reventlau, General, defeat of, at Calcinato, 86
Review, the, 204
Rheinfels, Eugene’s march from, not notified to the Elector, slowness of, M. on, 384
Rhine, the, the Margrave’s operations on, 40;
  rulers along, M.’s letters to, 54;
  winter quartering of troops along, 54;
  French forestalling on, of M.’s plans for 1706, 86;
  French troops withdrawn from, 151, 196, 282
Rhine, Upper, bridgeheads on, Louis XIV’s plan for, 71;
  tardy advance to, of Prussian troops, 87;
  French plans as to, guessed by M., 95;
  French campaign on, in 1706, 95;
  French commanders on, 374-375
Rhine army, allied, motion to strengthen, 345;
  its lack of a good general lamented by M., 294;
  troops transferred to, 379
Richards, Colonel, bearer of the news of Ramillies to the Duchess of M., and to Godolphin, 135, 142
Rivers, Richard Savage, fourth Earl, 257, 265;
  and Guiscard’s “descent,” 180
Rivers, Sir George, wife of, 322
Riviera, the, in Eugene’s day, 280-281
Robinson, Rev. John, English envoy to Sweden, 253;
  on M.’s comment on the Swedish army, 252;
  letter from, to Harley, on bribes for Swedish notables, 255 n. 2
Rochefort, demilitarization of, 155
Rochester, Laurence Hyde, Earl of, a leader of the ‘tackers,’ 26;
  and the Whigs, 230-231;
  in the debate on Peterborough’s conduct, 343, 344;
  mentioned, 29, 33, 35, 345
Rooke, Admiral Sir George, and the sea war, Tory support of, 19;
  supersession of, Defoe’s scathing description of, 21;
  victory of, off Malaga, 21;
  repugnance of, to late sailings, 337
Rosen, General, and the French left-wing cavalry after Oudenarde, 431
Rossbach, battle of, 150
Rouille, ——, French secret agent, plot with the Elector discovered by, 168
Roulers, troops sent to, by M., 510, 514
Rousselaer, M.’s camp at, 161, 163
Rovigo, 187
Roxburgh, John Ker, first Duke of, letter to, from Sunderland using the Queen’s name, 369
Royal East Kent Regiment (the Buffs), sent to meet the Jacobite raid, 362 n.
Royal Irish Regiment, sent to meet the Jacobite raid, 362 n.;
  losses of, at the siege of Menin, 197-198
Royal Navy, testimony to, by Prince George of Denmark, 347
Royal princes, with Vendôme at Oudenarde, 408, 409. See also under names
Royal Scots Regiment and the Jacobite raid, 362 n.
Royal Scots Greys, at the Lines of Brabant, 69;
  at Ramillies, 126
Royegem, the mill of, view from, 415;
  Overkirk’s attack on, 426;
  the French princes at, 416, 427;
  their flight thence, 429;
  allied troops firing into each other near, 430
Royegem to Oycke road, French crossing of, 416
Russell family, a French Huguenot connexion of, 56
Ruvigny, Henri de la Massue, second Marquis de—see Galway, first Earl of
 
Sabine, Brigadier Joseph, at Bruges, 362;
  at Oudenarde, 41$
St Albans, the Marlborough home at, 318
Saint-Arnaud, Villeroy at, 146
Saint-Denis, Vendôme at, 303
Saint-Fremont, General, 187
St George, Chevalier de—see James Edward Stuart, the Old Pretender
Saint-Germains, Scottish exiles at, 359
Saint-Ghislain, capture of, for M., 528
St John, Henry (later first Viscount Bolingbroke), Tory followers of, 26;
  enthusiasm of, on Ramillies, 142;
  and the plot against Godolphin and M., 312, 313-314;
  M.’s benefactions to, and his disloyalty, 313-314, 326;
  Anne’s intimation to, of her intention to dismiss Godolphin, 352;
  out of office, 356;
  figures about Almanza given by, in Parliament, 357;
  unseated in 1708, 368, 548;
  mentioned, 72, 338, 351
  Letters from:
    to Harley, on gaining Bromley and reuniting the Tory Party, 551, 552;
    to M., on Guiscard, 85
St Paul’s Cathedral, thanksgiving in, for the “wonderful year” (1706), 240;
  thanksgiving at, after Oudenarde, 475-476
Saint-Quentin, M.’s molestation of, 455
Saint-Simon, Louis de Rouvroy, Duc de, on Galway’s adventure at Landen, 56;
  on Villeroy, 94;
  on Versailles after Ramillies, 142;
  on M.’s distinguished treatment of prisoners of mark, 149;
  on Vendôme’s habits and manners, 181;
  on La Feuillade, 185;
  on the time when Vendôme realized the allied crossing of the Scheldt, 409, 410;
  on the flight of the princes at Oudenarde, 429;
  on the “enormity” of Vendôme’s words to Burgundy, 430
Saint-Venant, fortress of, 157
Salamander, bomb-ketch, off Ostend, 147
Salisbury, M.’s desertion at, of James II, 336
Salisbury, the, Jacobites taken from, 363
Salm, Prince of, M.’s excuses to, 40
Salomon, F., 312 n.
Sambre, the, fortresses on, 305;
  Berwick’s army on, 446
Sandvliet, siege of, M. present at, 40;
  surrender of, 45
Saragossa, Charles III’s resolution to go to, 179
Sardinia, capture of, by Leake, 535
Saulchoi, Burgundy’s headquarters at, 500
Savoy, French forces in, and pressure on, 38, 75
Savoy-Piedmont, Victor Amadeus, Duke of, position of, in 1706, 38, 75;
  English sea power sent to aid, 56, 59;
  M. on his reaction to the fall of Barcelona, 64;
  French seduction resisted by, 75;
  M.’s proposed campaign in aid of, authorized by Queen Anne, 83 and n.;
  M.’s plans exposed by, 87;
  Peterborough’s revived mission to, Godolphin on, 176, 177;
  military conduct of, in 1706, 184 et seq.;
  joined by Prince Eugene, 190;
  at the battle of Turin, 192;
  and an invasion of southern France, 244;
  claims of, as to promised concessions, 244;
  these supported by M., 245;
  Peterborough’s proposal for, 258;
  ammunition supplies for, 277;
  seduced from the Toulon attack by Charles XII, 279-280;
  wily actions of, 285;
  present from, to M., beauties of, 289;
  Peterborough’s advice to, 305;
  and Eugene, tension between, at Toulon, 308;
  the attack on Toulon, abandoned by, 308;
  and M.’s plans for 1708, 339;
  and Prince Eugene, 341;
  part assigned to, in the campaign of 1708, 376, 378;
  mentioned, 151, 274, 344, 345
  Letters to:
    from Peterborough, written in a mood of black treachery, 80-81;
    from Prince Eugene, on his crossing of the Adige, 186-187
Savoy-Piedmont, Anna of Orleans, Duchess of, 75 and n.
Saxe-Gotha, Prince of, killed at Toulon, 287
Saxe-Gotha troops, before Toulon, 284-285
Saxony, Charles XII’s invasion of, 247
Saxony, King of—see Augustus II
Scarpe, river, 455
Schaerken village, M.’s artillery posted at, 410;
  Grimaldi at, 415
Scheldt, the, 197;
  French retreat towards, 131;
  crossings of, secured by M., 132;
  M.’s advance on, 132, 134;
  French retreat from, 143;
  crossed by M., 145, 196;
  the forcing of, 374;
  and the Lys, fortresses and bridgeheads on, French attack on, 393;
  line of, French intention to hold, and further plans, 402-403;
  French crossing of, 406;
  French forces east of, on July 11, 1708, 406;
  bridging of, by Cadogan, 406, 407;
  French position on, forcing of, by M. and Eugene, 425 et seq.;
  French stragglers crossing, after Oudenarde, 432;
  Eugene’s crossing of, with the convoy, 461, 462;
  French marshals’ crossing of, 491;
  line of, Lille to Ghent, occupied by Vendôme and Burgundy, 502;
  entire line of, sealed up, 520;
  French positions on, defence of, opposite views on, of Burgundy and Vendôme, 524;
  crossing of, by M., results of, 528-529
Scheldt-Lys water communication paralysed by Vendôme’s presence at Ghent, 436, 456
Schellenberg fort, storming of, 40;
  Mordaunt’s forlorn hope at, 57;
  action of, recalled by La Colonie, 111;
  his shock at, a parallel to, 126;
  triumph ascribed to the Margrave, 150
Schlick, Count, and the Margrave’s forces, 212, 213
Scholtz, General, 197
Schomberg, Frederick Herman, Duke of, on attacking France in the Netherlands, 343
Schulenburg, General, 373;
  on an instance of M.’s judgment and comprehension, 309-310
Schutz, ——, Hanoverian agent in London, alleged instructions to, 53
Scillies, the, Shovell’s ships lost off, 337
Scotland, Presbyterian Government in, powers of, under the Act of Security, 35;
  and the Act of Union, 216, 217;
  use in, of martial law (circa 1706), 216;
  disaffection of, in 1707-8, and the Jacobite raid, 359 et seq.;
  estranged from England, 538
Scotland, Union of, with England, 77;
  appeal for, in Anne’s Speech of 1705, 31;
  legislation on, M. advising acceptance of the Act, 216;
  sealed, 235;
  the United Kingdom created, 238
Scottish Act of Security, the, 35
Scottish M.P.’s in 1707, Government supporters, 337
Sea power sent to the aid of Savoy and of Spain, 56 et seq.
Sea Powers, the, authority from, sought by M. before going to Vienna, 39;
  told why mediation was impossible in 1706, 47;
  Prussian troops paid by, 51;
  tardy payment by, of the Danish troops, 75;
  Austrian reliance on, 152;
  and the Barrier Treaty, 169;
  mediations of, in the Hungarian revolt, 210-211, 212, 295;
  generous backing by, of the Grand Alliance, 247, 271. See also England;
  Holland
Sea war, the, in 1705, Tory attitude to, 19
Secchia, the, 190
Self-effacement among warriors of genius, two instances of, 91
Seneffe, 302
Senne, the, 267;
  untenable by the French, 131;
  French retreat from, 143;
  crossing found difficult, 268;
  French crossing of, 388
Sersanders, ——, M.’s secret agent, and the Elector of Bavaria, 167, 168
Seymour, Sir Edward, Cornish ascendancy of, broken, 24;
  and the Speakership, 30, 33;
  warning of, to the Whigs, 73;
  cited, 341
Shovell, Admiral Sir Cloudesley, in command of naval forces, 1705, 57, 58;
  and the siege of Barcelona, 61;
  return home of, 65-66;
  and Guiscard’s diverted “descent,” 180;
  attack by, on the French fleet, 258;
  description of, by Peterborough, 274-275;
  and the attack on Toulon, 274, 277, 278, 279, 286;
  immediate action urged by, 284;
  death of, 336-337, 535
Shrewsbury, Charles Talbot, twelfth Earl and first Duke of, and M., 312-313;
  comment on, by M., 325
Shrimpton, Major-General, retreat of, from Almanza, 261, 262
Sinzendorf, Philip Eustace, Count, letters to, from M.:
  on the entry into France, 276;
  on the lack of a good general on the Rhine, 294
Slangenberg, General, 88
Slingelandt, Simon van, letter to, from M., on avoidance of a hasty peace, 169-170
Smith, John, election of, as Speaker, 30;
  promotion of, 356;
  re-election as Speaker, 337
Sneakers, the, or “Whimsicals,” 26;
  defeat of, 23-24
Soignies, Forest of, wild boars of, 42;
  M.’s move to, 267;
  and his retreat from, by Brussels, 295;
  M. back at, 303-304;
  Peterborough’s visit to M. at, 306, 307;
  French march to, 381;
  Eugene at, in force, 460
Soissons, Comtesse de, mother of Prince Eugene, his meeting with, in Brussels, 398
Somers, John, Baron, Lord Chancellor, in derision of the Tories’ fears for the Church, 36;
  and the Court of Hanover, 54;
  letter to, from Halifax, on the Barrier Treaty, 78;
  and M.’s Viceroyship, 162;
  Harley’s ill offices to, 326;
  motion by, on essentials for a safe peace, 345;
  head of the Whigs, appointment of, as President of the Privy Council, 364, 540, 545;
  Anne’s objection to employing, 365;
  M.’s advice on this, 367;
  mentioned, 72, 315
Somerset, Charles Seymour, sixth Duke of, the Cabinet meeting broken up by, 355;
  aid of, to the Bank of England, 363
Somme, the, and the Authie, a move towards, by M., feared by Chamillart, 457
Sophia, Electress of Hanover, Tory proposal to invite her to reside in England, 33, 35;
  surprise in Hanover at its rejection, 52;
  belief of, in the Tories, 52;
  Protestant descendants of, British naturalization of, Bills for, shown at Hanover, 53;
  letter from, to the Duchess of M., of thanks for a portrait of Queen Anne, 53-54;
  Peterborough’s advice to, 306;
  Whig proposal to invite to England, and Anne’s fixed opposition, 468, 469-470;
  Lewis on, 469 n.
South Wales Borderers, sent to meet the Jacobite raid, 362 n.
Spain, fortresses ill-protected in, 55;
  proposed partition of, 168;
  attitude of, to her two would-be kings, 214;
  and Flanders (q.v.), garrisons in, M. on, 343;
  a minor theatre in 1708, 375
Spanish Netherlands, Dutch wish to recover, 69;
  conquest of, by the battle of Ramillies, 130 et seq., 218;
  desertion of, to the cause of Charles III, 132 et seq.;
  Charles III’s attempt to take possession of, 152-153, 154-155;
  M.’s attitude to Austrian rule there, 155;
  England not desirous of gains in, 155;
  right of, under Charles II of Spain, 164;
  M.’s opinion on this, 165;
  destined for Charles III, 168;
  Louis XIV’s grasp of the fortresses of, 538
Spanish provinces, rising in, against Portuguese invasion, 174
Spanish Succession, declaration of English policy on, 31
Spanish Succession, War of, the, state of, 55 et seq.;
  sea power brought to aid, 56 et seq.;
  English politicians’ liking for, 65, 339, 345;
  Spanish fortresses, capture of, by the Allies, 66;
  English military expenditure concerning, and number of troops employed in, 67;
  Spanish front in, 75;
  the protagonists of, 76;
  factors launching the Allies into, M.’s views on, 243, 244, 339;
  troops in Spain, employment of, different views on, 258;
  defeat in, 273;
  Stanhope’s projected campaign for Charles III, in Spain, 339-340;
  proposed despatch to, of Eugene as commander, 341, 344, 345, 346;
  debates on, in Parliament, 348;
  commanders sent to Spain, 376;
  rôle of these, to be defensive, 378;
  land campaign in Spain uneventful, 534;
  sea successes secured by Stanhope, 534 et seq. See also Charles III;
  Joseph I;
  Louis XIV;
  Philip V
Spies, and double-spies, 349
Stair, John Dalrymple, second Earl of, sent to London with news of Oudenarde, 433, 434, 448, 465
Stanhope, Alexander, English envoy at The Hague, 141 and n.;
  and his successor at The Hague, 289 and n.
Stanhope, James Stanhope, first Viscount, 264;
  at the Lisbon Council, 58;
  at Barcelona, held as hostage, 63, 64;
  sent with Peterborough’s dispatches, 64;
  bribery by, 255;
  as Charles III’s mouthpiece, abilities of, 339-340;
  at Almenara, 340;
  campaign projected by, for 1708, 340;
  placed in command in Spain, 376, 378
  Letter from, to Sunderland, on his difficulties due to the naval officers, 536
  Letters to:
    from M.: on the fleet wintering in the Mediterranean and on taking Port Mahon, 447, 534-535;
    on keeping the fleet wintering in the Mediterranean, 535;
    from Peterborough, in irritation, 65
Stanhope, Mary, 141 and n.
Stanislaus Leszczynski, set up as Polish king by Charles XII, 248, 249;
  non-recognition of, by Queen Anne, 256;
  M.’s courtesy to, 256
Starhemberg, Prince, Imperial General, Victor Amadeus at variance with, 38;
  transference of, to Spain, 378;
  vain attempt by, to recapture Tortosa, 534
States-General of Holland, the, and the trial of D’Aubach, 45;
  coercion of, possibility of, mentioned by Queen Anne, 83 n.;
  second offer of, to M. in 1706, and its sole condition, 88;
  and Count Goes, terms offered to him, 153-154;
  mishandling by, of Belgium, 154, 374, 380, 399;
  restrictions imposed by, on M., 157, 202, 291 et alibi;
  reservation of signing powers by, proposals excluding Queen Anne, 159;
  excuses of, for delay, 298;
  assistance of, against the Jacobites, 361;
  and war plans for 1708, 377;
  and M.’s plan for an invasion of France, 454
  Letters and reports to:
    from Hesse-Cassel, on the victory of Wynendael, the error in, 510-511;
    from M.: on his recent successes and past frustrated efforts, 139;
    on the capitulation of Antwerp, 145;
    on supply of warships, etc., 360;
    informing them of the junction of his army with Eugene’s and on the intention to bring about a battle, 386-387;
    on Wynendael, doing justice to Webb, 512
Steele, Sir Richard, 204
Stephens, Rev. William, his memorial and its punishment, the latter remitted, thanks to M. and his wife, 91-92, 100, 205
Stepney, George, English Ambassador at Vienna, 211;
  letter to, from M., proposing to stay with him in Vienna, 40;
  object of this stay, and Austrian reproaches concerning, 46, 47;
  later English envoy at The Hague, 289 and n.
Stollhofen, the Lines of, capture of, by Villars, 270, 310;
  the Margrave of Baden’s preoccupation with, 270 et seq.;
  demolition of, 292;
  loss of, the Dutch chilled by, 298
Stradella, defile of, 190
Strasburg, 293
Stura river, Eugene at, 192
Sturler, ——, Swiss battalions of, 441
Stuttgart, Villars’s headquarters at, 292
Sunderland, Charles Spencer, third Earl of, candidate put forward by the Junto, 26;
  sent to mediate at Vienna, 27;
  M. met by, in Vienna, 46;
  tact shown by, 47, 215;
  Hanoverian gift to, 53;
  and M.’s Viceroyship, 162;
  appointment of, as Secretary of State, Whig demand for, and the Queen’s objection thereto, 215, 218, 219, 227, 229-230;
  pleas for, of the Duchess of M., 220;
  M.’s attitude to, and comments on, 230, 231, 233;
  the appointment finally made, 235;
  hostility of, to Peterborough, 257;
  foreign courts notified by, of Peterborough’s dismissal, 305;
  and the Whig persecution of Admiral Churchill, 329;
  Harley’s ill-offices to, 326;
  on “the best Wig Parliament since the Revolution,” 369;
  Anne’s dislike of, openly expressed in her letters (q.v.) to M., and her intention to dismiss him, 369-370, 376;
  sole loyalty of, 371-372;
  hostility of, to M. and to Godolphin, 372;
  and the wintering of a naval squadron in the Mediterranean, 447;
  M.’s protest as to, to the Queen, 471-472;
  deputed to speak on Whig promotions, to the Duchess of M., 540;
  and the Whig millions, 550;
  mentioned, 29, 72, 470
  Letters from:
    to the Duke of Roxburgh, disloyalty in, 369;
    to Godolphin, urging that M. should visit Vienna, 38
  Letter to:
    from M., on Galway’s position, 265;
    on the Toulon failure and expectation of battle next year, 308-309;
    during the siege of Lille, on the inundations and arrival of the convoy, 516;
    from Methuen, after Almanza, 264;
    from Stanhope, on difficulties caused by naval officers, 535-536
Sunderland, Countess of (née Anne Churchill), 224
Susa, Eugene’s feint at, 278
Swabia, Circle of, 273;
  ransom money paid by, 292
Swabian peasantry, infuriation of, 41
Sweden, and the Danish seizure of Eutin, 75
Swedish army, withdrawal of, into Silesia, 309
Swift, Dean Jonathan, 312 n.;
  on Abigail Masham, 323;
  letter from, to the Archbishop of Dublin, on the complication of parties, 332;
  on townsmen’s joy in a beheading, 363
Swiss battalions of allied troops, at Ramillies, 118, 119;
  at Oudenarde, 406, 413
Swiss Guard at Ramillies, 108, 110;
  fate of, 112
 
‘Tackers,’ defeat of, 23-24;
  in the new Parliament of 1705, numbers of, M. on, 24;
  leaders and mouthpiece of, 26
Tallard, Comte de, Marshal of France, at Blenheim, 94, 106;
  letter to, from Torcy, on M. as less keen on war than previously, 94;
  mentioned, 44
Tanaro, the, 190
Tangier, M.’s service in, 325 n.
Tannenberg, battle of, analogies of, to Oudenarde, 404, 429
Tarragona, a feint towards, 62
Tatton’s regiment, sent against the Jacobite raid, 362 and n.
Taviers and Ramillies, gap between, allied cavalry approach to, 106, 108;
  French occupation of, 109;
  storming of, by the Dutch, 110;
  French counter-attack repulsed, 110-111, 113;
  Danish cavalry charge near, 116, 117;
  capture of, 123;
  French flight beyond, 127
Temple, Sir Richard, 520
Tenison, Dr Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury, and Anne’s choice of bishops, 315
Terbanck, M. at, 381;
  M. tied to, till having news, 394
Tessé, Marshal, failure of attempt of, on Gibraltar, 55;
  and the second siege of Barcelona, 79;
  the fight at Montjuich, and after, 80;
  withdrawal of, 82, 173;
  in Dauphiné, 241;
  concentration of, on Toulon and fortifications there, 278, 283
Thackeray, W. M., Webb in a book by (Esmond), 509
Thourout-Roulers-Menin road from Ostend to Lille, fortresses commanding, 503
Thungen, Field-Marshal, and the Margrave, 212, 213
Tilly, Count Jan Tserklaes, attack by, on Vendôme’s rearguard, 302-303;
  over-caution attributed to, 304
Tirlemont, M. at, Ailesbury’s account of, 44-45;
  Villeroy near, 98, 99
Titian, paintings by, on leather hangings, 289
Tomb of Ottomond, the, French dragoons’ horses parked at, 110,116-117;
  allied cavalry re-formed, reaching to, 124, 128
Tombergh—see Lombeek
Torbay, 180
Torcy, Marquis de, instructions given by, to d’Alègre for submission to M., 71;
  letter from, to Tallard on M. as less keen on the war than earlier, 94;
  bribes taken by, 255
Torrington, Arthur Herbert, Earl of, Churchill’s aviary bequeathed to, 545
Tortosa, Galway’s retreat on, 263;
  fall of, 534
Tory bishops, appointed as counter to Whig Ministers, by Anne, 315
Tory newspapers, 204
Tory Party, attitude of, to the war in 1705, 19, 23;
  cry of, of “the Church in Danger,” and the reply, 22, 35, 36;
  and lampoon by, on Queen Anne, 23;
  election platform and prospects of, in 1705, 23, 24;
  split into four sections, some leading figures in, 26;
  leaders of, unwisdom of, 35;
  proposal of, to bring the Electress Sophia to England, 35;
  this taken up by the Whigs, 468;
  bias of, for Spanish operations, 65;
  and Queen Anne, 73;
  and the Guiscard “descent” on France, 86;
  opposition to estimates for war, of December 1706, 239;
  consolidating as an Opposition, 240;
  Galway obnoxious to, 306;
  mortification by, of the Queen, M. on, 329;
  in 1707, aims of, 338;
  M.’s attitude to, 471;
  Anne’s reliance on, M.’s warning about, and remark on, to his wife, 472, 473;
  wrath of, over the miscrediting of Wynendael to Cadogan, 511-512;
  malicious impression spread by, 512;
  gaining in royal favour in 1708, 540;
  position of, after Harley’s fall, and his belief in its return to him, 548;
  and the siege of Lille, 550;
  rallied by Harley into an effective Opposition, 553
Toulon, an attack on, desired by M., 56, 275;
  but said not to be possible, 59;
  M.’s wish for the demilitarization of, 155;
  reason for attempting the capture of, 243, 244
Toulon, attack on:
  arrangements for, 245, 246;
  plan for this betrayed, 349;
  Victor Amadeus to share in, 246;
  M.’s hopes based on, and on Eugene, but blighted, 247, 273, 279-280, 285, 288, 290, 299, 300, 457;
  French troops sent to, 265, 300;
  Shovell’s keenness on, 274;
  Eugene’s strange attitude to, 277 et seq.;
  284, 285, 288, 290;
  the fight for St Catherine’s height, 284, 287;
  Goslinga’s reference to, 296;
  failure of, alleged share in, of Charles XII, 279, 291;
  his action after, 309;
  withdrawal after, 288-289, 310;
  M.’s action after, 308-309;
  failure due to Joseph;
  in M.’s opinion, 344-345;
  cost of, to M., 291;
  importance realized by Louis XIV and Charles XII, 291;
  effect on trade protection at sea, 334;
  French fleet at, destruction of, 288, 347
Toulon fleet, supplies by, for Tessé, 79;
  battle declined by, 81-82
Toulouse, Count of, and the Toulon fleet, battle declined by, 81-82
Tournai, menaced by M., 157, 196;
  governor of, 200;
  reinforced by Berwick, 446;
  the French Marshals at, 491;
  French retreat to, from Lille, 500;
  Vendôme’s plan including, 521-522;
  Boufflers at, 533
Tower of London, 363;
  post in, requested by M. for Cadogan, 200 and n.
Trade defence, Act for, 347
Trafalgar, battle of, 274
Transylvania, 210, 212
Travers ——, 90
Treaty of Union, the, 1707, 217, 238
Trentino, the, the beaten allied forces in, 86
Trentschin, battle of, final defeat of the Hungarian rebels, 295
Trèves, D’Aubach’s abandonment of, 45;
  Electorate of, M.’s visit to authorities of, 39, 46
Trianon, the, 289
Tubize, 388
Turin, relief of, prepared by Ramillies, 139, 152;
  proposed dispatch of troops for, from Spain, 178;
  battle for, victory at, 182 et seq., 195, 203, 213, 238, 241, 245;
  M.’s help to Eugene before, 247;
  defender of, 278
Tutchin, John, of the Observator, 204;
  M.’s wrath with, 209;
  fate of, 209
Two Crowns, cause of, ebb of, 55;
  Belgian desertion of, 132
“Two Sicilies,” fate of, planned by Louis XIV, 71
Tynemouth, 362
 
Union, Treaty of, sacrifices made to secure, 216;
  signed in Scotland, 238
United Kingdom of Great Britain, creation of, 216, 238, 539
Utrecht, Treaty of, and Mindelheim, 49
 
Valencia, won for Charles III, 59, 66;
  Peterborough and his troops in, 59, 79, 172, 173;
  Leake ordered to, 81;
  Galway’s retreat upon, and arrangement for defence of frontier fortresses, 261;
  retreat from, 262
Vanbrugh, Sir John, architect of Blenheim Palace, 45, 386
Var, the, Eugene’s contact with the French near, 281;
  delays beyond, 282-283;
  recrossing of, 288
Vauban, Marshal Sébastian le Prestre, fortifications by, 60, 130, 196;
  those of Lille, 483;
  and the siege of Turin, 186-187, 188-189
Velasco, Don, governor of Barcelona, defence by, 61, 62;
  capitulation of, 63
Vendôme, Louis Joseph, Duke of, Marshal of France, beaten at Cassano by Prince Eugene, 38;
  successes of, in Italy, 38;
  victory of, at Calcinato, 86;
  recalled to command the new French army, 144;
  ordered north, 152;
  and the peace proposals of the French, 168;
  characteristics of, Saint-Simon on, 181;
  M.’s study of these, 537;
  and the siege of Turin, 181 et seq.;
  long front under watch by, 186;
  retreat by, and its explanation, 187-188;
  departure of, for Flanders, 188;
  in Flanders, 198, 241;
  M.’s first impressions on, 199;
  Prince Eugene’s opinion of, 199;
  Cadogan captured by, and released, M.’s quid pro quo, 200;
  dispositions of, 200;
  M. prepared to face, 247;
  debarred from battle, 266, 291, 302;
  retreat of, from Genappe, 301 et seq.;
  M.’s march against, 301;
  effort to bring to a battle, 302;
  evasion of, 303-304;
  reinforced, 304;
  again real commander of French forces, 374;
  moves of, in the campaign of 1708, 380;
  and the siege of Huy, 381;
  objection of, to Burgundy’s flank march, 388;
  an offensive battle unthought of by, 402;
  and the royal princes over the Scheldt, 408;
  fury of, at M.’s rapid advance, 408;
  orders sent by, to Biron to attack, 409;
  his anger when this not executed, and submission, 410-411;
  first realization by, that the Allies were crossing the Scheldt in force, dispute over, 409-410;
  still able to refuse battle, 411;
  at Oudenarde, fighting frenzy of, 416;
  advance checked at Groenewald and rallied by him in person, 416, 418;
  paralysis of his left wing, 418;
  third attack by, 420;
  reserves of, moving up of, 423;
  cavalry attack forborne by, 426;
  encirclement of his army, 426, 429-430;
  wild actions of, 428;
  military reputation destroyed, 430;
  meeting of, with the princes after the fight, insulting behaviour of, 430-431;
  proposal to fight it out, reception of, and retreat to Ghent decided on, 431, 432;
  prisoners made from his forces, 444;
  M.’s plans for forcing him out of Ghent, 436;
  retreat to Ghent, 446;
  in Ghent, tenacity of, 455, 456;
  army of, “so frightened,” 450;
  inaction of, against M.’s convoy, 461;
  criticisms of this, 462;
  determination of, not to fight a battle, 461-462;
  on the allied siege of Lille, 484;
  ordered to give battle to relieve Lille, 485;
  before Lille, 486, 487;
  operations of, 490;
  Berwick’s refusal to serve under, 491;
  reasons for not fighting, 492;
  attack urged by, opposed by the other Marshals, 494;
  reinforced from Douai, 495;
  a second threat by, to force a battle, the sole results of, 499;
  alone in objecting to retreat, 500;
  the country “drowned” by, and M.’s communications cut, 513-514;
  at Oudenburg, disposed to fight but retreat of, to Bruges, 514;
  camp of, flooded out, 514;
  encamped at Oudenarde, departure from, to Bruges, 518;
  loud for battle, restraint on, of Berwick and Burgundy, 521;
  scheme of, for starving out the allied army, turned down by Berwick, 522;
  over-confidence of, 524;
  protest of, against going into winter quarters, 529
  Letters from:
    to Chamillart: from Italy (1706), 183-184;
    on prospects in Flanders, 198;
    asking to be promptly relieved, 496;
    to Louis XIV: concerning the siege of Lille, 496;
    on the French line on the Scheldt as impregnable, 524
Venice, English loan payable at, to Prince Eugene, 83;
  tendentious neutrality of, 186
Verona, 186, 187, 190
Versailles, 181, 455;
  distrust at, for the Elector of Bavaria, 43;
  d’Alègre instructed at, 70;
  after Ramillies, the silent anxiety at, 142
Vicar-Generalship of the Spanish Netherlands, disposal of, in Louis XIV’s peace proposals, 71
Vienna, Sunderland’s mission to, 27, 47, 215;
  M. entreated to go to, 38;
  M.’s tour en route for, 39-40, 45-46;
  M.’s stay at, and reception by the Emperor, 46-47;
  M.’s private fortune engaged with the bankers of, 47;
  recruiting efforts in Bavaria, resistance to, 41;
  saved by the battle of Blenheim, 130;
  fury of, at the proposition to depose the Emperor, 295;
  mentioned, 51, 159, 160, 162
“Vienna crew,” the, Peterborough’s behaviour to, 65
Vilaine, M. at, 226
Villa Franca, 282
Villa Stelloni, 190
Villars, Marshal Claude Louis Hector de, the Margrave driven back by, 86;
  field of operations of (1706), 95;
  troops ordered from, for Villeroy, 138-139;
  on the Upper Rhine, 241;
  the Lines of Stollhofen captured by, 270, 272;
  ball given by, during this operation, 272;
  appeals of, to Charles XII, 280;
  pursuit by, of the Margrave of Bayreuth, his aims and successes, 292;
  army of, and reserves, M.’s estimate of, 294;
  and the Elector, “disgust between,” 374;
  sent to command in the south, 378;
  precedent set by, followed by M., 455-456
Villena, siege of, 259, 262
Villeroy, Marshal de, at Blenheim, 93;
  Louis XIV’s reiterated instructions to, 94;
  application of these, at Ramillies, 107-108;
  and the siege of Léau, 96;
  deceived by M. at Ramillies, 105;
  joint operations of, with the Elector, and joint retreat, 108 et seq.;
  and the Elector at Louvain, 130;
  their plans upset by M. and move by, to Courtrai, 133-134;
  at Lille, visit to, from Chamillart, 143;
  French blame of, rebutted by him, 143;
  removal of, from his command, and the consoling words of his King, 144;
  army of, M.’s praise of, 149;
  again puzzled by M., 196;
  successor of—see Vendôme;
  mentioned, 102, 105, 122, 291
  Letters from:
    to Dangeau, concerning the latter’s son, 142;
    to Louis XIV, after Ramillies, and the reply, 143, 144
Visenaken, Villeroy at, 97
Voltaire, François-Marie-Arouet de, on M.’s mission to Charles XII, 252, 254
Voorde, heights before, the French on, 400, 401
Vriberg, ——, wish of, for the “descent” troops, M.’s opposition not to be made known to, 399
 
Walpole, Sir Robert (later first Earl of Orford), appointment of, to the Admiralty Board, 27, 338;
  appointed Secretary-at-War, 356, 541
War, over-precision in, unwisdom of, 151
“War of chicane,” reflections on the phrase, 252-253
Warneton, French lines at, 436;
  Lottum sent to level, 447
Wartenberg, Count, Prussian Prime Minister, letters to, from M.: on Frederick;
  and the style of his letters to M., 87-88;
  on help for a Prussian officer’s widow, 101
Wartenberg, Countess, and Raby, 87
Wavre and Louvain, French troops assembling between, 98;
  French retreat to, from Ramillies, 127;
  M.’s march through, to Genappe, 301
Webb, General John Richmond, and the battle of Wynendael, 509;
  credit for this wrongly given to Cadogan, 511;
  M.’s efforts to correct the error, 512, 517, 518
Webb’s regiment, sent against the Jacobite raid, 362 and n.
Week, General, sent to strengthen M.’s left, 422-423
Wertmuller, General, attack by, on Taviers, 109
Werwicq, places threatened from, 452
Wesel, Prussian troops at, 87, 152
West Indies, the, 345
Wharton, Thomas, first Marquess of, Harley’s ill-offices to, 326;
  made Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, 545
Whig newspapers, 204
Whig nobles forming the Junto (q.v.), 26;
  attack by, on the Admiralty, 338
Whig Party, support of, to the Continental war, and exponents of the rise of England, in 1705, 19;
  liaison with, of Godolphin and M., 21;
  position won by, in 1705, an old struggle ended, a new begun, 25 et seq.;
  and the Court of Hanover, 54;
  M.’s cultivation of, 72, 73;
  and the Protestant Succession, 80;
  claims of, for office, 215, 543;
  insistence of, on Sunderland’s appointment, 228-229;
  attitude of, after Sunderland’s appointment, 236;
  Godolphin harried by, 300;
  and the Queen’s choice of bishops, 315;
  and her prerogative, 331-332;
  objects of, in 1707, 338;
  thesis of “No peace without Spain,” 345;
  suspicions of, as to M. and Godolphin, 364;
  success of, at the poll in 1708, 368;
  desire of, for a purely party Administration, Anne’s reaction to this, 368 et seq.;
  deadlock produced by, 380;
  war policy of, 457;
  plan to force the Queen to yield, 468 et seq.;
  invitation to the Electress Sophia proposed by, 468;
  discontent of, with the exertions on their behalf of Godolphin, M., and his wife, 540;
  Administration of, in power, in accord with the will of the Commons, 545, 548, 555;
  fund-raising by, 550;
  indifference of, to Godolphin and to the Duchess of M., 555-556
Whig politics of the Duchess of M., 21, 26, 28, 29, 30, 317
Whig-Tory Convention, as to support to national war effort, 20
Whiggism in 1706, nature of, 215
‘Whimsicals,’ the, 26
Whittaker, Admiral, 535
Wight, Isle of—see Isle of Wight
William III, and the Church of England, 36;
  and Galway, 55, 56;
  wars of, M.’s topographical memories reaching back to, 99;
  siege of Oudenarde by (1674), 138;
  and his importations, 306;
  bishops of, 315;
  price paid by, for Namur, 519;
  why called in by the English, 538;
  mentioned, 26, 57, 130, 317
Windsor, illness and death at, of Prince George of Denmark, 543 et seq.
Windsor Castle, news of Blenheim brought to, 120 n.
Wise, ——, 90, 325
Woodstock—see Blenheim Palace
Wratislaw, John Wenzel, Count, Imperial Ambassador Extraordinary, M. urged by, to come to Vienna, 38;
  and M., correspondence of, on M.’s principality, 47, 48;
  how captivated by Peterborough, 305;
  report by, on Peterborough to M., 306
  Letter from, to M., on “risking” the Imperial Army, 279
  Letters to:
    from Charles III, on the war in Spain, 340;
    from M.: on the war in Italy, 39;
    at beginning of the Flanders campaign of 1706, 89;
    on hopes of a victory, 100;
    on provision for a Prussian officer’s widow, 101;
    acrimonious tone of, and of the replies, 245;
    on the Italian plan, 276;
    on humouring Victor Amadeus, etc., 289, 290;
    on sending a good general and removing Bayreuth, 293-294;
    on Eugene’s proposed command in Spain, 341, 345, 346;
    from Prince Eugene, on the attack on Toulon, 285
Wren, Sir Christopher, 45
Wright, Sir Nathan, Lord Keeper, 27;
  dismissal of, 28-29
Würtemberg, Duke of, M.’s call to, to bring on his Danes, 97
Wynendael, critical action of, 373-374;
  Webb’s victory at, over La Motte, 510;
  credit for this wrongly ascribed to Cadogan, 511;
  M.’s concern to set this right, 512, 517, 518;
  the sting of, felt by Vendôme, 513
 
Xantes, proposed occupation of, 85
Xativa, 262
 
Yecla, 262
Ypres, 157, 201, 436, 503;
  menaced by M., 196;
  reinforced by Berwick, 446;
  La Motte at, 448
Yser sluices, opening of, 147
 
Zealand, 360

The corrections to the errata listed before Chapter I have been applied to the text.

The original spelling and punctuation have been retained, except that a few obvious typographic errors were corrected.

In some formats or readers you may click on the maps on pages 128 and 432, and the maps of the Western Netherlands, Spain and Europe, for a larger image.

[The end of Marlborough: His Life and Times--Volume V by Winston Spencer Churchill]

CHAPTER		PAGE
I.	The Whig Approach	19
II.	Prince of Mindelheim	37
III.	The War in Spain	55
IV.	The Tottering Alliance	69
V.	Fortune’s Gift	83
VI.	The Battle of Ramillies	102
VII.	The Conquest of Belgium	130
VIII.	The Reverse of the Medal	151
IX.	Madrid and Turin	172
X.	The Year of Victory	196
XI.	Sunderland’s Appointment	215
XII.	Marlborough and Charles XII	241
XIII.	Almanza and Stollhofen	257
XIV.	Toulon	274
XV.	Marlborough in Trammels	291
XVI.	Abigail	311
XVII.	The Fall of Harley	334
XVIII.	The Jacobite Raid	359
XIX.	Eugene Comes North	373
XX.	The Surprise of Ghent and Bruges	388
XXI.	The Battle of Oudenarde	404
XXII.	The Morrow of Success	433
XXIII.	The Thwarted Invasion	446
XXIV.	The Home Front	463
XXV.	The Siege of Lille	483
XXVI.	Wynendael	502
XXVII.	The Winter Struggle	520
XXVIII.	Culmination	538
	Bibliography	557
	Index	561

FACSIMILES OF LETTERS
	PAGE
The Ramillies Letter	134
The Minorca Postscript	446

PLATES
	PAGE
Marlborough	Frontispiece
Admiral Sir George Rooke	22
John, Lord Somers	36
Charles Mordaunt, Third Earl of Peterborough	58
The Emperor Joseph I	68
Sicco van Goslinga	104
The Ramillies Playing-card	120
Charles Montagu, Earl of Halifax	168
Sidney, Earl of Godolphin	218
Charles XII	248
Sir Cloudesley Shovell	274
Abigail Hill, Lady Masham	316
Matthew Prior	328
Admiral George Churchill	336
Robert Harley, Earl of Oxford	350
George Lewis, Elector of Hanover	376
Prince Eugene of Savoy	384
Tapestry of the Battle of Oudenarde	408
Colonel William Cadogan	416
Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, in 1708	478
Tapestry of the Action of Wynendael	512
General Overkirk	518
General James Stanhope	534
Prince George of Denmark	544

MAPS AND PLANS
	PAGE
The Capture of Barcelona	63
The Descent	85
The Northern Front (May 1706)	96
Villeroy’s Opening	97
Contact	103
The Horns	107
The British Attack	109
The Combat by Taviers	111
The General Engagement	114
The Cavalry Battle	115
Marlborough’s Intervention	119
Orkney’s Withdrawal	121
The New Front	125
The Pursuit	127
Contemporary Battle-plan of Ramillies	128
The Direct Pursuit after Ramillies	131
Marlborough threatens Villeroy’s Communications (May 30)	134
The Capture of Madrid	175
Italy (May 1706)	182
Eugene’s March	188, 189
The Battle of Turin	191
The French Retreat from Italy	193
Flanders (July 1706)	197
The Siege of Menin	200
The Battle of Almanza	260
May 1707	266
Movements, May 23-26	267
The Lines of Stollhofen	271
Strategic Situation of Toulon	275
Eugene’s March to Toulon (I)	280
Eugene’s March to Toulon (II)	283
The Siege of Toulon	287
Villars’s Invasion of Germany	293
August 11-14, 1707	303
Vendôme’s Choices (May 1708)	381
Movements in the First Week of June 1708	382
Burgundy’s March	389
Evening of July 5, 1708	391
French Control of the Waterways	395
The Main Armies (July 10, 1708)	401
General Situation (July 10, 1708)	403
Situation, Daybreak July 10	405
Biron’s Discovery	409
Cadogan’s Attack, 3 p.m.	412
Rantzau’s Charge	414
Oudenarde, 5 p.m.	417
Oudenarde, 6 p.m.	421
The Encirclement	423
Natzmer’s Charge	425
8.30 p.m.: The Net Closes	427
The Battle of Oudenarde	432
Alternative Courses after Oudenarde	435
The First Convoy	451
The Thwarted Invasion	453
The Great Convoy	461
August 27-September 5, 1708	492
September 5, 1708	493
Vendôme cuts the Allied Communications	503
Communications, Ostend-Lille	505
Situation, Morning, September 28	509
The Action of Wynendael	511
October 7, 1708	515
Marlborough forces the Scheldt	525
Minorca	535
General Map of the Western Netherlands	556
General Map of Spain	556
General Map of Europe	556

PREFACE

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

ABBREVIATIONS

METHOD OF DATING

ERRATA

CHAPTER I THE WHIG APPROACH (1705)

CHAPTER II PRINCE OF MINDELHEIM (1706, October-December)

CHAPTER III THE WAR IN SPAIN (1705-1706)

CHAPTER IV THE TOTTERING ALLIANCE (1705-1706)

CHAPTER V FORTUNE’S GIFT (1706, May)

CHAPTER VI THE BATTLE OF RAMILLIES (1706, May 23)

CHAPTER VII THE CONQUEST OF BELGIUM (1706, June)

CHAPTER VIII THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL (1706, July-October)

CHAPTER IX MADRID AND TURIN (1706, May-September)

The Relief of Turin

CHAPTER X THE YEAR OF VICTORY (1706, June-October)

CHAPTER XI SUNDERLAND’S APPOINTMENT (1706, Autumn)

CHAPTER XII MARLBOROUGH AND CHARLES XII (1707, Spring)

CHAPTER XIII ALMANZA AND STOLLHOFEN (1707, April and May)

CHAPTER XIV TOULON (1707, Summer)

CHAPTER XV MARLBOROUGH IN TRAMMELS (1707, Summer)

CHAPTER XVI ABIGAIL (1707, Summer)

CHAPTER XVII THE FALL OF HARLEY (1706-1707, Winter)

CHAPTER XVIII THE JACOBITE RAID (1708, Spring)

CHAPTER XIX EUGENE COMES NORTH (1708, Spring)

CHAPTER XX THE SURPRISE OF GHENT AND BRUGES (1708, July 4-10)

CHAPTER XXI THE BATTLE OF OUDENARDE (1708, July 11)

CHAPTER XXII THE MORROW OF SUCCESS (1707, July)

CHAPTER XXIII THE THWARTED INVASION (1708, July-August)

CHAPTER XXIV THE HOME FRONT (1708, July-October)

CHAPTER XXV THE SIEGE OF LILLE (1708, August-September)

CHAPTER XXVI WYNENDAEL (1708, September-October)

CHAPTER XXVII THE WINTER STRUGGLE (1708, Winter)

CHAPTER XXVIII CULMINATION (1708, Winter)

BIBLIOGRAPHY[611]

I. MANUSCRIPT SOURCES

II. PRINTED SOURCES

III. REPORTS OF THE HISTORICAL MANUSCRIPTS COMMISSION

IV. PRINCIPAL WORKS ON JOHN, DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH, AND SARAH, DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH

V. SECONDARY AUTHORITIES

VI. ARTICLES

INDEX

Transcriber’s Notes

CHAPTER I
THE WHIG APPROACH
(1705)

CHAPTER II
PRINCE OF MINDELHEIM
(1706, October-December)

CHAPTER III
THE WAR IN SPAIN
(1705-1706)

CHAPTER IV
THE TOTTERING ALLIANCE
(1705-1706)

CHAPTER V
FORTUNE’S GIFT
(1706, May)

CHAPTER VI
THE BATTLE OF RAMILLIES
(1706, May 23)

CHAPTER VII
THE CONQUEST OF BELGIUM
(1706, June)

CHAPTER VIII
THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL
(1706, July-October)

CHAPTER IX
MADRID AND TURIN
(1706, May-September)

CHAPTER X
THE YEAR OF VICTORY
(1706, June-October)

CHAPTER XI
SUNDERLAND’S APPOINTMENT
(1706, Autumn)

CHAPTER XII
MARLBOROUGH AND CHARLES XII
(1707, Spring)

CHAPTER XIII
ALMANZA AND STOLLHOFEN
(1707, April and May)

CHAPTER XIV
TOULON
(1707, Summer)

CHAPTER XV
MARLBOROUGH IN TRAMMELS
(1707, Summer)

CHAPTER XVI
ABIGAIL
(1707, Summer)

CHAPTER XVII
THE FALL OF HARLEY
(1706-1707, Winter)

CHAPTER XVIII
THE JACOBITE RAID
(1708, Spring)

CHAPTER XIX
EUGENE COMES NORTH
(1708, Spring)

CHAPTER XX
THE SURPRISE OF GHENT AND BRUGES
(1708, July 4-10)

CHAPTER XXI
THE BATTLE OF OUDENARDE
(1708, July 11)

CHAPTER XXII
THE MORROW OF SUCCESS
(1707, July)

CHAPTER XXIII
THE THWARTED INVASION
(1708, July-August)

CHAPTER XXIV
THE HOME FRONT
(1708, July-October)

CHAPTER XXV
THE SIEGE OF LILLE
(1708, August-September)

CHAPTER XXVI
WYNENDAEL
(1708, September-October)

CHAPTER XXVII
THE WINTER STRUGGLE
(1708, Winter)

CHAPTER XXVIII
CULMINATION
(1708, Winter)

BIBLIOGRAPHY ^[611]