ion, and fostered those international jealousies and enmities
which are still a subject of reproach to the two most powerful states
of Europe. This war made England a more prominent actor on the arena
of European strife, and perhaps contributed to her political
aggrandizement. The greatness of the British empire begins to date
from this period, although this greatness is more to be traced to
colonial possessions, manufactures, and commercial wealth, than to the
victories of Marlborough.
[Sidenote: The Duke of Marlborough.]
It will ever remain an open question whether or not it was wise in the
English nation to continue so long the struggle with Louis XIV. In a
financial and material point of view, the war proved disastrous. But
it is difficult to measure the real greatness of a country, and solid
and enduring blessings, by pounds, shillings, and pence. All such
calculations, however statistically startling, are erroneous and
deceptive. The real strength of nations consists in loyalty,
patriotism, and public spirit; and no sacrifices can be too great to
secure these unbought blessings--"this cheap defence." If the
victories of Marlborough secured these, gave dignity to the British
name, and an honorable and lofty self-respect to the English people,
they were not dearly purchased. But the settlement of these questions
cannot be easily made.
As to the remarkable genius of the great man who infused courage into
the English mind, there can be no question. Marlborough, in spite of
his many faults, his selfishness and parsimony, his ambition and
duplicity, will ever enjoy an enviable fame. He was not so great a
moral hero as William, nor did he contend against such superior forces
as the royal hero. But he was a great hero, nevertheless. His glory
was reached by no sudden indulgence of fortune, by no fortunate
movements, by no accidental circumstances. His fame was progressive.
He never made a great mistake; he never lost the soundness of his
judgment. No success unduly elated him, and no reverses discouraged
him. He never forgot the interests of the nation in his own personal
annoyances or enmities. He was magnanimously indulgent to those Dutch
deputies who thwarted his measures, criticized his plans, and lectured
him on the art of war. The glory of his country was the prevailing
desire of his soul. He was as great in diplomacy and statesmanship as
on the field of Blenheim. He ever sacrificed his feelings as a
victorio
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