The Battle of Blenheim, 1704. Age of Absolute Monarchy Shattered, France Sent Into Decline, Marlborough a Hero.

Marlborough’s triumph shattered the illusion of French invincibility, marking the first crack in the towering edifice of Louis the fourteenth's reign. From Blenheim onward, France’s dominance would wither, and the Sun King, as he often referred to himself, once the master of Europe, would watch as the brilliance of his empire dimmed.

Blenheim. August 13, 1704.
French and Bavarian Forces: ~ 56,000 Men.
Allied Forces: ~ 52,000 Men.

Additional Reading and Research:

• Fuller, J.F.C. A Military History of the Western World.
• Hassel, Arthur. Louis XIV and the Zenith of French Monarchy.
• Kamen, Henry. The War of Succession in Spain, 1700-1715.
• Chandler, David. The Art of Warfare in the Age of Marlborough.

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Transcript

Thanks for tuning in to this episode of History's Greatest Battles, if not yet, subscribe and share this episode.

You know, we need the perspective of the rearview mirror in order to make sense of a war or a battle’s greater purpose. And sometimes, in fact often, there is none. Often its a group of old men, sending young men to pursue the old men’s ambitions at the cost of the common man. 

Our hero today was referred to by Churchill as the “sum of things” — referring to his great historical significance. In retrospect now we see that this battle more or less ended absolute monarchy on the continent. But before sharing the battle, let me read a poem written less than a hundred years later about this battle, which highlights its utter, perhaps it's utter disruption and violence on the common man of the area. 

This is, “After Blenheim” by Robert Southey:

It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun,
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet
In playing there had found;
He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by;
And then the old man shook his head,
And, with a natural sigh —
"'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
"Who fell in the great victory.

"I find them in the garden,
For there's many here about;
And often when I go to plough,
The ploughshare turns them out.
For many thousand men," said he,
"Were slain in that great victory."

"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin, he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up
With wonder-waiting eyes;
"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for."

"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for,
I could not well make out;
But everybody said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory.

"My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;
They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly;
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.

"With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide,
And many a childing mother then,
And new-born baby died;
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

"They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won;
For many thousand bodies here
Lay rotting in the sun;
But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,
And our good Prince Eugene."
"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"
Said little Wilhelmine.
"Nay... nay... my little girl," quoth he,
"It was a famous victory.

"And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win."
"But what good came of it at last?"
Quoth little Peterkin.
"Why that I cannot tell," said he,
"But 'twas a famous victory."

Let us know experience, the Battle of Blenheim.

Welcome to History's Greatest Battles, Season 10, Episode 56: The Battle of Blenheim. The 13th of August, 14 O 4.

French and Bavarian Forces: roughly 56,000 Men.

Allied Forces: roughly 52,000 Men with 10,000 of them being British.

Marlborough’s triumph shattered the illusion of French invincibility, marking the first crack in the towering edifice of Louis the fourteenth's reign. From Blenheim onward, France’s dominance would wither, and the Sun King, as he often referred to himself, once the master of Europe, would watch as the brilliance of his empire dimmed.

In the latter half of the seventeenth century, King Louis XIV of France reigned supreme over the political and military theaters of Europe, his authority unchallenged, his ambition limitless. He forged an army unlike any the world had seen—well-trained, ruthlessly disciplined, and unmatched in strength—and wielded it with ruthless intelligence, expanding France’s borders with a deliberate, relentless force that carved away territories from Italy, the Holy Roman Empire, the Dutch Republic, and the fragmented German states. With daring vision and commanders of unshakable resolve, Louis’s France became both the terror and admiration of Western Europe.

Louis, ever vigilant, forever hungry for greater power, saw his opportunity in 1700. Charles II of Spain, the last of the Hapsburg line, died without an heir, igniting a desperate scramble for the Spanish throne. In his will, Charles named Philip of Anjou, a distant relative, as his successor. But Philip’s bloodline was the same as Louis XIV’s—he was the French king’s own grandson. The thought of a Bourbon ruling both France and Spain sent a chill through every European court. To many, it foretold the rise of an unstoppable French dominion. Austria had its own candidate: Charles, the second son of Emperor Leopold I. Should Charles ascend, it would reunite the Hapsburg family’s Spanish and Austrian crowns, restoring their ancient power.

Leopold wasted no time, driving forward his son’s claim with all the imperial authority he could muster. The rest of Europe, wary of Bourbon ambitions, rallied to his cause without hesitation. At the forefront of the coalition stood William III of England. Rising to power in 1688, after the Glorious Revolution had overthrown the Catholic King James II, William, originally of the Dutch Republic, had spent years locking horns with Louis XIV’s ambitions. When Philip of Anjou seized the Spanish crown in 1701, William moved with swiftness, organizing the Grand Alliance to curb France’s reach. Though his death in March of 1702 was a blow, his daughter Anne wasted no time in continuing the fight. With Denmark, Prussia, Portugal, and Savoy following suit, Europe’s might gathered for a reckoning.

Louis, knowing full well that letting his grandson take the Spanish throne would summon war, did not wait for it to come to him—he charged headlong into it. Spain held vital territories along the French frontier in the Netherlands, and Louis wasted no time sending his forces to occupy these lands, claiming they were being transferred to Philip’s rule. Leopold I, seeing this as a direct challenge to Hapsburg power, acted even before the Grand Alliance was fully formed. He dispatched his Imperial forces to the Italian peninsula, Spanish soil in all but name, where his master strategist, Eugene of Savoy, swiftly crushed the Spanish resistance, driving them back into the stronghold of Mantua.

Simultaneously, Louis stoked the flames of conflict with England. A devout Catholic and former ally of the deposed King James II, Louis openly declared his support for James III, the Catholic claimant to the English throne. This was a move rooted in centuries of Stuart rule, aligning with Scotland and unsettling England. Not content with mere words, Louis unleashed a campaign of economic warfare, striking at English shipping and pillaging their colonies. England answered by sending her finest soldier to the fray: John Churchill, Earl of Marlborough. Marlborough was not just a military genius, but a diplomat who could navigate the fractured alliances and contentious monarchs he was bound to lead.

In June 1702, Marlborough arrived on the continent, bringing with him 12,000 British soldiers and uniting them with his allies to form a 50,000-strong force. His target was the Netherlands. Yet despite commanding an army dominated by Dutch troops, Marlborough found his every move obstructed by Dutch politicians, more concerned with preserving their own forces than committing them to the fight. Throughout 1702 and 1703, Marlborough fought not just the French but the stubbornness of his own allies. His campaigns along the Rhine were a grind, slowed by Austrian leaders and other allies who insisted on splitting their forces rather than uniting them under a single commander. In the Netherlands, when not hamstrung by his Dutch counterparts, Marlborough found himself matched by the cunning of Marshal Villeroi, a Frenchman who could outmaneuver entire armies with a flick of his hand. But Marlborough was no ordinary general—he saw the long game. In the summer of 1704, leaving 60,000 men to hold the line in the Netherlands, he struck out for Bavaria. His eyes were set on joining the fierce Eugene of Savoy to crush a combined Franco-Bavarian force led by Marshal Tallard. Bavaria, newly allied with France, hoped for conquest. Their Elector, Maximilian, dreamed not just of land but of an imperial crown.

Marlborough’s march from the Netherlands to the Danube was nothing short of brilliance in motion. With an iron grip on discipline, he drove his men and horses across 250 miles in just five weeks—a pace unheard of for its time. Marlborough moved like a master tactician, throwing feints toward French targets, baiting the enemy without letting them close in. General Villeroi followed cautiously but soon handed off the chase to Marshal Tallard, who positioned himself along the upper Rhine to cut Marlborough off, expecting him to strike Alsace. Meanwhile, Maximilian, waiting with bated breath near Vienna, had his sights set on seizing the imperial throne, ready to combine forces with Tallard and march on the capital of the Holy Roman Empire.

As Marlborough swept across the land, he gathered reinforcements from German principalities like a rising storm. Then, with a move as sharp as a dagger, he outmaneuvered Tallard, cutting between the French marshal and the Elector of Bavaria. Tallard scrambled, charging through the Black Forest to catch up. By July 2, Marlborough had reached the Danube at Donauwörth, smashing Maximilian’s forces and driving them back to the fortresses of Augsburg. Yet the Elector refused to take the bait. Rather than face Marlborough head-on, Maximilian slipped south of the Danube, linking with Tallard at Ülm by early August. The stage was set for war. On August 12, Marlborough joined with Eugene of Savoy, their forces swelling, ready to strike.

With 52,000 soldiers at his back and sixty cannons ready to roar, Marlborough advanced up the Danube’s left bank, hunting his prey. Tallard and Maximilian had crossed to the northern bank on August 10, setting up camp in the village of Blenheim. Confident in his numbers—56,000 men and ninety cannons—Tallard believed Marlborough would never dare attack such a fortified position. But on the morning of August 13, as the fog lifted from the river, Tallard's confidence shattered. Marlborough’s army appeared, columns of men advancing with grim purpose. Eugene, delayed by rugged terrain, had yet to arrive, but Tallard’s forces hastily moved into position, sensing the storm that was about to break.

Tallard arranged his army with the precision of a blade. He massed his infantry on both flanks—his right anchored by the town of Blenheim and the Danube, his left holding the village of Oberglau. Above them loomed a ridgeline that dominated the Nebel, a stream winding toward the Danube, offering the French a commanding view of the battlefield. In the center, Tallard positioned his cavalry, primed to drive the allied troops into the marshy waters of the Nebel as they struggled to cross. He believed his line impenetrable, his cavalry ready to strike with devastating force.

The clash erupted just after noon. Marlborough unleashed his infantry on Blenheim, while Eugene drove his men toward Oberglau. The plan was simple: pin the French flanks, sever their ability to coordinate, and then crush them. It worked. Blenheim’s commander frantically called for reinforcements as the attack ground on. Though neither Marlborough’s nor Eugene’s assaults broke through, they locked the French into a brutal fight on the wings. Tallard, focused on defending his flanks, failed to notice Marlborough pushing his forces across the Nebel. There, Marlborough positioned alternating lines of infantry and cavalry, supported by his artillery. Tallard's center stood exposed, vulnerable to the hammer about to fall.

Tallard unleashed his cavalry in a furious charge, hoping to shatter Marlborough’s advance. But Eugene, with the cold precision of a battlefield master, countered with his own cavalry, slamming into the French and forcing them into retreat. By 3:00 p.m., Marlborough had the French pinned—their flanks bottled up in the towns of Blenheim and Oberglau, while his main force had crossed the Nebel and stood poised to strike at the heart of Tallard’s cavalry.

An uneasy calm settled over the battlefield for an hour, but at 4:00 p.m., the storm erupted again. Marlborough’s advance was relentless, his infantry marching through the French cavalry's desperate charges. The thunder of cannons roared behind them, mowing down anyone in their path. Tallard, realizing his line was crumbling, called for reserves. But there were none left—every available man had been swallowed by the fighting on the flanks.

The French cavalry, exhausted and battered, could do no more than slow the inevitable. When Marlborough unleashed his own cavalry, the French horses were too drained to fight back. Marlborough’s infantry surged forward, bayonets flashing as they tore through the heart of the French line. The center collapsed. Tallard, helpless as his army disintegrated around him, was captured. Seeing the collapse of the center, Maximilian fled from Oberglau, leaving his men to their fate. The French trapped in Blenheim, abandoned and surrounded, surrendered after a brief negotiation.

By the time the sun sank on August 13, Marlborough stood victorious on the blood-soaked fields of Blenheim. His army had paid dearly, losing 12,000 men, but the French and Bavarian dead and wounded numbered 20,000, with another 14,000 captured. Sixty cannons, once roaring under Tallard’s banner, now lay in Marlborough’s hands. This was the first crushing blow France had endured in Louis XIV’s reign. The Bourbon king, who had dictated Europe’s fate for decades, now faced the reckoning his endless ambition had summoned.

Marlborough’s audacity and iron will had forged a victory that ended French and Bavarian dreams of dominance. Maximilian’s ambitions for the imperial crown were shattered. Before the year closed, Marlborough's relentless forces stormed Ulm, Landau, and Ingolstadt, forcing Maximilian to bend the knee to the emperor. Even Hungary’s nationalists, who had dared to hope that a Franco-Bavarian triumph would bring them freedom, saw their dreams crushed under Marlborough’s boot.

Austria’s grip on the Holy Roman Empire tightened once more. The victories that followed cemented its power, not just within the Empire but across the Italian peninsula, a dominance that would hold unchallenged for nearly a century.

After Blenheim, Marlborough’s name was etched into the annals of history as one of the greatest commanders to ever live. Over the next five years, he systematically dismantled the finest generals Louis XIV could send against him. In May 1706, at Ramillies, he tore the Netherlands from French control. In 1708, he crushed Marshal Vendôme at Oudenarde, driving the French from Flanders. Even the grueling stalemate at Malplaquet in 1709 only served to bolster the allies while further tarnishing the once-invincible reputation of French arms.

The endgame came in 1711, with negotiations that dragged on for two years until the Treaty of Utrecht was signed on April 11, 1713. Louis XIV, at last, recognized the Protestant monarchy in England and relinquished key French territories in North America. But the core of the war’s conflict lingered unresolved. Philip of Anjou kept his crown as King Philip V of Spain, yet Louis was forced to swear that France and Spain would remain separate, even if the Bourbon bloodline ruled both. France gave up its claims in Italy and abandoned any hope of controlling the Spanish Netherlands.

Emperor Charles VI resisted accepting the final terms, but with the Grand Alliance splintering, he was powerless to defeat France alone, despite his efforts. In the grander scheme, Spain emerged as the greatest loser, while England emerged as the undisputed victor. With France’s grip weakened, England tightened its hold on global trade and solidified its supremacy on the seas, both merchant and military. As the historian Fuller observed, from this moment on, England’s military power would rest on the strength of its banking system, which became unparalleled through its mastery of international trade.

Louis XIV’s reign as the architect of Europe’s destiny drew to a close. When he died in 1715, his successors lacked the cunning or the steel to hold onto the vast dominion he had carved. It was not until Napoleon’s meteoric rise in the late eighteenth century that French power would again surge across the continent. But make no mistake—Blenheim had broken Louis. Every triumph that followed merely reaffirmed the truth of his defeat. The age of absolute monarchy was shattered, never to return.