This longing for home, and for the undisturbed enjoyment of all that home gives, appears in every effusion of that warm heart, the natural feelings of which neither the dissipations of a court, nor the possession of power, nor the incense of nations, could alienate from the fondest objects which life presents to a mind not vitiated by selfishness. Marlborough, amidst all his troubles, was happiest in his nursery. There the guilelessness, the freshness of the infant mind appeared to him in beautiful contrast with the measured phrase, and the mask of prudence, adopted insensibly in the world; the petty cares and wants of children, so easily solaced—their unconsciousness of all that is painful, all that is anxious—operate as a charm on the sickened heart and harassed mind, and bring to the wearied passenger through life some sense of happiness, some trust and hope that all is not disappointment and deception in this probationary state. Those parents who turn with disgust and indifference from children, as merely sources of care, may picture to themselves the great Marlborough the playfellow of his little girls.
“You cannot imagine,” he writes from Tunbridge to Lady Marlborough, “how I am pleased with the children; for they, having nobody but their maid, are so fond of me, that when I am at home they will always be with me, kissing and hugging me. Their heats are quite gone, so that against you come home they will be in beauty.
“If there be room I will come on Monday, so that you need not write on Sunday.
“Miss is pulling me by the arm, that she may write to her dear mamma; so that I shall say no more, only beg that you will love me always as well as I love you, and then we cannot but be happy.”
To this charming and natural letter the fond father added, in his own handwriting, the following little postscript from his daughter:—
“I kiss your hands, my dear mamma.—Harriet.”[[193]]
Happy and amiable Marlborough! and blessed the parents, to whom still the affectionate though unconscious dependence of their children brings a thousand minute and indescribable enjoyments!
With the affections of such a man, Lady Marlborough might have been the happiest, as well as one of the most distinguished of women, had she risen superior to the temptation of intrigue, and discarded the workings of tea-table politics with the scorn which they deserved. But her unquiet spirit allowed her no real happiness. External circumstances, which were peculiarly in her favour, contributed to ruin her peace, by fostering her domineering and busy temper. Indulged by her husband in living at her birthplace, he gratified her inclination still further, by purchasing the respective shares of her sisters, Frances and Barbara, joint co-heiresses with herself, and built a mansion on the spot, called Holywell House. At this place Lord and Lady Marlborough resided, the house being described as one of great magnificence, and they left it only to enter upon the yet more majestic pile of Blenheim House, when repeated success had raised them to the climax of their greatness. The birth of six[[194]] children successively—of two sons and four daughters—added to their domestic felicity, whilst yet those children were spared to them, and continued amenable to the domestic control. Some troubles, incident to human nature generally, were allotted to the distinguished parents, but mitigated by advantages so abundant, that the early portion of their married life must be considered as peculiarly blessed.
During the first two years after the accession of William, Lord Marlborough only enjoyed his home and country at brief intervals, that were tantalising even to one who felt himself destined to high offices, and framed for glorious enterprises. On his return from the Netherlands, the King, though secretly nettled at his interference in the affair of the settlement, was obliged to acknowledge that it was to Marlborough that the success of his troops at the siege of Walcourt, a small town in the Low Countries, was to be chiefly attributed.[[195]] In the close of the year 1690, Marlborough was entrusted with the command of troops sent to Ireland, in which country he had refused to act whilst James the Second, his former benefactor, remained in that island. But when James retired to France, Marlborough prepared to use his utmost exertions, in conjunction with others, to reduce the remainder of that kingdom to obedience. The success of his endeavours enabled him to return to England on the 28th of October, and to experience a favourable reception from King William; but he was obliged almost immediately to resume his command in Ireland, where he remained during the winter. The following year found him still active in military affairs, serving under William himself in Flanders, with a distinction and success that wrung praises from his enemies. Even William was forced to acknowledge that “he knew no man so fit for a general who had seen so few campaigns;”[[196]] and to the praises of the Prince de Vaudemont, who prophesied of Marlborough that he would attain a higher point of military glory than any subject William possessed, the phlegmatic monarch relaxed so far from his usual taciturnity as to reply with a smile, “he believed that Marlborough would do his part to make his words good.” But all these services were obliterated shortly afterwards from the royal mind; and a cloud of adversity, though not of disgrace—for nothing can disgrace the virtuous—lowered over the fortunes of Marlborough.