The number of prisoners that fell to the enemy in this battle was infinite.  The Duke of Marlborough took charge of the most distinguished, until he could carry them away to England, to grace his triumph there.  He treated them all, even the humblest, with the utmost attention, consideration, and politeness, and with a modesty that did him even more honour than his victory.  Those that came under the charge of Prince Louis of Baden were much less kindly treated.

The King received the cruel news of this battle on the 21st of August, by a courier from the Marechal de Villeroy.  By this courier the King learnt that a battle had taken place on the 13th; had lasted from eight o’clock in the morning until evening; that the entire army of Tallard was killed or taken prisoners; that it was not known what had become of Tallard himself, or whether the Elector and Marsin had been at the action.  The private letters that arrived were all opened to see what news they contained, but no fresh information could be got from them.  For six days the King remained in this uncertainty as to the real losses that had been sustained.  Everybody was afraid to write bad news; all the letters which from time to time arrived, gave, therefore, but an unsatisfactory account of what had taken place.  The King used every means in his power to obtain some news.  Every post that came in was examined by him, but there was little found to satisfy him.  Neither the King nor anybody else could understand, from what had reached them, how it was that an entire army had been placed inside a village, and had surrendered itself by a signed capitulation.  It puzzled every brain.  At last the details, that had oozed out little by little, augmented to a perfect stream, by the, arrival of one of our officers, who, taken prisoner, had been allowed by the Duke of Marlborough to go to Paris to relate to the King the misfortune that had happened to him.

We were not accustomed to misfortunes.  This one, very reasonably, was utterly unexpected.  It seemed in every way the result of bad generalship, of an unjustifiable disposition of troops, and of a series of gross and incredible errors.  The commotion was general.  There was scarcely an illustrious family that had not had one of its members killed, wounded, or taken prisoner.  Other families were in the same case.  The public sorrow and indignation burst out without restraint.  Nobody who had taken part in this humiliation was spared; the generals and the private soldiers alike came in for blame.  Denonville was ignominiously broken for the speech he had made at Blenheim.  The generals, however, were entirely let off.  All the punishment fell upon certain regiments, which were broken, and upon certain unimportant officers—­the guilty and innocent mixed together.  The outcry was universal.  The grief of the King at this ignominy and this loss, at the moment when he imagined that the fate of the Emperor was in his hands, may be imagined.  At a time when he might have counted upon striking a decisive blow, he saw himself reduced to act simply on the defensive, in order to preserve his troops; and had to repair the loss of an entire army, killed or taken prisoners.  The sequel showed not less that the hand of God was weighty upon us.  All judgment was lost.  We trembled even in the midst of Alsace.