If you’ve ever walked through the halls of the Windsor Castle or the Rijksmuseum, you’ve probably felt that weird, heavy stare from a massive canvas. It’s usually a Battle of Waterloo painting. These things are everywhere. They are the 19th-century equivalent of an IMAX blockbuster, meant to make you feel the mud, the blood, and the sheer chaos of June 18, 1815. But here’s the thing: most of them are lying to you.
History is messy. Art is deliberate.
When we look at a Battle of Waterloo painting today, we aren’t just looking at a snapshot of a fight. We’re looking at a carefully constructed piece of political PR. Some artists wanted to suck up to the Duke of Wellington. Others wanted to mourn the fall of Napoleon. A few actually cared about what the soldiers went through. Understanding which is which changes how you see the entire Napoleonic era.
The Giant in the Room: Jan Willem Pieneman’s Masterpiece
Let’s talk about the big one. Literally. Jan Willem Pieneman’s The Battle of Waterloo sits in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, and it is gargantuan. It’s over 26 feet wide. You can't miss it. It basically takes up an entire wall, and that’s the point.
Pieneman started this beast in 1824. He didn't just wing it. He actually traveled to London to sketch the Duke of Wellington and his officers. He wanted it to be "accurate," but accurate in a way that made the Anglo-Allied side look like the ultimate professionals. You see Wellington right in the center, calm as a cucumber on his horse, Copenhagen. He’s getting the news that the Prussians—led by the elderly and somewhat eccentric Blücher—are finally arriving.
It’s a great painting. But it’s also a bit of a lie by omission.
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If you look at the ground in Pieneman’s work, it’s remarkably clean. Sure, there are some wounded guys, but it feels sanitized. The real Waterloo was a literal swamp of gore. It had rained all night before the battle. The ground was a "stinking sludge" of mud, rye stalks, and horse guts. Pieneman gives us the glory, but he skips the grime. It’s the "Instagram filter" version of the Napoleonic Wars.
Lady Butler and the Gritty Reality of the Charge
Fast forward to 1881. Elizabeth Thompson, known as Lady Butler, paints Scotland Forever!. You’ve seen this one—it’s the iconic image of the Royal Scots Greys charging toward the viewer on heavy gray horses.
It’s loud. It’s terrifying.
Unlike the male artists of the early 1800s who focused on the "Great Men" like Napoleon or Wellington, Butler focused on the collective adrenaline. She actually had soldiers perform maneuvers so she could see how the horses moved and how the men’s faces changed under pressure. She wanted that raw, "in-your-face" energy.
The interesting bit? The Royal Scots Greys actually suffered horrific casualties. They charged too far, got bogged down in the mud, and were cut to pieces by French lancers. Butler’s painting captures the glory of the start, but if you look at the eyes of the horses, there’s a frantic, panicked quality that hints at the disaster to come. It’s one of the few examples of a Battle of Waterloo painting that feels like it has a pulse.
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Why Does Every Battle of Waterloo Painting Look Different?
It comes down to who was paying the bills.
- The British Perspective: Focused on the "thin red line" and the stoicism of the infantry squares. Think of Robert Hillingford’s works. They emphasize order against French chaos.
- The French Perspective: These are often tragic. They focus on the "Old Guard"—Napoleon’s elite veterans—making their final stand. Artists like Hippolyte Bellangé captured the heartbreak of the Grande Armée falling apart.
- The Dutch/Belgian Perspective: Often ignored by English speakers, but the Prince of Orange (who got wounded at the battle) is a massive hero in their versions.
The Battle of Waterloo painting isn't a single thing; it’s a collection of national myths.
Take William Sadler’s version. It’s much more panoramic. You see the whole scope of the field. From this distance, the men look like ants. It reminds you that Waterloo wasn't just a duel between two famous generals; it was a meat grinder involving nearly 200,000 human beings in a space smaller than a few square miles.
The Weird Details You Probably Missed
If you look closely at these paintings, you’ll find some bizarre historical Easter eggs. In many depictions of the British squares, you’ll see men wearing tall bearskin hats or shakos. In reality, by the time the sun set on June 18, most of those uniforms were ruined. Men were wearing whatever they could find to stay warm or dry.
Also, look at the smoke.
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Modern movies make battlefields look clear. They aren't. Black powder creates a thick, sulfurous fog. Within thirty minutes of the first cannon fire at Hougoumont, nobody could see more than twenty feet in front of them. Most paintings ignore this because, well, a painting of a gray cloud doesn’t sell many prints. But the better artists, like Denis Dighton, used the smoke to create "frames" within the chaos, highlighting specific moments of bravery or horror.
Dighton was actually appointed Military Draughtsman to the Prince Regent. His work is fascinating because he didn’t mind showing the "ugly" side of the British victory—the looting, the desperation, and the confusion. He fell out of favor eventually. Turns out, people didn't want the truth; they wanted a hero.
How to Spot a "Fake" or Inaccurate Painting
Not every Battle of Waterloo painting is a historical document. Some are just 19th-century fan art. If you see Napoleon looking majestic on a white horse at the very end of the day, it’s probably fiction. By the time the French line broke, Napoleon was exhausted, suffering from a very painful bout of hemorrhoids (honestly, look it up, it’s a real factor in his lack of energy that day), and was eventually whisked away in a carriage, barely escaping capture.
Likewise, if the British soldiers look perfectly clean in their scarlet tunics, the artist was probably working from a studio in London decades later. The "Waterloo teeth" phenomenon is another grim reality missing from the art. After the battle, scavengers roamed the field pulling teeth from the dead to sell to dentists for dentures. You won't find a painting of that in the National Portrait Gallery.
What to Do Next if You're an Art or History Buff
If you actually want to see these things in person or learn more about the visual history of the Napoleonic Wars, don't just stick to Google Images. The depth is in the archives.
- Visit the Wellington Collection at Apsley House. This was the Duke's London home. It’s packed with art he actually owned, including several massive tributes to his victory. Seeing them in his actual dining room is a trip.
- Check out the "Waterloo Medal" by Benedetto Pistrucci. It’s not a painting, but it’s the most complex piece of commemorative art from the era. It took him 30 years to finish, and by then, most of the people on the medal were dead.
- Compare the panoramas. If you’re ever in Belgium, go to the Waterloo Panorama. It’s a 360-degree painting from 1912. It’s one of the last great "cycloramas" and gives you a sense of scale that a flat canvas just can't match.
- Look for the "Average Joes." Search for the works of David Wilkie. He painted The Chelsea Pensioners Reading the Waterloo Dispatch. It’s not a battle scene, but it shows how the news of the victory hit the common people in London. It’s arguably more "human" than any painting of a general on a horse.
The Battle of Waterloo painting remains a cornerstone of Western art because it represents the moment the "old world" finally ended and the modern era began. Whether it's the sweeping grandeur of Pieneman or the gritty cavalry charges of Lady Butler, these works remind us that history is always a matter of perspective—and a little bit of paint.
Actionable Insight: Next time you look at a historical battle painting, identify the "Light Source." Artists often use light to literally "enlighten" the victor and cast the loser into shadow. In Waterloo art, notice how often the sun is breaking through the clouds specifically over the British or Prussian lines. It’s a visual metaphor for "Divine Providence" that was common in 19th-century propaganda. Identifying this trick helps you separate the history from the hype.