The Battle of Waterloo, 1815. Napoleonic Europe Destroyed. France's Political/Military Supremacy Never Returns

Napoleon’s crushing defeat brought the curtain down on one of history’s most astonishing careers. As the once-mighty emperor was cast into exile, Europe, exhausted by years of war, finally exhaled. The flames of conflict were doused, and a four decade long era of peace stretched across the continent.

Waterloo. June 18, 1815.
Allied Forces:
Anglo-Dutch - 50,000 Infantry, 12,500 Cavalry, 156 Cannon.
Prussian - 61,000 Infantry.
Napoleon's French Forces: 49,000 Infantry, 15,570 Cavalry, 246 Cannon.

Additional Reading and Research:

• Brooke, Archibald. Napoleon and Waterloo.
• Fuller, J.F.C. A Military History of the Western World.
• Brett-James, Antony. The Hundred Days.
• Chandler, David. Waterloo: The Hundred Days.

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Transcript

Thanks for tuning in to this episode of History's Greatest Battles. This particular episode took me forever to edit the script down

because there have been entire cannons written on what occurred out Waterloo.  The tide of success shifted back and forth. So often victory within grasp sudden catastrophe. Victory within grasp, even worse, catastrophe, it just went back and forth and it. Lasted forever.  Of this particular battle, the Duke of Wellington said, "I don't know what effect these men have upon the enemy, but by God, they frightened me." 

Napoleon said, "My true glory is not in having won 40 battles. Waterloo will erase the memory of so many victories, but what will live forever is my civil code."

Waterloo is one of the origins of my fascination with military history. I hope that in the brief 20 minutes we have, I do it some sort of justice, but what justice can be done. When a battle that changed the very history of the entire earth. Has to be melted down into such a condensed version of what occurred. Nonetheless. Let's now experience the Battle of Waterloo.

Welcome to History's Greatest Battles, Season 01, episode 52: The Battle of Waterloo; the 18th of June, 1815.

Allied Forces: Anglo-Dutch roughly 50,000 infantry, 12,500 cavalry, and 156 guns. Prussian: Roughly 61,000 infantry. 

Napoleon's French Forces: 49,000 infantry, 15,570 cavalry, and 246 guns.

Napoleon’s crushing defeat brought the curtain down on one of history’s most astonishing careers. As the once-mighty emperor was cast into exile, Europe, exhausted by years of war, finally exhaled. The flames of conflict were doused, and a four decade long era of peace stretched across the continent.

Even after the disaster at Leipzig, Napoleon fought with unmatched ferocity to defend the heart of France, his genius on full display, but the sheer weight of numbers pressing against him was too great. His grip on power was slipping, no matter how hard he fought to hold the line.

The victorious powers—Austria, Britain, Prussia, and Russia—moved swiftly to crush Napoleon's legacy, thrusting Louis XVIII onto the throne and banishing the emperor to the distant island of Elba. The Mediterranean, vast and indifferent, swallowed him whole, an exile far from the France he had once commanded with iron will.

Louis XVIII wasted no time dismantling the reforms of the Revolution and Napoleon, turning back the clock on progress with the arrogance of a man who believed his crown entitled him to unchallenged rule. It didn’t take long for the French people to sour on their new monarch.

Napoleon, ever the predator, was quick to seize the moment. Hearing of Louis’ failures, he slipped from his keepers' grasp like a wolf loosed from its chains, commandeered a boat, and set sail for France. On March 1, 1815, the eagle returned to French soil.

What followed was nothing short of astonishing. Napoleon’s return electrified the nation; soldiers deserted Louis en masse, rushing to join their true emperor. Without a single shot fired, Napoleon's presence alone was enough to conjure an army from the ashes, his legend growing with every passing hour.

The realization hit Louis hard—his reign was already over. By March 18, the frightened king fled to England, abandoning his throne without so much as a fight.

On March 19, Napoleon strode back into power, reclaiming the throne as if it had always been his, and in truth, it had. His mere presence sent ripples of fear through Europe once again.

In Vienna, the bickering allied powers were jolted into a rare moment of unity. The specter of Napoleon’s return sent shockwaves through their council chambers, rousing them from their infighting to confront the menace they thought they had banished for good.

Setting aside their differences, they flatly rejected Napoleon's peace overtures, vowing to crush him once more. This time, they would not let him slip through their fingers.

They had the strength to make good on their vow. Together, the allied nations could summon half a million soldiers, but their forces were dispersed across the continent, and time would be needed to marshal this massive host.

This was exactly the kind of scenario Napoleon thrived on. His genius lay in exploiting the gaps between his enemies, positioning himself at the center, and dismantling their armies piece by piece.

Without hesitation, Napoleon aimed his sights on the two nearest threats—Blücher’s Prussian army and Wellington’s Anglo-Dutch forces. He was convinced that if he could crush them one by one, he would force Austria and Russia to the negotiating table, bending Europe to his will once again.

The soldiers who rallied to Napoleon in the summer of 1815 were veterans of his legendary Grande Armée. Though many were young men forged in the fires of his recent campaigns, the same indomitable spirit burned in them. Napoleon, ever the bold commander, pressed forward without a moment’s hesitation.

Despite raising an impressive force of 400,000 men, Napoleon had to spread his army thin, garrisoning forts, suppressing royalist revolts, and guarding supply lines. When he turned his gaze northward, toward Belgium, he could take only 100,000 of his troops with him—but even with this smaller force, his ambitions remained boundless.

His target was Charleroi, a key crossroads. From this pivotal point, Napoleon could strike toward Wellington’s headquarters in Brussels or Blücher’s position at Namur. By driving them back along their communication lines, he could sever their connection and force them apart, making each an easier prey.

Ever the master of misdirection, Napoleon shrouded his movements in secrecy. By the time his enemies realized where he was, it was already too late.

Napoleon stormed into Charleroi on June 15, seizing the town with lightning speed. The English and Prussians, oblivious, had no idea he had even left Paris.

The Prussians defending Charleroi fell back toward Namur, but Blücher, defiant as ever, rallied his forces at Sombreffe, determined to stand his ground.

Wasting no time after his victory in Charleroi, Napoleon dispatched divisions along both key roads, seeking contact with his enemies. He wanted intelligence and he wanted it fast—his next move would depend on it.

The moment of decision was upon him. If Napoleon were to sever the bond between his enemies, he needed to drive Blücher beyond Sombreffe toward Namur and keep Wellington pinned at Quatre-Bras. The fate of the campaign hinged on that road, the lifeline connecting his adversaries.

On June 16, Napoleon dispatched his trusted warhorse, Marshal Ney, to capture Quatre-Bras. Yet, the orders Ney received were clouded with vagueness. Uncertain and hesitant, Ney delayed. His 25,000 men sat idly, held at bay by a single British brigade as Wellington, sensing opportunity, poured reinforcements onto the field.

While Ney wavered, Napoleon himself led 77,000 soldiers down the Charleroi-Sombreffe road, the weight of history pressing upon him as he prepared to face Blücher head-on.

Near the village of Ligny, Napoleon’s army clashed with 88,000 Prussians. The fight was brutal, but Napoleon's ferocious assault forced them into retreat. Yet, here, the emperor’s brilliance faltered. His first mistake was about to unfold.

Confident that Ney had already secured Quatre-Bras, Napoleon ordered him to march south and strike Blücher’s exposed flank. The plan was flawless in theory—such a move would crush the Prussian army or drive it east, right where Napoleon wanted them. But the emperor’s assumption was built on sand.

Believing Ney would soon fall upon the Prussians, Napoleon refrained from launching a full pursuit. In this pause, his miscalculation deepened. Blücher, refusing to play the part scripted for him, withdrew northward—not east—marching along a narrow, unnoticed road that ran dangerously close to Wellington’s advancing columns.

By the time Napoleon ordered his forces in pursuit the next morning, they veered off in the wrong direction, chasing ghosts. Only later did they discover Blücher’s true position near Wavre, and by then, precious time had already slipped through their fingers.

Marshal Grouchy, tasked with hunting down the Prussians, finally turned left toward Wavre. But on June 18, as Napoleon fought for survival at Waterloo, Grouchy’s attack on Blücher’s rearguard lacked the force and urgency that the moment demanded. His efforts were scattered while the fate of Europe was being decided just miles away.

On June 17, Napoleon marched relentlessly toward Quatre-Bras, uniting his force with Ney’s and pushing north along the road to Brussels. But Wellington, the fox that he was, had already abandoned Quatre-Bras. The British general had retreated to a defensive line two miles south of a place that would soon become synonymous with one of history’s greatest battles—Waterloo.

The heavens opened as Napoleon advanced, drenching the battlefield and turning it into a morass. His scouts could gather little in the storm, and the emperor, ever mindful of the conditions, held off his assault. He waited until June 18, hoping the ground would dry enough for his cavalry and artillery to unleash their full might.

But the ground remained a mire, defying his hopes. By noon, Napoleon could wait no longer. He ordered his brother Jérôme to attack the British left at Hougoumont. It was a feint, meant to draw Wellington’s reserves into the open, setting the stage for Napoleon’s main blow—an assault aimed straight at the British center.

Wellington, the master strategist, had deployed his forces with calculated precision. His army, 66,000 strong, was a mix of 31,000 hardened British soldiers and the rest drawn from the ranks of the Dutch and various German states. They stood ready, a bulwark against the emperor’s fury.

Wellington positioned his army with cool confidence. Anchoring his right flank at Hougoumont, he extended his line across the ridges of Mont St. Jean, covering the villages of La Haye Sainte, Papelotte, and Smohain. His forces, hidden behind the rise, waited like coiled steel.

To the French, only a thin screen of men could be seen, as Wellington, ever the sly tactician, had positioned the bulk of his forces on the reverse slope of a long ridge. Ney, having seen Wellington employ this same tactic in Spain, had hesitated at Quatre-Bras for this very reason.

Jérôme’s attack on Hougoumont smashed headlong into a formidable British defense. The Scots Guards and Coldstream Guards, bolstered by Nassau and Hanoverian troops, held firm. What was meant to be a diversion turned into a full-scale engagement as Jérôme pushed too hard, dragging the left wing of Napoleon’s army into the fray.

Still in the dark about Wellington’s true strength, Napoleon unleashed his main assault after a thunderous half-hour artillery barrage at 1:30 p.m. But the bombardment failed to break the British, for Wellington’s men remained unseen and untouched, tucked safely behind the ridgeline, out of sight and out of range.

Amid the roar of the bombardment, sharp-eyed observers at Napoleon’s headquarters spotted movement on the distant horizon to the east. Napoleon, convinced it was Grouchy returning from his pursuit of the Prussians, allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. But fate had other plans. What Napoleon saw was not Grouchy—it was the vanguard of Blücher’s Prussian army, surging toward the battlefield with vengeance in their hearts.

The emperor moved swiftly, dispatching an urgent message to Grouchy, commanding him to strike at Blücher’s rear. But it was an order issued in vain. Time was against him, and that message would never reach Grouchy in time to change the course of what was unfolding at Waterloo.

Determined to crush Wellington before the Prussians could turn the tide, Napoleon unleashed his infantry at 2 p.m. The men slogged through the mud, their momentum bogged down by the treacherous terrain. And when they reached the British lines, they met a wall of steel and fury. Wellington’s men, unyielding and fierce, drove them back with fierce counterattacks.

Undeterred, Napoleon sent in his cavalry, the thundering hooves shaking the earth as they charged. But the British infantry, disciplined and battle-hardened, formed into impenetrable squares, their bayonets bristling like spears. Wave after wave of French cavalry broke upon these human fortresses, accomplishing nothing but death. For three hours, the battle raged in bloody stalemate, with no side claiming the upper hand.

By 4:30 p.m., the storm Napoleon had feared finally broke. Blücher’s Prussians smashed into the French right flank, their arrival like a hammer blow. Forced to respond, Napoleon had no choice but to divert his attention and weaken his central assault, the heart of his strategy, to counter this new, pressing threat.

Desperation gripped the French lines. Marshal Ney, in one final bid for victory, launched a massive cavalry charge between Hougoumont and La Haye Sainte. Thousands of riders thundered forward, but the infantry support they needed arrived too late. Isolated, the cavalry were torn apart, cut down in a savage massacre that stained the battlefield red.

At last, the French seized La Haye Sainte, but the price was steep, and their ranks were battered. For a fleeting moment, victory seemed within grasp. Ney, emboldened by this success, called for reinforcements to deliver the killing blow. But the only men left to summon were the elite—the Imperial Guard, Napoleon’s most trusted soldiers.

Time and again, Napoleon had unleashed the Imperial Guard as the final hammer stroke, the decisive force that would crush his enemies. But here, on this fateful day, he hesitated. The Guard remained in reserve, as if Napoleon himself was unwilling to risk their prestige in a fight that seemed to slip through his grasp.

Ney, his cavalry shattered and hope slipping, could not sustain the pressure on Wellington’s center. With every passing minute, Wellington reinforced his line, bolstering his defenses and setting the stage for a final counterstrike.

Sensing his moment, Wellington revealed the ace he had kept hidden all day. From the reverse slope of the ridge, fresh British infantry and cavalry surged forward, descending upon the field like an avalanche. It was the masterstroke that would seal the fate of the day.

The combined weight of Wellington’s charge and Blücher’s relentless pressure shattered the French line. What had once been an unstoppable force crumbled under the weight of unrelenting assault from two sides.

At 7 p.m., Napoleon finally unleashed the Imperial Guard, but it was no longer a question of delivering victory. They were sent to save the day—a desperate act, far too little, far too late.

When the unthinkable happened—the Imperial Guard broke and fled—panic rippled through the ranks. The sight of the once-invincible Guard in retreat was a blow too great to bear, and the French army, seeing their last hope shattered, dissolved into chaos.

Amid the collapse, only a handful of men remained steadfast, the iron core of Napoleon’s legend. Ordered to surrender, they responded with the words that would echo through history: "The Guard dies, but never surrenders."

By the end of that bloody day, Napoleon’s army lay in ruins, and with it, his dream of reclaiming power. Wellington’s forces had suffered, losing 15,000 men, and Blücher’s Prussians paid with 7,000 casualties of their own. But the French had fared far worse—30,000 men lost, with 7,000 taken as prisoners of war. The empire was crumbling, its soldiers broken, its emperor dethroned.

Napoleon made one final, pitiful bid to hold his throne, but by June 21, 1815, the inevitable could no longer be delayed. He abdicated. Less than a month later, the emperor was a prisoner, placed aboard a British warship and sent to the far-flung island of St. Helena. Isolated in the Atlantic, halfway between Africa and South America, there would be no triumphant return this time.

With Napoleon exiled, the newly restored monarch, Louis XVIII, moved quickly to secure his rule. In November, the French government signed the Treaty of Paris, ceding more territory and pulling France back to the borders it had held in 1789, before the fires of revolution had swept across Europe.

The Concert of Europe, a newly cemented alliance of Britain, Austria, Russia, and Prussia, pledged to uphold the treaty’s terms. This alliance, the iron fist of Europe, would police the continent for the next fifty years, ensuring that no man, no empire, would rise again as Napoleon had.

What if Napoleon had triumphed at Waterloo? What if Blücher had withdrawn east, instead of north? What if the rains of June 17 had spared the battlefield? The questions gnaw at history’s bones.

Had Wellington and Blücher been swept aside, it’s likely that Austria and Russia would have been forced to the negotiating table, Napoleon dictating the terms.

Yet peace was never Napoleon’s way. He was a force in motion, and history suggests that any treaty would have been nothing more than a pause in his unrelenting ambition.

Obsessed with glory, Napoleon would have inevitably provoked another coalition. They would have risen against him once more, as they had at Leipzig, and ground his armies down until there was nothing left but ashes.

If, by some miracle, Napoleon had chosen peace, the reforms he had wrought might have endured, sparing France the upheavals of 1830 and 1834. His legacy, already monumental, could have been one of lasting stability.

Then again, the taste of liberty that had swept through France could have led to another uprising. Perhaps the people, emboldened by revolution, would have rejected the very idea of trading one dynasty, the Bourbons, for another—the Bonapartes.

Could the Concert of Europe have truly maintained the delicate balance of power with Napoleon reigning in peace? Could they have preserved a fragile peace for forty years without another great war?

In the end, perhaps it was for the best that Napoleon’s star fell when it did. He left behind a legacy of greatness, a France that has never since known such heights, nor such a leader.