Waterloo marked the end of more than two decades of fighting on land and at sea, nearly as exhausting for those who remained at home as for those who fought Napoleon
On a recent visit to Belgium, I found myself on top of “La Butte du Lion,” a man-made hill overlooking the fields of Waterloo. Here, on a hot day in June 1815, tens of thousands of soldiers marched to their deaths; many were barefoot, having lost their boots to the mud churned up by gun carriages. The Duke of Wellington reportedly grieved the “immense” loss of life rather than celebrating his crowning victory over Napoleon’s armies. For days after, the lanes around the battlefield were slippery with grease draining from the great corpse-pyres built to stop the spread of disease in the hot weather.
I find battlefield tourism eerie and discomfiting—but civilian fascination at the site of bloodshed is by no means a new phenomenon. Tourism began at Waterloo a few days after the battle, and Wellington himself subsequently guided parties of the well-to-do from England and its allies. For years after the battle, there was a trade in trinkets and souvenirs from that gruesome field—everything from buttons and bullets and standards (Sir Walter Scott collected four of them) to bits of bone and even skulls. A former soldier ran an inn nearby to accommodate tourists.