Imagine an alternative history – a great game for a wet winter’s afternoon. The battle of
Waterloo turns out the other way, and today in London breakfast means a croissant and an espresso, and all of its women can tie a scarf just so.

Hard to see? Well yes. But had that come to pass, it would have been one of Napoleon’s generals, most likely, living in the house that was called No 1 London, which still today guards the entrance to the formal parts of Westminster.

Instead, of course, Apsley House became the home of the Duke of Wellington – the designer of that famous boot, among his other claims to fame. So if you’re visiting London and into history, it just about has to be on the itinerary.

But be reassured, this is not a military museum; you won’t feel like you’re playing war games. The house has been restored to much the state that it was in when Wellington lived there in splendour in the years after Waterloo, a life that embraced both celebration and disappointment.

The former is best represented by the painting in the entry hall of the grand dinner, held every year on the anniversary of Waterloo (June 18), to which scores of his officers were invited. The latter is represented in the scores of political caricatures mocking Wellington the Prime Minister who chose to during his term of office to live here, rather than move to the humbler quarters of Downing Street.

For here was not just a spectacular house, but the fittings and furnishings donated by the grateful crowned heads of Europe – many of whom owed their status to Waterloo. That means it could hardly be grander, for the crowned heads had a taste for luxury, if not a sense of taste.

Wellington himself was famously ascetic in some aspects of his life – the camp bed that he always slept on is display in his “country house”, Walmer Castle in Kent – but here he lived in the lap of luxury – its epitome the spectacular grand gallery, built to house his painting collection, and to host grand soirees and that anniversary banquet. It is easy to imagine the glittering scene – lit by huge candelabra decorated by various royals, the light from their hundreds of candles from the sliding mirrors that pulled across the windows.

The house is stuffed full of those paintings, and there is some fine work here – particularly the Steins, a couple of Velasquezes and the Duke’s favourite, Correggio’s Christ’s Agony in the Garden”, although you wouldn’t come here just for the paintings. Many are testament to the fact that ordinary, fill-a-space-on-the-wall art is to be found in any age. (Although do look out for the portrait of Princess Borghese in the striped drawing room. It’s easy to find, since the room is otherwise stuffed with generals. Both her portrait, and her reputation, suggest should would have enjoyed the company.)

On the ground floor the shining glory is the porcelain room, at its centre the Egyptian service that was made on the orders of Napoleon as a divorce present for Josephine.



Perhaps predictably, she decided she didn’t like it and it was presented by Louis XVIII to Wellington. Its 6.7m-long centre-piece shows the major temples of the ancient civilisation, while each plate has a different scene from its other archaeological wonders and the French experience there.

Oh, and there’s also the mammoth statue of Napoleon (well that’s what the sculptor Canova said anyone – loooks rather like a classic Roman model to me – at the foot of the stairs – or at least a copy. (The original is in the Victoria and Albert Museum for safekeeping.)

As is usual these days your ticket for the house also buys an audio guide. This one is quite staid and conservative, its highlight being the family anecdotes from the current Duke. He reports that when the house was bombed during World War Two there was only one formidable old family retainer in residence. The damage that chiefly concerned her – although it was elsewhere extensive – was the blowing off of the figleaf that maintained the statue’s “modesty”, and she insisted that it be restored as the first priority.

The current Duke also reports on his family’s place during the coronation of the current Queen. They sat out on the Portico watching the procession go by, drinking the last of the madeira that had been taken out to India, and brought back by the then Richard Wellesley (later the famous Duke) in 1776. It is reminder that the aristocracy still are different, and while most of the house was handed over to the nation in 1949, in an awful state, still without electricity, the family has kept private apartments overlooking the private garden.

Still, the visitor has little cause for complaint. They can stand in the grand Grecian dining room – undoubtedly the artistically finest element of the house, and imagine themselves at one of the Cabinet meetings that the Duke held there, or imagine a grand Edwardian ball in the grand gallery, in the the house’s last days of aristocratic active service.

But if you prefer to think of the military man, down in the basement is a small tribute to one of his essential companions, his favourite war horse, Copenhagen, a fine-looking chestnut stallion of a little more than 15 hands. But there’s a reminder that any military figure is likely to have his tough side – the curator reports that the troops always tried to give Copenhagen a wide berth, for he had a well-deserved reputation for kicking.

See the Apsley House “English Heritage site for visiting details.