There’s a curious conundrum at the heart of Britain’s National Portrait Gallery. The institution collects people, as recorded by art. So as you walk around the rooms, are you looking at historic individuals, or at paintings?

These are certainly not “the best” paintings in British history; they can (by definition at least) be found next door in the National Gallery. (The strong presence of Sir Peter Lely here, and his total absence in the rooms overlooking Leicester Square demonstrate that.) Yet these are not (mostly) a photographic record, rather an image that is a blend of what the artist saw and (usually) what the sitter wanted him to see.

Yet somehow, these two sides of the collection do come together. When I pick out my “favourite women of the NPG” I am looking at the paintings – these are the faces that through which I can find something of the woman behind them, and I like what I find. A little research reveals, however, that they were also great characters, with real achievements to their credit. Somehow you can identify, even from a flattering, fashionable portrait, those who were more than a vapid aristocrat or a lucky courtesan.

This listing is by date, which also conveniently makes a trail through the gallery, starting at the top floor and working down. It is entirely personal – by all means add your own favourites in the comments.

Mary Neville, Lady Dacre (1524-c.1576), painted by Hans Eworth, probably early in the reign of Elizabeth I, after she had succeeded in having the family title restored to her son, after her husband had been executed. Statuesque might be the polite adjective for Lady Dacre; she’s painted with one double chin, which probably meant she had several. Her lush auburn hair is tightly combed behind a lavishly pearled, black velvet head-dress. She looks stern and formidable, but satisfied, like a woman who has achieved her life’s work. A short biography. (Gallery 2) Continue reading

London’s answer to the Arc de Triomphe, the outside entrance to Buckingham Palace, a source of controversy and scandal – all of those are or have been among the roles of Wellington Arch (also known as Constitution Arch), which stands today at an odd angle opposite Apsley House, amidst a raceway of roads. (Something for London’s mayor Ken Livingstone to sort out soon, you’d have to hope.)

So is it worth the £3 entry fee (or less with a combined ticket for Apsley House)? Continue reading

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.
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