Dunbude Castle, Lord Exmoor's family seat, stands on the last spurs
of the great North Devon uplands, overlooking the steep glen of a
little boulder-encumbered stream, and commanding a distant view of
the Severn Sea and the dim outlines of the blue Welsh hills beyond
it. Behind the house, a castle only by courtesy (on the same
principle as that by which every bishop lives in a palace), rises
the jagged summit of the Cleave, a great weather-worn granite hill,
sculptured on top by wind and rain into those fantastic lichen-covered
pillars and tora and logans in which antiquarian fancy used so long
to find the visible monuments of Druidical worship. All around, a
wide brown waste of heather undulates and tosses wildly to the sky;
and on the summit of the rolling moor where it rises and swells in
one of its many rounded bosses, the antlered heads and shoulders
of the red deer may often be seen etched in bold relief against
the clear sky-line to the west, on sunny autumn evenings. But the
castle itself and the surrounding grounds are not planned to harmonise
with the rough moorland English scenery into whose midst they were
unceremoniously pitchforked by the second earl. That distinguished
man of taste, a light of the artistic world in his own day,
had brought back from his Grand Tour his own ideal of a strictly
classical domestic building, formed by impartially compounding a
Palladian palace, a Doric temple, and a square redbrick English
manor-house. After pulling down the original fourteenth-century
castle, he had induced an eminent architect of the time to conspire
with him in giving solid and permanent reality to this his awful
imagining; and when he had completed it all, from portico to attic,
he had extorted even the critical praise of Horace Walpole, who
described it in one of his letters as a 'singular triumph of classical
taste and architectural ingenuity.' It still remains unrivalled in
its kind, the ugliest great country-seat in the county of Devon--some
respectable authorities even say in the whole of England.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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