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| Carving of Reynard the fox playing a musical instrument, on the bedpost in the horoscope room. |
Mount Stuart on the Isle of Bute, off the west coast of Scotland, is the visionary creation of the third Marquess of Bute. I went there to see the zodiac stained glass windows which friends had told me about. My pictures do not do them justice but can give you an idea.
And there is so much more to see. There are some images and information on the website for Mount Stuart.
And to learn a little about the man whose vision it was, you can read about him here.
The path from the West Isle Way to Mount Stuart house goes through a wood of mainly beech and oak. There are channels cut through earth and sometimes solid rock, to allow the water to flow freely to the town of Rothesay. Designed by engineer Robert Thom, they were created in early 1800s, between 1813 and 1822, still clearly visible. By the earthen banks, trees lean out, their roots bulging over the water. It looks very black, earth-reflecting.
These are comforting woods, holding the memories of the channel digging, going on right beneath their roots. Even in late morning summer sunlight, they are in shadow, the light seems to skim over their tops, occasionally, just small golden patches on the forest floor, of beech, sweet chestnuts, dried leaves. We pass two farm buildings in the adjacent field, and then the path crosses the stream via a wooden bridge, a few planks held together by wire, climbs the hill, and emerges into a different kind of wood, a more recent plantation, though there are massive beech tree trunks lying by the path side, cut long ago, the wood greyish and moss-covered.
At the end of this stretch, the path comes out onto the road. Cross the road and there’s a gate, an entrance into – well, it must be to the grounds of Mount Stuart? My friend disputes this. There would be signs, he says.
I don’t agree.
Besides, he says, the gate is padlocked.
That is true, though there is a gap betweens the gate post and the beech hedge, plenty of room to squeeze through. In the end, for lack of any other gate or entranceway, C agrees to squeeze through and go with me down the avenue and turn right to approach the Visitor Centre.
From a distance, it looks empty. There are no cars in the weed-fringed car park. Walking on towards the building, on either side of the surfaced path there are areas of weeds, no tended lawn of daisies and clover. Just this air of abandonment. We have entered another world I say, we have come through the dark wood, managed to get through the forest of brambles (the locked gate, bordered by the beech hedge) to the place where people have fallen asleep for 100 years. To the left of the Visitor Centre (I tried the door handle just in case, but it was locked) there are a few stone buildings with attractive balconies, and flaking whitewash. They too look empty, deserted.
I enjoyed this entrance to Mount Stuart. As we walked the half mile or so to the actual building, a few cars passed us. What entrance did they use? Ours was locked. Close to the house, there’s a car park with lots of cars, and bright blue bushy flowers.
So we come to the actual building. Through an archway there’s a small courtyard, with cafe tables. The sunshine evokes memories of Italy, Greece, heat and happiness.
After coffee, the house itself. There is so much to see, so much information to take in, absorb. I can only mention a few impressions. The guide in the dining room points to the portraits of the different Marquesses, delineates marriages (in 1700s and 1800s best bet financially for the Marquesses was to marry only daughters of rich families, for daughters did not inherit, it went straight to their husbands).
So the third Marquess came to inherit, through his father, and his wife, enormous wealth. But he was also hugely philanthropic the guide says, fixing me with her Ancient Mariner eye, and reeled off places and buildings whose renovation he had funded such as Falkland Palace and the Medical School for St Andrews University. He was also a vocal supporter of university education for women, slightly shocking for Victorians apparently, as was his conversion to Catholicism.
The materials, the artists and artisans brought to work here. The Carrara marble which the chapel is made of. A white chapel – that lifts the heart. The marble pillars of the great hallway. The windows of coloured glass high up on the walls, near the roof, of the zodiac signs. Which was what brought me here. (My pictures do not show them clearly.) In the horoscope bedroom with the astrological chart on the ceiling, the guide there points out features of the carved wooden panelling and animal figures on the bed posts.
The creative vision of this architectural wonder had to be someone concerned with beauty, detailed beauty, with a wide range of interests – in all the arts, and the different dimensions of life, not just the visible ones. That’s where the true mysteries and the excitement lie. What’s beyond the surfaces of experience, the meanings and energies behind human life, all life on earth, the planet, the sun, the cosmos. (The Sun/Mercury conjunction in Virgo shows his varied interests, his curiosity, his quick and keen intelligence; he was precocious in his reading and writing skills, a prolific writer and avid researcher. He loved small animals, believed in hard work and service to society (his philanthropy) and all the attention to detail so obvious in the décor of this house. Eighth house placement shows his interest from an early age, in religions and the esoteric. And the Moon/Venus conjunction in Libra in the ninth house, shows his love of travel and the splendid, extravagant expression of his love of beauty.)
Smoke scent from twigs of oak and hazel.
Years crumble like ancient wood,
an echo of first scent, first sunlight,
and here among the green plants,
a white butterfly.
The horoscope of the 3rd Marquess of Bute, on the ceiling of the bedroom.
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