To spot Devachan Castle, look up the hillside for a grand, rectangular stone villa with arched columns at the front entrance and a sweeping driveway curling through lush gardens.
Now, let your imagination wander back in time as you stand before the mysterious Devachan Castle. Picture the year 1909: the air carries the scent of fresh-cut stone from Capo Nero, and builders hustle under the watchful eye of architect Pietro Agosti as the castle begins to rise on these green hills. Its stone walls almost shimmer in the sunlight, looking both sturdy and somehow enchanted.
This castle has had a life as dramatic as any soap opera. It was first called Villa Sylvia Mexborough-quite a mouthful-named after the wife of a British nobleman, John Horace Savile. He had been to the East, picked up a taste for adventure, and even converted to Buddhism, which was wildly exotic for a British count at that time! But fate, as it does, swooped in when Sylvia passed away. Heartbroken, our count, now seventy-two and still chasing happiness, married again, this time to the young widow Anne Ritche. Just six months after their wedding bells, the count left this world, and the villa’s name changed to “Devachan”-a word from Tibetan teachings that means a state of blissful illusion between death and reincarnation. It’s almost as if the castle itself was preparing for a life of endless transitions.
Devachan Castle didn’t just house nobles and mournful widows-it once found itself at the beating heart of history, too! Picture April 1920: the castle is buzzing, its corridors echoing with the voices of world leaders debating the fate of lands after World War I. The future of empires is being negotiated right where you stand! Italy, hoping to solve its troubles over Fiume, waits anxiously. One famous poet called this place “an ugly villa in poor taste” (ouch!)-but, fun twist, he later bought some of the fancy Louis XVI furniture at auction. I guess taste changes with opportunity!
In the wild years that followed, this castle switched hands like a hot potato-from a Russian opera singer’s husband to British colonels, and through the shadowy days of World War II, even the SS took command here. Each owner left a mark, a story, maybe even a secret or two in the corridors. Today, thankfully, it’s a peaceful holiday residence-but who knows? Maybe some echoes from those historic days still whisper along the stone walls when the breeze picks up.
