Responding to my recent columns from Transylvania, Frank Kavanagh (Thursday, Letters) drew attention to the story of Karl O’Donnell, one of the exiled Donegal clan, who was military governor there in the 1760s.
So doing, he also wondered if it was through his own O’Donnell ancestors, on the mother’s side, that Bram Stoker got the idea of making Transylvania the setting of his famous novel.
I don’t know. But in reading about the O’Donnells’ services to the Austrian empire, I was struck by a parallel with another classic work of fiction, Joseph Roth’s The Radetzky March, ranked by Mario Vargas Llosa as the greatest political novel ever written.
The real-life parallel also involves a count: Maximilian Karl Lamoral O’Donnell von Tyrconnell (1812-1895), a later member of the family, who in 1853 saved the life of then young Austrian emperor, Franz Josef I.
The Dromcollogher cinema fire disaster – Frank McNally on a fateful day in 1926
The spirit of 1965 – Kevin Rafter on Ireland’s first television election
Grief and remembrance – Ronan McGreevy on Dublin’s Armistice Day in 1924
The Night Mayor – Oliver O’Hanlon on Jimmy Walker, New York’s colourful political kingpin
As the latter’s aide-de-camp, Count O’Donnell was taking a stroll with him in Vienna one day when a Hungarian nationalist attacked the emperor, stabbing him in the neck. O’Donnell drew his sabre and struck the would-be assassin down, whereupon a passing butcher joined in and helped subdue the attacker.
In Roth’s great book, which tracks the decline of the Austro-Hungarian empire through three generations of the same family, the key event also involves the young emperor’s life being saved.
Well-meaning but incompetent, Franz Josef insists on leading his troops at the Battle of Solferino (1859), making himself a sitting duck for snipers. As a bullet with his name on it is fired, he is pulled off his horse just in time by a quick-thinking infantryman, who thereby becomes a hero.
But for imperial propaganda purposes, Franz Josef’s life cannot have been saved by a mere infantryman. So in school history books, Lieut Trotta is soon retrospectively promoted to cavalry officer and his actual heroics are also upgraded to something more suitable.
The real-life Trotta is outraged by this deception, even as his ennoblement smooths the path of his and subsequent Trotta lives. Disillusioned with the army, the patriarch encourages his son to join the civil service instead.
Then, gradually, everyone in Austria – including the ageing emperor – forgets why the original Trotta was a hero, exactly. But in the meantime, the increasingly forgotten legend propels a third-generation Trotta to become what the patriarch was supposed to have been – a cavalry officer.
And this all happens just in time for the disaster of the first World War, during which the ancient emperor finally dies and the whole house of cards collapses around him.
The real-life story of Count O’Donnell and the butcher seems to encompass both halves of the fictional story: the infantryman’s heroics and the doubly fictional version of the dashing officer. Roth surely must have known of it.
Back in real-life 1853, sure enough, the butcher had been ennobled for his deeds. As for O’Donnell, as his epic full name and title alone demonstrate, he was noble enough already. But in saving the emperor, he must have added another line or two to his very long list of decorations.
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Getting back to Transylvania – sort of – I see from my copy of the French Revolutionary calendar that today – July 15th – is Garlic Day.
The calendar is officially defunct, since 1805, having lasted only slightly longer than the revolution itself. But its exaltation of the natural world, in which days were mostly named for plants and animals rather than saints, lends it an enduring popularity with calendar designers. Modern versions are still printed.
Where Bram Stoker got the idea that vampires hate garlic I’m not sure either. But a lot of normal humans hate it too. And of course, its supposed powers include being a natural insect repellent: deterring, among other things, that vampire of the entomological world, the mosquito.
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Despite the stereotype, garlic was not especially noticeable at Friday’s Bastille Day celebrations in Dublin. (The revolutionaries would have approved. In their wisdom, they dedicated July 14th to the sage plant.) But the Stoker theme was unavoidable there too.
While in Glasnevin Cemetery to lay the usual wreath for the Irish who fought with France in past wars, ambassador Vincent Guérand also paid tribute at the grave of one Norma Stoker (1905-1962).
She didn’t fight for France, exactly. But she did work in the embassy for many years, as private secretary. Elsewhere, she was one of Ireland’s greatest all-round sports stars: playing tennis, hockey and badminton at a high level, including two Wimbledon singles finals.
It ran in the blood, clearly. Her father, Frank, was Irish tennis champion and rugby international. And speaking of blood, sure enough, both were distant cousins of Bram.