Tolstoy, translators and English utopianism

While spending a little more time with Constance (and the Russian revolutionary community in London at the end of the nineteenth century), I kept coming across the names of Louise and Aylmer Maude who were also translators of Tolstoy’s work at roughly the same time.

Louise and Aylmer Maude were British expatriates in Moscow at the end of the nineteenth century.

Louise was the daughter of a family of Scottish jewellers working in Moscow, Aylmer had originally started out working for Muir and Mirrilees, a large Scottish owned department store in Moscow (which survives to this day under different ownership and is now known by it’s Soviet era name of ЦУМ (TsUM, tsentralni universalni magazin, the Central Department Store, not to be confused with GUM, gosudarstvenni universalni magazin, the State Department Store).

In time Aylmer branched out on his own, set up a successful carpet business, which he subsequently sold. The money allowed Louise and Aylmer to move back to England and devote themselves to the translation of Tolstoy’s works, including his more mystical religious books.

Both Louise and Aylmer had met Tolstoy at Yasnaya Polyana, before they left Russia, and were obviously highly impressed with him, and initially lived in a quasi Tolstoyan commune in Essex outside of Chelmsford, and worked on producing the definitive translations of Tolstoy in English.

(Utopian Tolstoyan communes, such as the Stapleton Colony and the Whiteway Colony were surprisingly common and surprisingly long lived in early twentieth century England.)

While Constance Garnett had met Tolstoy on one of her visits to Russia, and had received his permission to translate his works, the Maudes concentrated on producing more technically accurate translations of his works. Some experts (and I am most definitely no expert) prefer the Maudes’ slightly dry translations over Constance’s at times slightly wooden translations, which might result from her really only knowing Russian as a written language, while the Maudes had of course lived and worked in Russia.

At the same time, some people continued to prefer Constance’s translations over the Maudes’ drier versions. The situation was further confused by Tolstoy waiving his rights to translations of his books, which meant there were various competing translations of his more popular novels around, including those translated at second hand from French and German translations.

Both Constance and the Maudes were members of the Fabian society, though I suspect, given their Tolstoyan views, the Maudes were more enamoured of William Morris faux medieval model of socialism with sturdy artisans producing goods and trading among themselves, than the more revolutionary model espoused by the exiled Russian revolutionaries in England.

Despite their Tolstoyan views, Aylmer Maude did serve as a translator with the British Empire forces (including some ANZACs) in North Russia during Churchill’s ill starred intervention on the side of the White forces during the Russian civil war, but seemed to be more interested in philosophy than the conflict itself, and perhaps identifying more with the people trying to simply bring about social change than with pure ideology.

Both Aylmer and Louise died in England in the late 1930s.

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Sergei Stepniak

Sergei Stepniak is obviously key to the story of the Friends of Russian Freedom, in 1890s London, as well as to the life of Constance Garnett.

So, as an exercise, I thought I’d try and see what we could learn about Sergei Stepniak’s life in London from publicly available documents.

But by what name was he known by to the British authorities?

He was born Sergei Mikhailovitch Kravchinski, but like many Russian revolutionaries of the time habitually used a pseudonym, in his case Stepniak, which means something like “steppe dweller”. 

At the time most people in England were unfamiliar with Russian names and naming conventions, which made identifying him a tad difficult.

However, in the newspaper reports of his death he was usually referred to a M. Serguis Stepnyak or sometimes Stepniak, so I went with that.

The M is of course short for monsieur, and was used at the time in English to signify that the foreigner was a gentleman or someone of equivalent class to a gentleman – his title would most likely  have been gospodin – having learned Russian in Soviet times I am incredibly vague about pre revolutionary styles and titles, and who would have been referred to as what.

Using familysearch.org, it was easy enough to find his death certificate and probate records, and to find that his wife was indeed known in English as Fanny Stepniak.

Fanny is not really a Russian name, but because it was used for the name of Fanya Kaplan, who tried to assassinate Lenin I assumed that Fanny Stepniak used Fanny as an anglicisation of Fanya.

Unfortunately, Fanya is not really a common Russian name either, and that leads to a problem.

I tried searching for the Stepniaks in the 1891 census, and they are not there, whether because they deliberately dodged the census by wishing to remain anonymous, or were abroad. Fanny Stepniak appears in the 1901 and 1911 censuses as a widow engaged in literary work, so perhaps she really did use the name Fanny in England, and not Fanya as I assumed,  and she is also referred to as Fanny on her death certificate.

Unusually for a Russian, she does not give a patronymic – for example, Sergei was formally Sergei Mikhailovitch as his father’s forename was Mikhail. 

For the moment her actual identity is a mystery to me.

I did try searching for Kravchinski, Sergei’s  original surname, as opposed to his pseudonym, and came up with a complete blank.

While some orthodox church records from Ukraine have been digitised – Sergei was born in the Kherson governate of the Russian empire which is now part of Ukraine –  many have not, and of course as war and revolution have meant that many records have been lost.

More importantly for our purposes, Kravchinski does not appear in the 1891 census, suggesting that if they were in Britain at the time they must have been using yet another pseudonym…

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The Society of Friends of Russian Freedom

Sometimes a diagram is best.

Fabian Society and Russian Freedom members

On the back of my looking into the life of Ethel Voynich, I kept on coming across the same names, sometimes in different contexts, so to try and make sense out of it I drew my self a very rough mud map.

  • Ethel Voynich was a governess to Sergei Stepniak’s sister in law’s children in Russia, and was a translator and a member of the Friends of Russian Freedom.
  • Constance Garnett learned Russian from Feliks Volkhovsky, was a member of the Friends of Russian Freedom
  • Feliks Volkhovsky was a friend of Sergei Stepniak and a fellow exile in London, and a member of the Friends of Russian Freedom
  • Olive Garnett was a sister in law to Constance Garnett, was apolitical, learned Russian from Feliks Volkhovsky. She appears to have had a crush on Sergei Stepniak, cutting off her hair when he died in a railway accident. She later worked as a governess in Russia, before returning to England.
  • Charlotte Wilson knew both Stepniak and Ethel Voynich and also worked as translator of Russian, and was a members of the Friends of Russian Freedom.

As well as the links to the Friends of Russian Freedom, most of the women concerned – apart from the apolitical Olive Garnett – were also connected with the Fabian Society, and in the case of Charlotte Wilson various Russian influenced marxist reading reading groups.

Many of the women involved perfected their Russian by spending time working as governesses in Russia, probably because it was really the only way a young woman could gain experience of real spoken Russian at the time.

It’s an oddity of the times that the only way English speakers could learn Russian in the late Victorian era was via exiled revolutionaries. (Actually it’s not that odd – when I first learned Russian in the early 1970s, the only way one could get experience of spoken Russian was via exile groups, and there used to be these sessions at Strathclyde University where we got to speak to both recent exiles and some people who seemed very old, but who had probably been children or teenagers at the time of the 1917 revolutions)

And while we might laugh at Constance Garnett’s slightly prudish translations today, the women involved in the Friends of Russian Freedom were responsible to introducing Russian literature to a late Victorian and Edwardian audience, including such literary figures as Katherine Mansfield, who became fascinated by Chekhov through translation,

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Lenin in Torquay

Strange one this.

There’s apparently an unsubstantiated story that while Lenin was in London in 1907 he had himself a little cycling holiday in Torquay in Devon.

Well, maybe he did, or maybe he didn’t, but it is true that Lenin did ride a bike while in exile in Paris later on, and even successfully took a motorist to court for crashing into him and wrecking his bicycle, so I guess it’s possible he rode a bike in England as well, and just as in Paris, may have gone for some pretty substantial day rides

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So what did the elusive Madeleine Smith call herself later in life?

Madeleine Smith is commonly said to have been known as Lena Wardle, and certainly after her second marriage to William Sheehy, she was known as Lena Sheehy, but on the 1881 England an Wales census her name is given as Madaleine Wardle.

So what name did she use?

Well on her 1861 marriage certificate she defiantly scrawls her name as Madeleine Hamilton Smith, but if you search the 1861 census records for England and Wales, there is no Madeleine Smith listed who seems a plausible fit, and exactly one Lena Smith, who also happens to be the correct age, except that she is listed as being in Devon at Stoke Demerel, where she is listed as a visitor – from Middlesex.

I guess it’s just possible that the census details are garbled, but I think we have to say we can’t identify her in the 1861 census with any certainty.

The 1871 census is a different matter.

We know from the census that George Wardle was visiting family in Leek, Staffordshire, and that Madeleine was not with him, perhaps having decided to stay with the children in London.

As George was not at home Madeleine would have completed the census return

And while she’s shaved a year or two off her age it’s clearly her, even if the census return was a bit garbled and will need to be checked against the original scan.

My guess is that she usually called herself Lena, but occasionally reverted to Madeleine.

Why does this matter?

Well if I’m to search the passenger lists for her arrival in New York, knowing she almost certainly called herself Lena Wardle is a help, even if she was a bit elastic with her age and date of birth …

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Madeleine and George

A few years ago, I got interested in the story of Madeleine Smith, a youg woman in Glasgow who was put on trial for murdering her clingy boyfriend by putting arsenic in his cocoa when he refused to break off the relationship and return her letters to him.

The story particularly notorious at the time because, among other things, Madeleine’s letters included a graphic description of alfresco sex with her boyfriend in the woods at Rowardennan.

The letters were read into the court transcript – literally as a court official read them out in open court. The letters were hot stuff in 1857 and were a source of mid Victorian tittilation and were reprinted in various pseudo legal works for the perusal of learned gentlemen.

I was interested in the case for two reasons – the use of arsenic, which was everywhere in the mid ninteteenth century, and the way the story was spread round the world by the first long distance telegrams. (Australia wasn’t connected until 1872, but the telegrams sent to India were sent on on steamships bound for Australia where they were retelegraphed to the east coast newspapers.)

Now, I knew that after her acquittal Madeleine had gone to ground, and later married George Wardle, who was William Morris’s workshop manager printing his wallpapers etc, and a minor artist in his own right.

Recently, when I’ve been researching early British socialists such as Walter Crane and Ethel Voynich, I’ve come across hints that Madeleine Smith, now usualy called Lena Wardle was involved in the early days of the Fabian Society before she separated from George Wardle in 1889.

But I hadn’t been able to find any trace of her, and then I had a brainwave, search for George Wardle and there he was in the 1881 census

And guess what, there was Madeleine Smith with her name mis-spelt

Neither Madeleine or George seem to appear in the 1891 census.

George Wardle, I know spent time painting in Italy after his 1889 separation and Madeleine moved to New York.

My next step is, I guess to search the US passenger records to see if I can find when she arrived.

She doesn’t seem to be in the 1890 US census records, but they are fragmentary due to most of them being lost in a fire in 1921. While some of the New York census returns have survived, by no means all of them have, so it’s not impossible she was already living in the US in 1890…

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The afterlife of Katherine Scragg

As I often do, I decided to find out a little of Katherine Scragg’s life after her 1887 assault.

I’d already established that in both the 1891 and 1901 censuses she was listed as a school teacher living in Cheslyn Hay in Staffordshire.

But then?

Well, the 1911 census for England and Wales shows her still living in Cheslyn Hay, but she is now a school head mistress, and has her 19 year old niece, Annie Aline, living with her.

Unlike in previous censuses, Katherine appears to own her own home rather than lodging with other people

Annie is listed as a student, but of what, the records don’t say.

As would be expected by 1921 Annie was no longer living with Katherine, but Katherine, still a headmistress is obviously doing quite well as she can afford to employ a live in servant cum housekeeper.

And then in 1926, we get into handwaving territory – a marriage between a Katherine Scragg and a Daniel Whitehouse is recorded in Cannock in Staffordshire (Cannock is the district in which Cheslyn Hay is located.)

Unfortunately, the online information available is minimal, to say the least, and without paying for a copy of the marriage certificate, I’m unable to say if it was definitely Katherine’s marriage.

However, there’s some circumstantial evidence to support Katherine marrying late in life.

In 1939, as part of war time emergency regulations the government created a register of everyone living in the United Kingdom as part of the process of issuing identity cards to the civilian population, and in the register for Cannock, there’s a Katherine Whitehouse listed with the same birth date as Katherine Scragg.

She appears to be living on her own, suggesting that her husband had died, and is described as a retired school teacher.

In 1941, the death of Katherine Whitehouse is recorded in Cannock. Again, there is a fee payable for a digital copy of the death certificate to definitively confirm the details, but circumstantial evidence suggests that Katherine Whitehouse is the same person as Katherine Scragg.

I’m pleased to find that despite the trauma of her 1887 assault she appears to have been successful in life and hopefully had a happy few years with her husband, Daniel Whitehouse.

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Ethel Voynich’s early life as revealed by the census…

As I’ve said elsewhere I spent part of yesterday afternoon in the library researching Ethel Voynich’s early life to see what I could glean from the England Wales census records

Ignoring the 1871 census which unsurprisingly confirms she was living at home and was a ‘scholar at college’, in the England and Wales1881 census , when she was 16, she is described as a music teacher, which fits, as once she secured a small legacy when she was 18, she took herself off to the Hochschule fűr Muzik in Berlin.

I can’t tell you if she was living at home, as she is listed as a ‘visitor’ which means exactly what it says, but there are two other visitors in the house, also from Ireland but  considerably older, so there’s the possibility that visitor was used as a euphemism to cover the fact she was living there long term – one wouldn’t of course want the census people to know you were taking in lodgers, however genteel.

It was in Berlin where she became involved with the Russian dissident community and learned Russian, smuggled banned books into Russia, and spent time as a governess to the family of Sergei Kravchinski’s sister in law in Russia.

By 1891 she was back in London, working for a group supporting Russian dissidents. She still gave her name as Ethel Boole, although she was possibly in a relationship with Wilfrid Voynich by then, and listed her profession as that of journalist and translator.

She was not living at the same address as Wilfrid, but is again listed as a visitor, and was staying with Arthur and Charlotte Wilson.

Interestingly Charlotte Wilson is also listed as a journalist and translator, so it is possible that they both worked together on translating material. Charlotte Wilson is today principally known for her work with the Fabian Society, she was involved with various proto Marxist and anarchist groups, as well as her work supporting Russian dissidents.

It’s also an intriguing thought, to me at least, that Madeleine Smith, who was by then known as Lena Wardle, would have met both Charlotte Wilson and Ethel Voynich through her involvement in the Fabian society.

Fast forward another ten years, and after her 1895 affair with Sidney Reilly, she was listed as Ethel Voynich in the 1901 census and her profession is listed as a novelist. Wilfrid is also listed as living at the same address and his profession is listed as a bibliographer and bookseller.

Despite what they told the census people, they weren’t actually married – that happened a year later in 1902, when Wilfrid listed his profession as an analytical chemist.

However the Voyniches claimed to have been married in 1892, which was clearly a lie, and probably dates the start of their relationship.

In the 1901 census both she and Wilfrid have their surname as Voynich, but in1911, she was listed as Ethel Voynicz, which would be the Polish rendering of Voynich and is still listed as a novelist and author.

There’s possibly quite a simple explanation for this apparent change in the spelling of the surname – as you can see from this listing for a second hand Russian language edition of the Gadfly (Овод in Russian) Ethel’s name is given as Этель Лилиан Войнич, which would normally be transliterated into English as Etel’ Lilyan Voynich.

Perhaps Wilfred was a little unsure of the English names of the letters and asked Ethel to spell the names out, and she would of course spell the name the transliterated Russian way.

Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t feature in the 1921 census, as Wilfred had moved the antiquarian book business to New York by then and Ethel had followed him to New York.’

She does feature in the passenger lists on ships to and from Europe after Wilfred’s death in 1930, but I havn’t investigated them extensively, but a list of the voyages can be found on Colin Mackinnon’s website.

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The Lunatic Asylum Soviet …

When I was researching the story of Ethel Voynich, I came across the following link

I couldn’t of course access it as I’m not a UCC student or staff member, but fortunately the State Library of Victoria also provides access to the Irish Times archive.

When I found the article in the archive, it turned out to be about a new production of Овод an opera based on the Russian translation on Ethel Voynich’s novel, and didn’t add much to what I already knew.

But while I was searching the archive, I came (I was a bit sloppy, I thought ‘soviet opera ireland’ would be a good enough search string) across the following

And that led me down an interesting internet rabbit hole:

In 1919 British rule in much of Ireland had collapsed, and in many places, in the absence of any competent authority, the local trades unions formed councils to run various towns, the most famous being the Limerick Soviet.

These councils were usually called called ‘soviets’ in emulation of the revolutionary events in Russia.

Soviet – совет – in Russian originally simply meant ‘council’ although post revolution it acquired the specific meaning of ‘workers council’.

Bruree Workers Soviet – public domain image

But the Limerick Soviet was by no means the first.

In January 1919 the staff of the Monaghan Lunatic Asylum, in protest at poor working conditions, formed a workers council and occupied the asylum, hoisting the red flag on the roof, and barricading it with the assistance of some of the less disturbed inmates.

A squad of armed police were sent and there was a standoff. Questions were asked in the British House of Commons.

At first the authorities offered better conditions for the male staff numbers and not the women, but the staff stuck together and demanded better conditions for all.

After twelve days the authorities caved in and the workers, both male and female, were granted better working conditions.

The red flag was hauled down, the barricades removed and the workers victory was celebrated with a dance party…

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Ethel Voynich

If you’ve been following my blogs you’ll know that I have an interest in both the role of the Okhrana, the tsarist secret police, in penetrating groups of anti tsarist dissident living in London, and also the attempts by the British to destabilise the post revolution Bolshevik government in Russia with the hope of installing a government more likely to continue the war with Germany.

One of these attempts was what is now known as the Lockhart plot.

Bruce Lockhart, along with Sidney Reilly attempted to engineer a coup against the Bolshevik government in the summer of 1918, but the plot failed following Fanya Kaplan’s unsuccessful attempt to assassinate Lenin in 1918.

Lockhart and Reilly’s plot was supposed to swing into action a few days later, and it remains one of the unknowns of history whether Kaplan’s assassination attempt was  a misguided attempt by the Left SR faction to move things along or as was said a spontaneous attempt by Kaplan, who saw Lenin’s increasingly authoritarian rule and the banning of the Left SR, as a betrayal of the ideals of the revolution.

As it was Kaplan’s assassination attempt precipitated the Red Terror when people known to oppose the Bolsheviks were rounded up and shot, often with little or no legal process.

Bruce Lockhart had diplomatic immunity and after being held for a few days was released and expelled from Russia.

Reilly had no such immunity but succeeded in escaping and was sentenced to death by the Cheka in absentia. He was later lured back to Russia and executed by the Cheka.

Reilly is an interesting character.

Clearly a sociopath, he had several wives, including some at the same time, as well as a gaggle of mistresses.

While he was probably only ever out for himself, he worked at various times for the Okhrana, Kaiser Wilhelm’s Germany, and British intelligence.

He told so many lies about himself that no one, not even the OGPU, was totally sure as to his origins, but most stories agree that he was born with the surname Rosenblum, somewhere in what is now Ukraine.

He seems to have started out as a courier for a Russian dissident group, smuggling documents in and out of Russia, and was arrested by the Okhrana, after which point he started working for the Okhrana trying to penetrate Russian dissident groups in Berlin and London.

Sometime in the summer of 1895 he met a young Irishwoman who called herself Ethel Voynich, and had an affair with her.

Ethel wasn’t officially Ethel Voynich, or not yet anyway.

She had been born Ethel Lilian Boole, and was one of the daughters of the noted Irish mathematician George Boole, the inventor of Boolean Logic, to the eternal annoyance of computer science undergraduates everywhere.

However, George Boole died when Ethel was quite young, leaving the family in straitened circumstances.

Her mother took Ethel to live in London, where she had a very unhappy time and seems to have turned into some sort of proto-goth or emo, always dressing in black, and being surly with it.

As soon as she was eighteen, when a small legacy became due to her, she took herself off to Berlin to study music, and became involved in the Russian dissident community, learning Russian, working for a time as a governess in St Petersburg, and acting as a courier smuggling forbidden books into Russia.

Ethel also had an ongoing relationship with a Polish Lithuanian dissident, who had escaped to Berlin from a labour camp near Irktusk in Siberia.

Perhaps after her brief affair with Reilly, Ethel started living full time with Wilfrid Voynich and calling herself Mrs Voynich even though they were not legally married.

In 1897 Ethel published a novel, the Gadfly, set in the period when Italy was being unified, describes the life and loves of a revolutionary, and was highly popular at the time.

It was also very popular in the Soviet Union where it was turned into both a film and an opera under its Russian title Овод, and you can still pick up Russian language paperbacks from second hand shops specialising in Russian language publications for a few dollars.

But that name Voynich.

Wilfrid, once he settled down and no longer participated in revolutionary activity, became a respected antiquarian bookseller, and after the first world war, moved his business from London to New York, and yes he is the same Voynich as brought the Voynich manuscript to the world’s attention.

After Wilfrid’s death in 1930, Ethel lived on until 1960 continuing to run the antiquarian book business with the help of Anne Nill, who had worked as a cataloguer for Wilfred.

In Russia she was commonly assumed to have died in the 1930’s, but such was her popularity, when some visiting Bolshoi ballet stars discovered in 1958 that she was still alive, they made a special point of visiting her and bringing her flowers.

Touchingly, the event was captured on film.

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