by Andrew Cook
The Gadfly is set in Italy in the first half of the nineteenth century and tells the story of Arthur Burton who, unbeknown to himself, is the illegitimate son of Montanelli, an Italian priest, and Gladys Burton, an English woman. It bears a striking resemblance to the ‘Georgi’ story Sidney Reilly told George Hill and others in the 1920s. Before the death of his mother, Arthur like Georgi is under the spiritual care of his real father, who is in charge of a seminary in Pisa. The young man is gentle and devout and even has thoughts of entering the priesthood until he becomes involved in a conspiratorial group called the Young Italy Society, devoted to freeing Italy from Austrian rule. In Reilly’s story, Georgi is at university under the care of Dr Rosenblum, where he, likewise, becomes involved in the ‘League of Enlightenment’, a radical political group.
After Montanelli is elevated to a bishopric, Arthur confesses his association with the Young Italy Society to his father’s successor Father Cardi, who immediately betrays him to the authorities. He is imprisoned, and when released is shattered to learn for the first time that Montanelli is his real father. Reeling from the shock, he fakes suicide by throwing his hat into the water at the docks and stows away on a ship bound for Buenos Aires. Georgi, also reeling from the shock of being revealed as a bastard, fakes his suicide in Odessa Harbour and stows away on a ship bound for South America. Once in South America, Arthur wanders about aimlessly, his heart filled with hatred for everything and everybody. He allows himself to be maimed and mutilated and to suffer all kinds of indignity; stuttering horribly, he ends up as a hunchback in a travelling circus, a pathetic figure of tortured ridicule. He spends thirteen years in South America before returning not just to free Italy, which was his boyhood desire, but to rid her of priests in general whilst undertaking a vendetta against Montanelli in particular. Now involved in violent action he changes his name to Felice Rivarez. He is eventually arrested and finally confronts Montanelli, now a cardinal. Arthur tells Montanelli who he really is and presses him to choose between him and God. Montanelli chooses the latter, as he must, and Arthur is condemned to be shot.3 The whole affair, however, unhinges the cardinal’s mind and while carrying the host in solemn procession, he raises it then smashes it to the ground in a symbolic identification of himself with God the Father, sacrificing his only begotten son for the salvation of mankind.
Since the publication of Lockhart’s Ace of Spies in 1967, other authors and journalists have taken his assertions about The Gadfly as sacrosanct and have repeated them as received fact.4 First off the mark was Tibor Szamuely’s Spectator article,5 which appeared some months after the publication of Ace of Spies. ‘Is it possible to imagine’, asked Szamuely, ‘anything more weird than the fact of Soviet Russia’s most revered literary hero [Arthur Burton] being based upon the real-life character of their greatest enemy?’
Szamuely was not alone in being unable to resist this line in Cold War irony. The BBC World Service dedicated one of its Russian language programmes to The Gadfly.6 Not only did it feature the ‘sensation’ that the prototype of Ethel Voynich’s The Gadfly was none other than the famous spy Sidney Reilly, lynchpin of so many anti-Soviet plots, but went one step further. Reminding listeners that The Gadfly was the inspiration for the deeds of Pavka Korchagin, the hero of Nikolai Ostrovsky’s classic Civil War epic How the Steel Tempered, it took great delight in raising the spectre of the young fighter for the Soviet Republic in reality following the bitter enemy of Soviet power.
Desmond McHale’s 1985 biography of Ethel’s father, George Boole,7 also unquestioningly adopted the Lockhart line, although he did concede that Voynich never admitted any Reilly connection with the book or its central character.8 Tibor Szamuely, however, casts a shadow of doubt on the matter by implying that she had deliberately remained tight lipped on the issue of who Arthur Burton’s prototype was. He relates an episode in 1955 when a delegation of Soviet journalists was in New York for the first time since the onset of the Cold War. One morning a Russian diplomat burst into the hotel room of journalist Boris Polevoi. Almost incoherent with excitement he related that he had, that very morning, seen Ethel Voynich, assumed by the Russians to be long dead. The journalists commandeered a car and raced off to her home at 450 West 24th Street. Arriving unannounced on her doorstep, they proceeded to interview her about The Gadfly and the inspiration for Arthur Burton. Szamuely quotes her response to the Burton question as being, ‘No, I’m afraid I can’t remember… it was all so long ago’.
Szamuely’s source for this answer is unclear, as the quote certainly does not appear in Russian press stories which followed the 1955 publicity. In fact, both Boris Polevoi and Eugenia Taratuta corresponded at length with Ethel after the 1955 meeting in New York. Taratuta’s correspondence and interviews with her were a major contribution to her biography of Ethel Voynich,9 the only one to be published to date. As a result of the 1968 BBC broadcast, both Polevoi and Taratuta published their correspondence with Ethel Voynich in a rebuttal article published in Izvestia on the subject of Arthur Burton and the characters in The Gadfly.10 For example, in a letter to Taratuta, dated 25 April 1956, Voynich elaborates on the conception of the book:
For a long time in my youth I was imagining a man who voluntarily sacrificed himself to something. Partly, this image might have appeared under a strong impact of Mazzini’s11 life and activities. In autumn 1885, for the first time in my life I turned up in Paris and spent a few months there. In the Louvre’s Square Salon I saw a well-known portrait of a young Italian known as A Man in Black, ascribed to Francia, Fracabijo and Rafael. This is how The Gadfly story somehow took shape in me.
In the same letter she refers again to characterisations:
Gemma is the only true-life character in the novel. You can recognise in her more or less closely a portrait of my friend Charlotte Wilson whom I called Gemma when I was writing the book.
The following year, Voynich wrote on 14 January 1957 a letter to Boris Polevoi, who had specifically asked her about the Arthur Burton character: ‘You ask me whether the real prototype of Arthur ever existed… indeed, the characters in the novel do not necessarily have, as prototypes, people who actually existed’. She went on to say that ‘The origin of Arthur’s image comes from my old interest in Mazzini and a portrait of an unknown young man in black in the Louvre’.
Polevoi and Taratuta were not the only ones to dispute and challenge Lockhart’s theory. The actor Hugh Millar, a long-time friend, confidante and neighbour of Ethel Voynich’s in New York, wrote privately to Robin Bruce Lockhart shortly after the publication of Ace of Spies in November 1967, taking him to task over his claims. Lockhart’s reply, dated 8 December 1967,12 is most revealing in more ways than one and has, to date, never been published.
When asked by Millar about his source for the statement that Ethel was Reilly’s mistress and that Reilly was the inspiration for Arthur, Lockhart replied:
…the original source of the ‘affair’ with Reilly was Reilly himself. This was checked later directly with Mrs Voynich herself before the last war by another author who had intended to write a book on Reilly but never got round to it as he did not have enough material.
Over and above the fact that Reilly is hardly the most reliable or truthful of sources when it comes to his own past (or virtually any other matter come to that), it seems certain that the ‘other author’ referred to by Lockhart was none other than Reilly’s SIS colleague George Hill. It is clear from the papers Lockhart deposited with the Hoover Institution, that Hill was actively researching his Reilly book in 1935.13 In terms of Hill allegedly checking Reilly’s claim directly with Ethel Voynich, it has to be said that some considerable doubt exists as to whether this was ever the case. There is no record of Hill ever having written to Ethel Voynich, or indeed of her ever having written to him. Bearing in mind that she lived in New York City between 1920 and her death in 1960, Hill could, of course, have taken the opportunity to visit New York to interview her. However, US immigration records show no sign of Hill
entering the United States at any time during the inter-war period.14
Curiously, as a further justification for his view, Lockhart also stated in his letter to Hugh Millar: ‘Incidentally, a point that I did not mention in my book was Reilly’s stutter from which he suffered in his youth – a handicap also of the ‘Gadfly’.
Of the countless people who knew or had recollections of Reilly over a considerable period of time, not one has ever mentioned a stutter. The only reference on record to any kind of peculiarity in Reilly’s speech refers to his accent and pronunciation rather than to such an impediment.15 It could be, of course, that Reilly told Hill that he had a stutter as a child in order to further authenticate his claim to be the inspiration for Arthur Burton.
Over and above the compelling evidence of Ethel Voynich’s own statements and the gaping holes in Lockhart’s theory, the fact remains that the chronology simply does not add up. Ethel Voynich conceived the idea of The Gadfly in 1885/86 and started writing it in 1889. How could Rosenblum, who was eleven or twelve years old at this time have possibly had any influence in the creation of the story? By the time Rosenblum arrived in England at the end of 1895 the book was virtually finished. It must therefore be concluded that Arthur Burton was not based on Sidney Reilly, but Sidney Reilly was based upon Arthur Burton. Whether he would so readily have adopted Arthur’s mantle had he known he would ultimately share Arthur’s fate is a moot point.
Although The Gadfly provided Reilly with the template for his fabricated life story, it does not explain where he got the fine detail about the years he allegedly spent in South America. We do not need to go too far along the library shelf for the answer, which is to be found in a later, lesser-known Ethel Voynich book, An Interrupted Friendship, published in 1910. The book attempts to recapture the success of The Gadfly by returning to the story of Arthur Burton, alias Felice Revarez, and focuses on the period he was in South America.
In Ecuador a group of explorers, led by Col. Duprez, are deserted by their interpreter and seek a replacement, which turns out to be no easy task as the respectable interpreters are too scared to join them. They are inundated with applications from those who have no skill with languages. When Rivarez presents himself he is mistaken for a tramp.16 It soon becomes apparent, however, that under the grime and dirt he is a gentleman and that his claim to be able to speak several languages is true. Col. Duprez therefore takes him on and they proceed with the expedition. When crossing a river, Rene, one of the explorers, falls in and gets his equipment wet so that when he is about to be attacked by a jaguar, his gun will not fire. Just as the jaguar cuts his arm with its claws, however, a shot rings out killing the animal – Rivarez has saved Rene’s life. When the expedition is in danger from being attacked by a tribe of savages, Rivarez goes to the natives alone and successfully calms them. When he returns safely, Col. Duprez gives him a permanent contract and says that it is the only way he has at that time to show his gratitude to Rivarez for risking his life to save theirs. He adds that he will let all of France know about him when they return. Three years pass and they return to Europe.
Here then is the genesis of the Fothergill story. In this case it is at least chronologically possible that Rosenblum provided Voynich with some inspiration, although highly improbable. Again, it is more likely that he lifted the tale from her, rather than the other way around.
APPENDIX TWO
MISTAKEN IDENTITY
In July 1905, Reilly graduated from the Royal School of Mines with top marks… he then went straight up to Trinity College Cambridge, to do research into Civil Engineering.
Sidney Reilly – The True Story by Michael Kettle1
The evidence Kettle presents in support of this theory is, at first sight, compelling and beyond doubt. According to Kettle, Reilly used the name Stanislaus George Reilly to successfully make an application to study electrical engineering at the Royal School of Mines in Exhibition Road, Kensington, on 15 September 1904. On the form he refers to his experience of railway, waterway and road construction work in India. At the top of the form a college official has noted that Reilly produced a certificate confirming that he had studied at Roorkee College in India and that his date of birth was 24 April 1877.2
Kettle relates in his book how he set about trying to establish the claims made on the application form by studying India Office Records in London and initiating enquiries in India. He concludes that Reilly’s claim to have been educated at Roorkee is without foundation as indeed are his claims to have been a civil engineer.3 In his view, the whole story was a skilfully constructed alibi, which Reilly ‘carefully kept up to date all his life’4 as a cover for his spying activities. He produces no evidence to show that Sidney Reilly ever used the name Stanislaus Reilly or used Stanislaus’ curriculum vitae, fictitious or otherwise, as a cover or alibi for himself, however. It is also significant that not one of Sidney Reilly’s friends, acquaintances or colleagues ever heard or referred to this ‘India story’.
In July 1905, Stanislaus Reilly’s student records indicate that he completed his electrical engineering course with full marks and was then admitted to Trinity College, Cambridge, to do research in civil engineering in October 1905. Kettle speculates that Reilly lived at Jesus Lane with Margaret until 1907 or 1908. On his application he had stated that he had been educated at ‘schools in India’. In establishing what seems the most conclusive piece of evidence, Kettle sought the opinion of John Conway, a Fellow of the British Academy of Forensic Sciences. He examined the handwriting on the college application forms from 1904 and 1905 with a letter written by Sidney Reilly to his wife Pepita on 25 September 1925. Conway concluded that the three samples were all written by the same hand.5 Kettle also unearthed an application made by Stanislaus Reilly to join the Institute of Civil Engineers in May 1925, and found from the institute’s archives that Stanislaus Reilly had remained on the institute’s membership list until 1948, when Kettle presumes that SIS had his name removed.
When marshalled together, the pieces of evidence Kettle has assembled seem to establish almost beyond doubt that Stanislaus Reilly was a character whose background had been fabricated by Sidney Reilly in order to cover his past and to gain admission to the Royal School of Mines and to Trinity College, Cambridge. Subjected to closer examination, however, major faults are to be found running through his evidence.
Kettle’s enquiries were apparently set in motion after reading in Ace of Spies that Reilly had claimed to be a graduate of the Royal Institute of Mines in London.6 He therefore set about finding corroboration for this in the records of London University, eventually discovering an application form dated 5 September 1904, in the name of Stanislaus George Reilly. One can appreciate that the coincidence was uncanny. A person of a similar age to Sidney Reilly, with a Polish first name and an identical middle and family name, found at an institution Reilly himself had apparently claimed to have attended.
Sidney Reilly’s claim was to have studied chemistry not electrical engineering, however. Furthermore, the application form unearthed by Kettle was not a Royal School of Mines application, it was for the adjacent City and Guilds Central Technical College, which later became part of Imperial College, along with the Royal School of Mines, in 1907.7 At Trinity College, it is certainly the case that S.G. Reilly was admitted in October 1905 and lived at 8 Jesus Lane, Cambridge. However, he most certainly was not living at that address ‘with his wife Margaret’ for, as Cambridge City records affirm, the address was a lodging house offering single-room accommodation to individual students. The lodging house keeper during the time that S.G. Reilly lived there was Mrs L. Flatters.8 College minute books also indicate that S.G. Reilly took a keen part in extra-curricular activities and joined the Trinity College Boat Club on 14 October 1905.9 In terms of the hand-writing on the application forms allegedly matching that of Sidney Reilly’s, one should appreciate that even among handwriting experts, such pronouncements are not viewed as an exact science. Equally, it must also be recorded tha
t John Conway was not a handwriting expert, his field of expertise lay in establishing whether or not documents were authentic.
While Kettle quite properly checked the details of Stanislaus Reilly’s birth, had he run a similar check on records of death he would have found that Stanislaus George Reilly died at the age of seventy-five, at Horton Hospital in Epsom, Surrey, on 13 June 1952.10
The death certificate is a key piece of evidence. It provides numerous leads to other documents concerning the administration of his estate, by which other family members can be traced. In this way, Stanislaus’s daughter Aline and nephew Noel were both located. They were able to provide details of their family history and in particular an account of Stanislaus’s life and career.11 From this, a check was carried out of contemporary British and Indian records, which authenticated their recollections.12 Indian residential records confirm that he was living in India until 1903, where he had worked as an overseer and an assistant engineer in Khandwah and Dharmpur. Due to the fact that he was in London and Cambridge between 1904 and 1907 he does not appear in the residential records during those years. On his return to India he married Aline’s mother, Edith Anne, at Agra in 1909. Aline was born two years later in Dehra Dun, shortly after which he became engineer and manager of the Dehri Rohtus Light Railway.13 On 11 June 1918 he was commissioned as second lieutenant in the Indian Army Reserve of Officers (Infantry), from where he was seconded to the Royal Engineers. A year later he was promoted to lieutenant and was promoted again to lieutenant-colonel before being released in 1920. The Reilly family returned to England before the outbreak of the Second World War, where Stanislaus was engaged as a civil engineer. Edith died in 194514 and Stanislaus’s health, too, declined after the war. In fact, his resignation from the Royal Institute of Mines in 1948 was for reasons of ill health and was certainly not the result of SIS machinations. It is therefore clear that Stanislaus George Reilly was in fact a real and distinctly separate person from Sidney George Reilly, and not the fabrication of Sidney Reilly or SIS.